“Believe me, Kate,” Quinn says as he works. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to gather those men in a room and squeeze them until they pop. But you know how we work. We never let—”

“—our targets know they’re in our crosshairs,” says Jana Rose, who has positioned herself directly opposite Quinn. “We know, Matthew, honey. Maybe you could have that embroidered on a quilt.”

Quinn smiles at Jana, who has the classic beauty of a stage actor from another era. She’s the only one who dares to tease him like this. Even Theo—whom Quinn has known since they were roommates at Harvard—knows there are limits. But Jana knows Quinn more intimately than anyone else in this room. Or the planet, for that matter.

“And what would you like, Jana?” Quinn asks.

“Now, you know I don’t like eggs,” she says.

“Which is why you’ll find Greek yogurt and a small fruit salad in the fridge at knee-level.”

Jana’s face lights up. “Wonderful.”

From the other side of the kitchen comes a sigh. “I guess it’s up to me, then.”

The fifth member of the team, Otto Hazard, is perched on the kitchen counter, apart from the group. As usual. Otto met Theo in “finishing school”—the US Penitentiary at Leavenworth—making him the only member of the team without a direct connection to Quinn. So he constantly tries to earn his place, with a curious combination of bravado and laid-back disinterest.

“What are you thinking, Otto?” Quinn asks.

“That I’m gonna be the only one who will order a real omelet. Six eggs, plenty of cheese, mushrooms, onions, ham, and the hottest peppers you have. You’ve got habanero sauce somewhere in this place, right?”

“Check the pantry behind you.”

As Quinn cooks and Otto searches, Kate shifts impatiently. “I don’t know what we’re waiting for. Let’s vote and get moving on this one.”

“Hold on a sec,” Theo says. “We need to know a little more. For starters, which agency is interested? The feebs? The CIA?”

“Nope,” Quinn says. “Private party.”

Which is unusual for the group. Their particular set of skills—creating elaborate stings to entrap those who believe they’re above the law—are usually in demand by various government agencies. Not ordinary civilians.

“Huh, that’s weird,” Theo says. “The girl’s parents?”

“I don’t want that to cloud our judgment,” Quinn says. “We always evaluate cases on their intrinsic merits alone.”

“What’s our objective?” Jana asks.

“We’ve been asked to find Paige alive—or catch her killer.”

“And she disappeared…?” Kate asks.

“Two nights ago. Friday evening.”

“So the trail is going cold fast,” Theo says.

The others consider this. Even Otto stops searching for the habanero sauce and turns to face the group. Meanwhile, Quinn finishes the three omelets cooking in three separate pans, then glides them onto waiting plates.

“What do you think, boss?” Kate asks.

Quinn says, “I think that Paige Ryerson is probably dead. I believe that I may know who did it, and I believe I know how the girl died. But right now I have no idea how to prove it.”