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As the limo glided into motion, Mikel popped open the briefcase’s latches. Inside, two Glocks nestled in black foam cutouts. He handed the smaller one to Quinn. “I don’t expect you to use this except as an intimidating prop.”
As she dropped the magazine and made sure the chamber was empty, it struck her that she hadn’t blinked when Mikel had told her she’d be carrying a firearm today. Maybe she was turning into a badass computer nerd for real.
Mikel flipped up the foam lining and pulled out a shoulder harness for her. “Adjust it so Ricci will be able to see the gun under your jacket.”
She shrugged out of her leather jacket with its silver zippers and strapped the shoulder harness on, sliding the Glock into the holster. Mikel had asked her to wear jeans, a black shirt, and her jacket, while he wore a black suit, white shirt, and red tie. After he was happy with the way her holster sat, he reached into his pocket and came out with a shiny gold badge on a black leather holder.
“Nice hardware,” Quinn said as the polished metal gleamed in the sunlight. “It looks genuine.”
Mikel slanted her a wry glance as he clipped the badge to his belt. “What makes you think it isn’t?”
“Wait! You’re a police officer?”
“With the rank of jefe superior,” he said.
“Why didn’t I know that?”
“Did you need to?” Mikel raised his eyebrows at her.
The cooperation he got from international law enforcement organizations should have tipped her off. However, Mikel had never demonstrated the slightest concern for legal niceties in pursuit of Gabriel’s kidnappers, so she’d assumed he worked privately. She was a private employee after all. Her boss had layers upon layers of secrets.
Ricci’s house was in the town of Zug, a favored locale for the wealthy on the shores of Lake Zug. From the airport, it was a half-hour drive through Zurich before they hit postcard-worthy scenery of snow-brushed mountains, medieval towns of solid gray stone buildings with reddish roofs, and fields of green dotted with flowers. Quinn caught only glimpses of their surroundings as Mikel reviewed their strategy for interviewing Ricci.
Emil’s voice interrupted them. “We’re five minutes from the house.”
Mikel stowed his tablet while Quinn peered out the window to see Lake Zug sparkling on one side of the car and trees on the other. They slowed and turned onto a driveway before sweeping around to the front of a modern structure of curving concrete and walls of glass. The limo came to a stop beside a lipstick red Ferrari.
Mikel’s surveillance team had confirmed that Ricci was home. The surgeon worked three days a week in Zurich, but that was only when he wasn’t traveling to give speeches and demonstrations of his skill in otoplasty.
Quinn opened her door and climbed out, settling the Glock into place so that her jacket didn’t quite cover it. Her mouth twisted in a mocking smile as she also had to push her glasses up on her nose.
However, when she came around the car to join her boss, she saw his face was a mask of grim intensity that made even her a little nervous. It ought to make Ricci quake in what she presumed would be handmade Italian loafers. At least she assumed that’s what a successful surgeon wore.
Mikel jogged up the shallow stone steps to the front door and pressed the doorbell, holding his badge up for the video camera mounted on the wall.
The door swung open, and an older woman in a gray dress with a white apron tied around her waist said in German, “You must have the wrong address. Who do you wish to speak with?”
Mikel held up his badge again and answered in English, his voice pitched so it would carry inside. “Dr. Paul Ricci, please. I am Jefe Superior Mikel Silva of the Calevan Royal Police.”
The woman closed the door in their faces.
Quinn almost laughed in disbelief. “She’s wearing an actual maid’s uniform! Really?”
“It makes the servants blend in with the furniture,” Mikel said, his sarcasm surprising her.
They waited a few more seconds before the door opened again. This time, Paul Ricci stood before them. He looked exactly like his pictures: tall and trim with short blond hair swept back from an intelligent brow, bright blue eyes, and a square jawline.
He was not smiling. “I have never in my life been to Caleva. What reason could you have to speak with me?”
Quinn dropped her gaze to his hands. Sure enough, he was moving his thumb in the way that showed it was hypermobile. The joint below the knuckle bent inward so far it looked unnatural. When Gabriel had been tied down on the operating table, the surgeon had flicked his thumb in and out in that same way.
Rage seared through her. She wanted to grab his hands and break his every finger.
She lifted her gaze to Ricci, hoping he would see the threat of violence that burned inside her.
But Ricci was looking at Mikel as her boss said, “The matter I wish to speak with you about did not take place on Caleva. May we come in?”
He took a step toward the door, and Ricci backed up a couple of paces. Mikel continued forward, as though the surgeon had invited him in. Ricci froze as if he couldn’t decide what to do.
