Of course, Quinn would do that.
“It’s just Lewis workin’ on the military honors part of Jack’s funeral,” Quinn told Elizabeth, texting his answer. He put his mobile phone away. “If I say go back to the car, you’re to go wi’out arguin’. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted.
They stepped out of the car, a brisk breeze blowing in off the water, catching Elizabeth’s hair, gulls crying overhead.
She closed her eyes, inhaled. “I love the smell of the sea.”
But Quinn was focused on their surroundings. There was, indeed, a high security fence. There were also surveillance cameras, which meant they were being watched. A guard stood at the open gate. Quinn probably outweighed him by two stone and was a good four inches taller, but Quinn could tell that the bastard was armed, the pistol in his shoulder holster making his jacket hang unevenly. He was also wearing a radio.
Och, he should have refused to bring Elizabeth along. There was no one he respected more, but she wasn’t a fighter. She shouldn’t be here.
Quinn approached the guard, Elizabeth beside him. “I’m Quinn McManus here to speak wi’ Leo Grant.”
“Does he know you’re comin’?” The guard answered with an Irish accent.
Elizabeth answered. “It’s a surprise.”
The guard’s gaze slid over her. “American?”
The bastard
“Is my accent that obvious?” She smiled.
“I’ve got cousins in Chicago.”
“Really? That’s amazing. Where in Chicago?”
Och, she was laying on the charm, but the bastard fell for it, the two of them chatting about the weather in Chicago and how his cousin owned a pub there and how she had Irish ancestors. She was like a secret weapon, using men’s vulnerabilities and expectations to disarm them.
A dark-haired man in a gray suit jacket stepped out of the warehouse and walked toward them. He was a near match for Quinn in height but slightly overweight with a pug nose and hard face. He walked with the confidence of a man used to telling others what to do. Quinn recognized him at once for what he was—a predator.
“Ryan, where are your manners?” he called to the guard. “Don’t leave the lady standin’ out in the damp.”
“Yes, sir. These people are here to see you, sir.”
Leo Grant walked through the open gate, studied Quinn’s face. “Who are you?”
“I’m Quinn McManus. Jack Murray was my best friend. We served together in the Special Air Service.”
“What does that have to do wi’ me?”
Quinn opened his mouth to answer, but Elizabeth beat him to it.
“We’re heartbroken about Jack’s death. We know the two of you were friends. We’re just here to see if you can shed any light on what happened.”
Grant looked from Elizabeth to Quinn and back again. “If you’re police, you should know I’ve already spoken wi’ the Detective Sergeant.”
“Wilson? Aye, he’s an eejit. But we’re no’ police.”
Elizabeth held out her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Shields.”
Grant held her hand a little too long. “From America.”
Elizabeth beamed. “Yes.”
Quinn followed her lead and held out his hand, too. “Quinn McManus, Glasgow.”