“What are you saying? Spit it out!”
“Have you ever thought that you might be getting a little paranoid, believing that they're still after you?”
Zane jumped up, the dog in his lap sliding off him, whining in the process. “Paranoid? You think I’m paranoid? Brandt said he couldn’t wait to tell Müller that he’d found me. He’s still out there somewhere.”
Zane pointed his hand toward the window, his gaze instinctively following its direction. Somewhere, that bastard was still hiding and living a life he didn’t deserve.
“Maybe it’s time to quit,” Quinn suggested.
Zane snarled, allowing his fangs to descend to underscore his disapproval. “I will quit when Müller is dead and not a minute earlier.” He raised his hand, clenching it the way he would wrap it around Müller’s neck right before he strung him up by silver chains and hung him out to wait for the rising sun. A stake was too good for Müller. Too humane.
“It’s eating you up.”
“What are you, my psychiatrist? I thought we were friends, but if that’s too much to ask for, you know where the door is. Use it.” He needed no friend who didn't have his back, or would try to lead him away from his mission.
Quinn sighed. “What do you need me to do?”
Relieved, Zane gave a nod of approval. He would never admit it, but if Quinn had decided to leave, it would have been hard to take.
“Send out a drawing of this symbol to your contacts and she if anything shakes. Somebody has to have seen it before. It must mean something.”
“Do you know anything else about the assassin?”
Zane shrugged. “He had a South American accent. To be expected from Brandt’s son, but his English was good. It tells me he’s been in the country for a while. He had nothing on him but the key, the pin, and a few coins. Even if he lives in this country, he would have had to stash his ID and some money somewhere. I suspect there’s a locker somewhere. He also mentioned that Müller would reward him.”
“So, he sent him.”
“Possibly. But Müller doesn’t seem to know where I am. More like the guy was on a little freelance mission.”
“I’ll check it out. We should be able to find something on the symbol, and the key should be routine. I’ll start at the airport and see whether he used a locker there. It would be the most logical place if he flew in from out of town.” Quinn paused, then smiled. “And now that the nasty business is out of our way, tell me what’s really going on.”
Zane slumped down on the sofa. Instantly, the dog made puppy eyes at him. He slapped his hand on his thigh once, and the animal jumped into his lap.
“Nothing new, same old, same old.”
And that answer would be the extent to which Quinn would hear of that subject. No way would Zane talk about his current assignment and more specifically about Portia, the woman who’d scrambled his brain as if she’d tossed it in a blender and flipped the switch.
***
Portia looked away and pretended to be interested in the food on her plate. The cafeteria was virtually empty. Oliver hung around the door, watching yet giving her privacy. She and Lauren had skipped a class to have time to talk. Now she wished she’d never said a word about what was bothering her.
“That nasty dude? You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding,” Lauren urged and placed her hand over Portia’s forearm.
Portia shook her head. “When he kissed me …” Her world had turned upside down with that one kiss. She’d suddenly realized what she’d missed out on all these years.
“You can do better than him,” Lauren claimed.
“Funny, he said the same thing.” But she didn’t buy it. Why would any man who was attracted to her—and he clearly was—turn down her offer of no-strings-attached sex? “He’s out of his mind.”
Lauren raised her eyebrows. “You both are! You can’t do this, not with somebody like him. I mean, can you imagine his bald head hovering over you while he’s … eww!”
“I find his head attractive, and actually, I think he’s quite sensitive there.” It hadn’t escaped her that he’d shuddered when she’d caressed his scalp. And how he’d wanted her to do it again.
“Eww!” Lauren waved her hands before her face. “Erase, erase, erase! You can’t sleep with him.”
“Don’t go all Mother Teresa on me. Besides, he turned me down. I mean, can you believe it? As if I were some ugly duckling.” It had hurt having put herself out there only to be coldly rejected.