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between him and the assassin, shielding him from view.
"I see you," Nate said. "You're both closing on the building at the same rate."
Quinn sped up, moving to his left as he did, toward an opening that had probably once held a beautiful stained glass window. He knew from his earlier reconnaissance that the window would provide a clear view of the interior of the church. He crouched beneath the sill.
"Okay," Nate said. "You're there first. He's stopped at the body outside the church. He's checking the pockets . . . hold on . . . okay, he's rolling him over and checking the back pockets . . . the dead guy doesn't seem to have anything on him . . . okay, he's getting up again . . . now he's heading for the church."
Quinn checked that the suppressor was securely fastened to the barrel of his SIG.
"He's stopped just outside a doorway," Nate continued. "It's the one directly across from where you're at."
Quinn pictured the interior of the church in his mind. The window he stood beside, the door the assassin would walk through, the positions of the bodies on the sanctuary floor, the possible hiding places, the escape routes, everything. Then he took in a steady, silent breath, knowing what he would do. Peter was going to owe him big-time after this.
"He's peeking around the doorway, looking inside . . . he's stepping across the threshold and . . . inside . . . heading for the closest body first. Otero. Wait a minute. He stopped, seems to be listening."
Quinn cocked his head, then he heard it, too. A car. It was coming fast from the north. No, not just one car, but two. Distant at the moment, but approaching rapidly.
"Car," Nate said a second later. "Heading south."
Quinn risked a glance through the corner of the window. The assassin was still standing rock still next to the body of David Otero. His head was turned away from Quinn toward the front corner of the church where the entrance once had been.
On the road, the cars continued to draw nearer. Quinn judged that they were less than two minutes away.
The assassin must have made the same calculation. He looked down at Otero, then glanced at the other two bodies. Quinn's plan had been to make his move when the assassin was bent down searching one of his victims. It would have put him at an advantage, and he would have had little problem guarding the shooter until Peter's backup arrived. If the assassin tried to run, Quinn would be able to take him out with a single shot.
But the cars changed everything. A second later, the assassin began rapidly retracing his steps out of the church and back to the tree that had served as his roost. Apparently he had decided to forgo searching the bodies in exchange for getting the hell out of there.
"He's on the move," Nate said. "Nearing the tree."
Quinn rose and moved down the side of the church, staying tight to the wall. When he reached the corner, he turned and headed toward the far end. Beyond was an open area that ran parallel to the church and out seventy-five feet to where the brush and the trees took over in force.
The assassin's tree was there. Quinn could see it another ten feet into the wild. He just couldn't see the assassin.
"He's picking up his rifle," Nate said. "Now he's slinging it over his shoulder and heading . . . northwest . . . he's out of camera range now. I've lost him."
That was it, then, Quinn thought. He wasn't about to chase the man through the wilderness without the advantage of Nate being able to watch his back. He allowed his body to relax.
"Keep an eye on the monitors in case he's just circling around," Quinn said. "And watch the road cams, too. See if a car shows up that seemed to come out of nowhere. That'll be him. He's got to have a ride parked around here somewhere."
"Quinn?" Nate asked.
"What?"
"Peter wants to talk to you."
The muscles in Quinn's face tightened. "Fine. Put him through."
While Nate transferred the call to the comm gear, the two cars on the road reached the point closest to the church, but