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Over the last couple of days, the stitches from her stab wound had been removed, and the bruises over her body had finally started fading. Out of precaution, Doc had recommended she continue to take it easy, so Roxie had kept her relegated to only working the counter at Comfort Food. Aside from making coffee and pulling items from the case, Alex was to remain seated at all times.
The poor thing was about to pull her hair out from boredom. But she didn’t want to risk harming the baby. So, while she grumbled about it, according to Roxie, anyway, she did what she was told.
Now, Quinn was doing his own grumbling as he sat at his desk, waiting impatiently for Joe to get off the phone.
It took another five full minutes before the bastard hung up. Fucking feds.
“Jesus, that took long enough.” Quinn glared at his friend. “Well?”
“You want the good news or the bad news?”
Goddamn, give him patience. “Does it matter?”
Joe shook his head. “Fuck, not really.”
Done with the bullshit, he leaned back and glared some more. “Talk, Buchanan.”
“The good news is we know where Woodsworth is. The bad news is that he was released this morning.”
His heart tripped.The fuck?“He wasn’t supposed to be released until tomorrow.”
“True.” Joe let out a weary sigh. “And like always, I’m the last to fucking know. Nothing’s changed in that regard since you left the Bureau, O’Conner. You know how it goes.”
“Yeah. I do. All too well.” He ran his hands over his face. “Where is he?”
“Woodsworth’s still in Summerside. His lawyer picked him up and took him straight back to his house.”
“Your team will notify you if he moves?”
“You bet your ass they will.”
Quinn got up from his desk and headed for the door. “You better make sure they do.”
“Where are you going?” Joe asked. “Woodsworth hasn’t left New England. Alex is safe at the café.”
He opened his mouth to respond right as Joe’s phone rang. His friend held up a finger, then answered and began speaking to the caller.
Quinn paced his office. After what seemed like hours but was probably less than a minute, Joe hung up, a grim expression on his face.
His blood froze over.
“And so it begins,” Joe said.
Quinn’s jaw clenched at the ominous words, and he braced himself.
“Woodsworth is still at his house, but conveniently, Mayor Downing’s private jet has been fired up. Once he’s airborne, we’ll check the flight plan to get landing coordinates.”
“What the fuck, Joe?” Quinn said, his anger spilling over.
He held up his hands. “Look at it this way, O’Conner. If Woodsworth comes out here, it’s a six-hour flight. The nearest airfield that can accommodate a jet the size of Downing’s is Boeing Field. That’s more than an hour away if he takes the fastest route available. Potentially more than two hours, depending on the ferry wait. There are a few different ways for him to get here, but we’ve got time.”
Quinn’s skin was on fire. “What do you plan on doing when he gets here?”
“It depends on what he does.” Joe pressed his lips into a flat line. “We’ll put a couple agents at Boeing Field. Then we’ll have a couple more at the ferry dock.”
He nodded. “We’ve got at least six hours, so let’s go over all the possibilities.”
Joe sighed. “Ah, the scenario game. I hate this game.”
