The Enraged (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) by Brett Battles Page A

hand back from the doorknob. “How many?”
    “Four that I could count. I was coming up to get you.”
    “How long have they been there?”
    “Just moved in. Before that it was all quiet. There hasn’t even been a car driving by in the last two hours.”
    “Isn’t that just great?” Quinn growled. “Okay, go back down and keep an eye on things while I get Misty up.”
    Quinn opened the door to Misty’s room and moved over to the bed.
    “We’ve got to go,” he said, shaking her shoulder.
    She turned on her back and opened her eyes. “What? Go? I don’t—”
    “We’ve got company.”
    She sat straight up. “I thought this place was safe.”
    “Apparently not.”
    “Who are these people?” she asked.
    Quinn grabbed her clothes off the dresser and tossed them to her. “As fast as you can,” he said before heading into the hall.
    While he waited, he called Howard back. “They’re already here.”
    “Son of a bitch. What do you want me to do?”
    “Get here as quick as possible. I’ll call you after we find a way out.”
    As he hung up, Misty stepped out of her room.
    “Come on. Downstairs,” he said. “Make sure to stay away from the windows.”
    When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Quinn paused and whispered, “Daeng? Where are you?”
    Daeng’s voice came from down the hallway to the right. “Kitchen.”
    Quinn motioned for Misty to copy him as he crouched down and crept into the hall. They found Daeng kneeling next to the cabinets by the sink.
    “Where?” Quinn asked.
    Daeng nodded up at the window above them. “Straight out there’s a hedge and some kind of shed. One guy’s there, around the back.” He twisted around. “If you look out the window by the front door, you’ll see a minivan parked across the street. Last time I checked another guy was peeking around it.” He pointed left, then right. “The other two are a little harder to see. No direct view. But there’s a window in the living room that if you lean far enough over, you’ll see a couple of bushes about twenty feet from the house. A guy’s in there. The one on the left, as far as I can tell, is pressed right up against the building.”
    “So still just the four.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Just like earlier.”
    “Was thinking the same thing.”
    Whether or not it was the same team as the one at Peter’s apartment, Quinn figured the men’s abilities would be comparable.
    “Okay,” he whispered. “This is what we’re going to do.”
    __________
     
    W ITTEN DIDN’T LIKE it. The house was too quiet. Sure, it was after midnight, but there was a sense of stillness about it that he only picked up when a place was dangerous or deserted. Either way, it was a problem.
    The fugitives—two men and a woman whose identities had yet to be determined—were supposedly holed up inside. How the powers that be at O & O had learned this, he didn’t know. It wasn’t his job. He was only here to make the problem go away.
    “Dead or alive?” he’d asked when he’d been briefed twenty-five minutes earlier.
    “I’m told alive, if possible, but we don’t need all three,” the woman acting as Terminal Eight that evening had said. “One will suffice.”
    Witten had also been told about what had happened the previous afternoon, and was determined that Team Five would not achieve the same less-than-stellar results. Maybe that was why his senses felt more heightened than usual.
    “Check,” he whispered.
    Each member of his team was outfitted with a tiny comm radio—a receiver that fit snugly in the ear, and extending from it, a one-inch microphone that floated above the cheek.
    “South, clear,” Suggs said.
    Johnson was next. “West, clear.”
    And finally, Brown. “North, clear.”
    Deserted? Or dangerous? Witten wondered again as he scanned the front of the house. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.
    “All positions, move in,” he ordered.
    __________
     
    Q UINN COULD FEEL Misty tense as they heard a