Page 95 of The Unseen
“Jo Turing.”
“What? Like Alan Turing?”
“Yes. I thought she might have been distantly related, since he was gay and never had children of his own. Her company is called Enigma Enterprises.”
“Jesse Holt said she was mad for history. Of course she would take a name that’d mean something to her. She called herself after the man who changed the course of the war when he invented the Enigma machine. My God, Rhys, couldn’t you have said something sooner?”
Rhys gaped at her. “How could I have known Jo Turing was Quentin Crawford? There is a resemblance between you two, but not enough to make your relationship obvious. She’s very different from you.”
“In what way?”
“She’s all sharp angles, where you’re gentle curves.”
Quinn gave Rhys the gimlet stare. “Rhys?”
“No. I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re asking. We chatted several times and butted heads, but that’s all.”
“So what was she like?”
“Intelligent, funny, sarcastic,” he added with a smirk. “Sounds just like someone else I know.”
“Oh God, Rhys. I must speak to her. Now. Today.”
“My computer is in my study. There’s no password. Go to it.”
Quinn raced up the stairs and turned on the computer. It seemed to take forever to boot up. At last, the home screen came up and she googled Jo Turing. Hundreds of entries popped up. Jo had taken several award-winning photos, and there were snaps from various parties and press events. One photo in particular caught Quinn’s eye. It was of Quentin, just staring into the camera, much as she had when she was twenty, her gaze earnest, a small smile playing about her lips. She held a professional-looking Nikon in her hands as if she’d just taken a photo and lowered the camera. Quinn looked into her sister’s face and felt as if she’d known her all her life.
“Aha, Enigma Enterprises,” Quinn muttered under her breath as she clicked on the website. There was no phone number for Quentin—or Jo, as she had to think of her now—only an email address, a Facebook page, and a Twitter account. Quinn had no desire to send a message and be left in limbo to await a response.She wanted to contact Jo directly, and there was a telephone number for her agent. Quinn grabbed the phone and dialed. It was after five p.m. on a Thursday before Christmas. There’d probably be no answer, but she had to try.
A man answered on the third ring. “Charles Sutcliffe.”
“Mr. Sutcliffe, my name is Quinn Russell. You might know me as Dr. Quinn Allenby,” she added. The man was in the entertainment industry, so he might have heard of her, and that would give her credibility in his eyes.
“The archeologist?” His tone warmed considerably. “I’m a fan of your new program.”
“Mr. Sutcliffe, I’m looking for Quent—Jo Turing. I must speak to her urgently.”
“Do you know Jo?”
“No, but I will. I must. I’m her twin sister. I’ve only just recently found out,” Quinn prattled on. She was so nervous, her hands were shaking. She was so close. So close.
“Dr. Allenby, I haven’t heard from Jo in several months. She’s been off the grid.”
“What do you mean, ‘off the grid’?”
“Jo goes to dangerous places. She’s not someone who takes snaps of flowers and puppies, or adorable children. She goes into war zones and photographs human tragedy—life, death, and suffering. She takes risks.”
“Where was she the last time you heard from her? And when was it?”
“Kabul. September.”
Quinn sank into Rhys’s chair. There had been two deadly suicide bombings in Kabul just that month. “Oh God,” she moaned.
“Look, there’s no reason to suspect the worst. She’s done this before. She just goes off sometimes. She always comes back.”
“Has she ever been gone this long without checking in?”
“No,” Charles Sutcliffe admitted. “The longest was two months.”
