State of Emergency by Marc Cameron Page B

a smile from her normally placid face. The guttural howl of the uneven firing sequence from under the seat was enough to put a grin on a marble statue.
    â€œPalmer-san believes Agent Trainee Garcia will provide the bait you need to draw this man in close enough to see if he has the device.”
    â€œYes,” Quinn mused, picturing Ronnie Garcia’s long legs and broad smile. “She’s definitely good bait.”
    He hooked the strap to an eyebolt on the pallet and worked it tight before tying off the trailing end. Satisfied the Yamaha was secure, he looked up at Miyagi. Apart from her assignment to keep Quinn and Thibodaux trained and outfitted, she was also a defensive tactics instructor at the CIA training facility outside Williamsburg known as The Farm.
    Garcia had been in training there for almost two months now, and she and Quinn had not parted on the best of terms.
    â€œHow’s she doing?” he asked.
    â€œShe works harder than most,” Miyagi said. “Though she does not need to. I suspect she is trying to impress someone. Her shooting has improved dramatically—and it was not too bad to begin with.”
    Quinn gave a slow nod, thinking about the times she’d saved his life. He started to say as much when the BlackBerry on his belt began to buzz.
    Mrs. Miyagi motioned for him to take it and excused herself.
    â€œDaddy?” It was Mattie, his seven-year-old daughter.
    Quinn melted inside each time he heard her voice. She had his dark hair and copper complexion, but Kim’s accusing blue eyes.
    â€œThree more days!” she squealed.
    â€œYou’re funny, sweet pea,” he said. “Christmas is still over a week away.”
    â€œI know that, silly,” she said, sounding more and more like her mother used to, all those years ago when they were young and happy together. “I know when Christmas is. I mean when you’re coming home. I have a big purple circle around December twentieth on my calendar.”
    â€œYeah,” Quinn sighed. He had to be in Miami on the twentieth. “About that . . . how would you feel if I celebrated Christmas with you a little later this year?”
    There was silence, the rustle of paper, and a sniff.
    â€œYou okay, sweet pea?”
    Fortunately, Mattie had not inherited Kim’s unforgiving nature. “I’m sad,” she said. “But you tell me what day and I’ll put a circle around it.”
    â€œLet’s make it January twenty-fifth. One month. If I can be there earlier I will.”
    â€œOkay,” Mattie sighed. “Will you be sure and be here?”
    â€œCount on it,” Quinn said, hoping he wasn’t telling his daughter yet another lie. “Can you put Mom on the line?”
    Mattie giggled. “She’s been on for the whole time,” she said. “You’re my bestie, Dad.”
    Quinn heard a faint click on the line.
    â€œYou still there, sweetie?”
    â€œShe hung up.” It was Kim’s voice, quiet, brooding like a glowing ember in a steady breeze.
    Unable to stand the nights of sleepless worry, she’d told him to hit the road not long after he returned from his first deployment with OSI. She still loved him, she’d said, still wanted to keep in touch, but as long as he carried a gun and put himself in harm’s way for a living, she couldn’t be married to him. As much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to quit and work as a greengrocer or a postman, Quinn knew he’d die if he did anything else.
    When he’d given the broken thirteenth-century Japanese dagger Yawaraka-Te back to Miyagi, she’d simply said: “It broke doing what it was made to do—and so it is with you Quinn-san. The blade must cut, even at its own peril .”
    Quinn waited for Kim to say something else, anything. She didn’t.
    â€œHow are you doing?” he said, craving a few more words in spite of himself.
    â€œWe’re