The Deceived by Brett Battles Page A

hadn’t been there, you would have taken the fall for that one.” It was true to a point. But in reality, if Quinn hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have mattered who took the fall.
    “I’ll tell you what,” Peter said. “I’ll do your favor. But next time I need you for a job, you say yes.”
    “That’s not a favor, Peter. That’s a trade.”
    “Whatever. That’s my deal.”
    “I’m not even on your active list anymore.”
    “Actually,” Peter said, “I never took you off.”
    Why doesn’t that surprise me? Quinn thought.
    He looked over Peter’s shoulder toward the Smithsonian Castle across the Mall. It wasn’t like Peter was asking a lot. Quinn’s plan had never been to stop working for the Office entirely. But suggesting a tit-for-tat bothered Quinn. It was almost enough for Quinn to just walk away.
    Almost.
    “Fine,” Quinn said.
    Peter smiled. “What can I do for you?”
    Back at the Marriott, Quinn connected his new phone to his computer. Before uploading his address book and other vital information, he used a program Orlando had created to erase all unnecessary information from the phone’s memory, then replace it with his personal settings and thumbprint identification. It was a safety precaution in case Peter had installed any hidden tracking or monitoring software. Next he programmed the phone with his number, then transferred the backup of his contact list. Once done, he called Nate.
    “I’m up and running again,” he said.
    “What the hell’s going on?” Nate asked. “I assume it has something to do with that house fire in Houston.”
    “Been doing a little checking, have you?”
    “Just the Internet. Since it’s the same address as the one you wanted me to check out, I took a wild guess. One of the news reports says it was a gas leak.”
    “Is that what they think?”
    “Not gas, then?”
    “No,” Quinn said.
    “Intentional?”
    “I tripped a switch,” Quinn said, recalling the click as he’d been opening the bathroom window. “My guess is it was on a timer anyway. The booby trap was a backup in case someone tried to get in the house.” Quinn knew there was no way the suits in the Volvo would have left the house intact. They needed to destroy it and cover their tracks. “What did you find out?”
    “Jennifer Fuentes is listed as the current owner of the house.”
    “What about the history?”
    “That was a bit more difficult. The files had been flagged, which meant a higher level of security was added to them.”
    “Really?” Quinn said, interested.
    “Nothing too drastic. I used a few of the tricks Orlando taught me, and got in.”
    “Did you trigger any tracers?”
    “I found a trace program, but I bypassed it. Too risky to figure out who it was set to notify, but I could tell it wasn’t anyone at the county records office.”
    “What did you find?” Quinn asked.
    “The previous owners were Bradley and Gabriella Fuentes. Jennifer got the house four and a half years ago. Title transfer only, not a sale.”
    “Her parents?” Quinn asked.
    “I checked her medical records. Again, added security and a tracer.”
    “And?” Quinn asked.
    “Her parents are listed as Miguel and Cecilia Fuentes.”
    “Not Bradley and Gabriella.”
    “No. They’re her grandparents,” Nate said. “Bradley passed away eight years ago. Gabriella followed three years later.”
    Quinn nodded to himself. Now the house made sense. Jenny had inherited it. “Good work. What about the car?”
    “Stolen plates. Came off a Camry.”
    No surprise there. “I need you to check someone out for me.”
    “Okay.”
    “A woman named Tasha Laver.”
    “You got anything else on her?”
    “Early thirties at most. About five-six, in decent shape. Might live in Houston, but that’s not a for sure.”
    “That’s it?”
    “She claims to have gone to college with Jenny. Says they’re old friends.”
    “I’ll see what I can come up with,” Nate said.
    “Anything else for me? The