And about what Quincy and I didn’t say this morning on the drive back to LA from San Luis Obispo.
He’d slept on the couch last night, which I suppose was to be expected, but I’d hoped that we would talk more on the drive. He clearly has demons to exorcise, and I wanted to help. But he’d been mostly silent, and when he did speak, it wasn’t about last night’s revelations—or his trip to the dark side—at all.
Instead, we’d talked about Emma and the princess and the details of the investigation. We’d both wondered how her pursuers had found the cabin. The place was completely off the grid, and yet the bad guys had made it there before us. And not by much, considering that the ground had still been smoldering when we arrived.
“Even if they somehow hacked her phone, there’s no way they could have interpreted that message. I mean, even Marissa didn’t get it, and she’s been to the place.”
“It’s possible they have surveillance on her,” Quincy had said. “If they worked fast after she took Ariana, they may have managed a tail.”
“Then why not grab them sooner?”
“I don’t know,” he’d admitted, the truth of that statement frustrating us both.
I frowned, another question occurring to me. “Why ping Marissa?” I asked. “Why wouldn’t Emma text me? Actually, never mind. She thinks I’m on that cruise.”
“Even if she didn’t, she might not text you. My guess is she wanted to keep her baby sister out of it.”
I made a scoffing noise, but I knew he was right. “Did you ever hear back about the satellite?” He’d called somebody from the ranch, and I had a fantasy that even now NASA had a giant space laser pointed at the bad guys.
“Unfortunately, that’s a dead end. There were no satellites tasked over that location, and no way to re-task one quickly enough to be any use to us. And as for traffic cameras, we have analysts reviewing feeds from the area, but this isn’t Los Angeles, and there aren’t as many cameras set up.”
“Great.” I’d slunk back in my seat, disappointed.
“At least we know about the truck.”
I nod, because that’s something. About half an hour before we arrived on site, the owners of the ranch house called the local police to report that their Ford F-150 pickup truck had been stolen right out of the driveway. “But Emma’s too smart to keep it for long. Which means that unless a cop or a camera pick them up soon, that clue will be useless.”
“True,” he’d said. “But at least we know they got off the ranch.”
I’d nodded, because that was something, and we’d spent the rest of the ride in silence with Quincy thinking God only knows what, and me having long conversations in my head about what happened to him and how to deal with it, and how if he’d just let me help him, we could get through it together.
In my head, it worked out great.
In the car, I said nothing as classic rock blared all the way back to Los Angeles.
We made a pit stop at Quincy’s apartment to change clothes, then headed to Malibu, having gotten Ryan’s message about Prince Michel while we were en route.
Since Emma’s place had been ransacked, until all this was resolved, I was to be Quincy’s permanent houseguest. I did tell him that I was sure I could bunk with Denise if he’d rather. Considering how much last night had freaked him out, I thought he might prefer me gone.
“No,” he’d said, and that one simple word had elevated my mood for half the journey.
Now, I hear chatter from inside the house and realize that the group must be returning from the garage. I stand, wanting to get a drink before the whole crowd rushes the bar.
I ask for a martini, then watch as the college-aged bartender expertly mixes it. It occurs to me that he must have been vetted—he’s at a billionaire’s house serving drinks to royalty—and I wonder if he does this kind of thing a lot or if he’s jumping up and down inside, desperate to get back to his friends and tell the story.
“You look amused,” Nikki Stark says as I step away from the bar with my drink. “I hope that means you’re having a good time.”
Damien’s wife is beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way. I know there was a ton of gossip about her and her famous husband back in the day, but to be honest I didn’t follow it at the time. Now, I don’t really want to track it down. I like her too much, and I hate the thought that she’d been dragged through the tabloids, especially since I’ve seen first-hand what a great couple they are.
Another woman joins us, looping an arm around Nikki’s shoulder as she sticks her other hand out to me. I take it, a little bit intimidated, not just by her manner but by the fact that she is stunning. Like, leading lady stunning. And the more that I think about it, the more I think I may have seen her on television.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says. “I had to skip out on work, but I couldn’t miss this.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “I mean, royalty. Honestly, Nicholas, you’ve come up in the world.” She hip-checks Nikki, who shakes her head, clearly bemused. “James, I’d like you to meet Eliza Tucker. Her sister—”
“—is the PI who rescued the princess from sex traffickers. I swear I want the story. Can you imagine what a coup it would be to do that interview and air it live?”
“Not the time, James,” Nikki says.
“Sorry. It’s not. I’m Jamie Archer by the way. Well, Jamie Hunter, but I still use Archer professionally.”
“Oh. Hi.” It all falls into place now that I realize she’s Ryan’s wife.
“Jamie and I have been friends since forever,” Nikki explains. “Don’t worry. She grows on you.”
“Like mold,” Jamie says dryly, and I laugh. I like both of them a lot. “Oh, here come the menfolk.”
Nikki shakes her head, looking like an exasperated mom, an expression I assume she has down since she and Damien have two little girls, both of whom are apparently staying with their aunt and uncle so as to be out of the way during the party.
