Présentation de l'éditeur
A freelance operative and professional “cleaner,” Jonathan Quinn knows better than to get emotionally involved in any of his jobs. But Quinn’s latest job is different. A friend has been murdered. A woman has gone missing. And for Jonathan Quinn, this time it’s personal.
When Quinn is called to a busy L.A. port where a shipping container has just come in from the sea, he is stunned by what he finds: inside the crate is a dead man—a man who once saved Quinn’s life, a former CIA agent named Steven Markoff. Now Quinn has to do more than clean. He has to find Markoff’s girlfriend, Jenny, who’s disappeared, to tell her that Markoff is dead. And he has to find out why someone sent Markoff’s body to him. Joining forces with his colleague and closest friend, Orlando, Quinn won’t stop until he uncovers the truth behind his friend’s violent death, the astounding reason Jenny vanished—and what she knows about the most explosive deception of all.
Extrait
Chapter One
The stench of rotting food and diesel fuel hung over the dock like it had been there forever. Even inside the small warehouse, the foulness overpowered everything. That was until the man in the light gray coveralls opened the door of the shipping container. Suddenly death was all Jonathan Quinn could smell.
Unflinching, he scanned the interior of the container. With the exception of a bloated body crumpled against the wall to the right, it was empty.
"Shut the door," Quinn said.
"But Mr. Albina wanted you to see what was—"
"I've seen it. Shut the door."
The man—he'd said his name was Stafford—swung the door shut, locking the handle into place.
"Why is this still here?" Quinn asked.
Stafford took a few steps toward Quinn, then stopped. "Look, I got a dock to run, okay? I got a ship out there that's only half unloaded." He sucked in a tense, nervous breath. "I got customs people all over the place, you know? It's like they knew something like this was coming in today."
Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Did you know it was coming in today?"
"Hell, no," Stafford said, voice rising. "Do you think I'd be here if I did? I'd've called in sick. Mr. Albina's got people who should take care of this kind of crap."
Quinn glanced at the man, then turned his attention back to the container. He began walking around it, scanning it up and down, taking it all in. After a slight hesitation, Stafford followed a few paces behind.
Quinn had seen thousands of shipping containers over the years: on boats, on trains, being pulled behind big rigs. They were large, bulky rectangular boxes that moved goods between countries and continents. They came in black and red and green and gray.
This one, with the exception of where the paint had chipped away and rust had started to take hold, was a faded dark blue. On each of the long sides, tall white letters spelled out baron & baron ltd. Quinn didn't recognize the name, but that wasn't surprising. At times it seemed as if there were nearly as many shipping companies scattered around the globe as there were containers.
When Quinn reached the point where he had begun his inspection, he stopped, his eyes still on the box.
"You're going to get rid of this, right?" Stafford asked. "I mean . . . that's what Mr. Albina told me. He said he was sending someone to get rid of it. That's you, right?"
"Manifest?" Quinn asked.
The man took a second to react, then nodded and picked up the clipboard he'd put on the ground when he'd opened the container's doors.
"What's supposed to be inside?" Quinn asked. With the trade imbalance the way it was, nothing came into the States empty anymore. Any container that did would be suspicious.
Stafford flipped through several pages, then stopped. "Tennis shoes," he said, looking up.
Quinn glanced over at the man. "One pair?"
"That's really funny," the man said, not laughing.
"Who found it?" Quinn asked.
Stafford seemed unsure what to say. When he did speak, his words didn't match the evasivenes