As for menfolk, Jamie got that right. In addition to Quincy, I see Damien, Ryan, Prince Michel, two bodyguards, Dallas Sykes, and a man I was earlier introduced to as the FBI agent, Ollie McKee. He’d told Quincy and me that Lassiter was not only in custody, but that he was cooperating fully. It’s amazing what the carrot of a minimum security Federal pen will do when the punishment someone is staring at is hard time with the likes of murderers and mafia types.
I assume that the guys are simply coming to join me, Nikki, and Jamie for casual conversation and refreshed drinks. So I’m unprepared when the prince pulls ahead of the pack, marches straight toward me, and says, “You. Tell me about this woman who has absconded with my niece.”
“Absconded?” I repeat, looking from the prince to Quincy and then back to the prince. “Excuse me?”
Damien steps forward, then turns and makes the smallest of bows. “I’m sure Prince Michel misspoke. I imagine the word he was looking for was rescued.”
The prince crosses his arms. I get the impression he’s not corrected often.
He doesn’t apologize, but focuses again on me. “She is your sister?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I understand there was a fire. That she kept my niece safe.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why has she not made contact again?”
I glance to Quincy, but answer truthfully. “I don’t know.”
“Where would she go next?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Why should I trust that this … woman … can keep my niece safe?”
I prickle at his tone and his implications. “I don’t think you have much choice, sir, considering we don’t know where they are.”
His eyes narrow, and I’m sure I’ve angered him, but I can’t say I care. I don’t like him. And now I feel even sorrier for Ariana. I hope her father’s a nicer guy.
The prince stares me down, and then surprises me by nodding his head, just slightly. “You will accept my apologies. I am concerned for my niece’
s welfare. We owe your sister a great debt, of course. I simply fear that the longer they stay on their own, the more likely whoever is pursuing them will catch up. I would appreciate, Miss Tucker, if you could reassure me as to your sister’s ability to keep my niece safe.”
“Oh.” Okay, I like him better. “Emma’s a survivor, sir. She pretty much raised me. She’s taken every martial arts class imaginable, and she’s absolutely brilliant. She’s been working as a private investigator her entire adult life. And she’s very good with kids. She’ll take care of the princess, sir. And she’ll also keep the poor girl from getting too scared.”
I hope he doesn’t ask more. I don’t know why I didn’t mention that Emma worked in intelligence for years. After all, this guy must be in intelligence if he’s the director of security for his entire country. For that matter, he may already know about Emma. I consider that, fighting the urge to frown. Does he know I’m lying? Or if he does know Emma’s secret, would he just assume that I’m in the dark?
I don’t know. And all my meandering thoughts have done is reiterate that I am really not cut out for espionage. I can play a spy on television, but that’s as far as I want to go with danger and intrigue.
I smile at the prince, hoping it looks natural, then focus on Quincy. Not because he can help me, but because it calms me just to know he’s there.
Finally the prince gives another crisp nod. “Thank you for your honesty. I am relieved to know my niece is in good hands.”
Ryan had stepped back from the group to check a message on his phone. Now he steps to the front and addresses the prince. “Your highness, we’ve received word that Marius Corbu is in custody. With luck, we’ll know by the end of the day which of his lieutenants kidnapped your niece.”
20
“So give,” Dallas said as he followed Quince down the path toward Damien’s private tennis court. “What’s on your mind? By the way, I like Eliza. She’s stunning, too. Just like you said, what, three, almost four years ago?”
“Closer to five,” Quince said, then sat at the end of one of the lounge chairs set up along the perimeter of the court. Dallas pulled over a folding chair, straddled it like a teenager, and crossed his arms atop the backrest as he regarded Quince, those deep green eyes seeming to see all Quince’s secrets.
He and Dallas had been best friends since they were kids at St. Anthony’s, a prestigious boarding school just outside of London. Quince had gone there because his guardian found it easier to pack him up and ship him off. And Dallas had been sent all the way from the States because his father was convinced he needed to get his shit together.
They’d been at St. Anthony’s, in fact, when Dallas and his sister, Jane, had been kidnapped. Quince had even witnessed the abduction and hadn’t been able to do a goddamn thing to stop it.
As an adult, he realized that any attempt would have gotten him killed. As a kid, he’d felt the weight of guilt for years. And though Quince never learned all the gory details, his friend had confided in him enough that Quince knew that Dallas had been tortured. Brutally. Sexually. Emotionally. And that knowledge had only made Quince’s guilt that much heavier to bear.
That was one of the reasons why, when Dallas used his inherited billions to found Deliverance, Quince had signed on without question, his only caveat being that he wouldn’t betray MI6 by going behind its back. His father had been duplicitous, but Quince sure as hell wouldn’t be.
Because of the possibility for additional intel, his handler had agreed, and a complex dual identity had been born, with Quince being one hundred percent loyal to two different entities. With the exception of national security, he fully shared intel. The only thing he didn’t share with Dallas, in fact, was what happened during the Berlin mission. He’d told his friend only that it had gone south, he’d been injured, and that he needed to take some time off from Deliverance.
The truth was, he hadn’t wanted to burden Dallas with his pain. His friend had already been through so damn much.
But now…
Well, now he looked at Dallas and saw a man who had his shit together with a beautiful wife and a baby on the way. And damned if Quince didn’t want to understand how Dallas had pulled himself out of the dark.
“How’s Jane?” Quince asked. “I’m sorry she couldn’t make it. It’s been too long.”
Dallas practically lit up. “She’s great. Frustrated as hell since the doctor has her on bed rest, but she’s a trooper.”
“Tell her I said hello.”
Dallas shifted his arms so that he could rest his chin on his fist. “I will,” he said slowly. “So what happened to you and retirement? For a while there, you were thinking of quitting this crazy lifestyle. Stark make you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”
“Pretty much,” Quince admitted. “And I did leave MI6. Easier not to have two masters. Mostly I realized I like what I do. And it needs to be done.” He’d thought about Shelley. About all the victims he’d helped over the years. And he’d realized he didn’t want to leave that behind. The job was hard, but it was also the light that battled the darkness in him. And that, when it got bad, helped to hold back the monster that lived inside him.
“Glad to hear it. You’re too good at what you do to sit around doing jigsaw puzzles.”
“Well, yes, that was my retirement plan.”
Dallas cocked his head. “Are we done now?”
“Done?”
“With the bullshit small talk. Not that I mind catching up with you, but I don’t really think chitchat was what you had in mind when you asked me to take a walk.”
“No,” Quince said. He stood, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Honestly, I was wondering about Jane.”
Dallas’s brow furrowed. “Jane?”
“Did it help? Being with her, I mean. Did it help keep the memories away, or did it just make it that much worse.”
For a full minute, Dallas said nothing. Then he simply said, “Berlin. Motherfucker, what did they do to you in Berlin?”
Quince sat, his head in his hands, then looked up at his friend. “Did she help?”
“You should have told me back then. Christ, man. Why go through that alone?”
Quince didn’t answer. There wasn’t a bloody thing he could say at that point. And after a moment, Dallas nodded and stood, taking a few steps and then returning, as if he had to move a bit or go crazy.
“It helped,” he finally said, then made a scoffing sound. “Of course, getting together at all was the first hurdle. There are a few complications when you’re in love with your sibling.” He paused in front of Quince, his head tilted as he studied his friend. “But that was the key. We love each other. Do you love Eliza?”
“Yes,” Quince said, realizing how pathetic it was that he was telling Dallas that fundamental truth before telling the woman herself.
“And her? She loves you back?”
“She does.” He knew it. He’d always known it. And as far as he was concerned, the fact that she loved him was a minor miracle.
“Well, that’s the key. But it’s not a magic pill. You have to talk with her. You have to actually communicate. Scary stuff, right?”
Quince chuckled. “You could say that.”
Dallas flashed his famous grin, the one that had been on the cover of dozens of magazines over the years. “Speak of the devil,” he said, looking over Quince’s shoulder.
Quince turned, saw her walking toward them, and felt the warm swell of pleasure curl through him. It was love, all right. For better or worse, Eliza was in his heart.
“Nikki said she saw you two head this direction.”
“Do you need me?” He stood.
“Always,” she quipped, then turned to look at Dallas, too. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to both of you.”
“Fair enough,” Dallas said, taking his perch on the chair again as Quince gestured for her to sit on the chaise.
“I, um, well, the truth is I wasn’t entirely honest with the prince.”
Quince met Dallas’s eyes, and saw his own wariness reflected back at him. “Okay,” he said slowly. “How so?”
“When he asked about Emma and why she’s qualified to take care of Ariana, to keep the princess safe. Well, everything I told him was true. It just wasn’t the whole truth.” She grimaced. “I just—well, it wasn’t my place to say, but there might be a problem.” She looked between the two of them. “So I’m going to tell you.”
Quince held out his hand, and she took it, flashing him a small, trusting smile as she did so.
“You can tell us anything,” he said. “We’ll keep your confidence, and we’ll deal with it.” He looked up at Dallas, who nodded consent. “So what’s going on?”
She drew a breath, then said, “We ran away when Emma was fifteen. She—well, she pushed our father down the stairs. We honestly thought he was dead, and we ran. And then we lived on the street for years, bumming rooms in some really dicey neighborhoods, and Emma would do whatever she had to in order to provide for us. I was still pretty little.”
Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a breath and looked between them again, as if to see if they were shocked. She must have been okay with what she saw in their faces, because she continued. “Like I said, she did whatever she needed to make sure we were safe, and when she was eighteen, she—well, she killed someone. It was justified, I swear. He would have killed both of us without even blinking. But the cops tagged her, and she had a pretty stuffed juvie record at that point and, I don’t know, I guess they wanted to make an example.” Her voice broke, and a tear trickled down her cheek.
She squeezed Quince’s hand so hard he thought she’d crush his fingers. “They were going for the death penalty. And then, suddenly, all the charges went away. Her lawyer told me it was an evidentiary technicality, and I believed him. I was only eleven, and I was so happy that they weren’t taking my sister. But it wasn’t a technicality. She didn’t have to tell me the truth—she wasn’t supposed to tell me—but we’ve never kept secrets from each other. Not ever.”
“They recruited her,” Quince said, his voice little more than a whisper.
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 218