“I’ll handle it from here,” she said without looking up.
Owen braced his hand against the kitchen counter.
Here goes...
“I want to stick around,” he said.
“For what purpose?” Quinn peered up at him, those no-nonsense eyes of her cutting him down to size. She was barely out of college, and yet she had this air about her. Older than her years. More capable than someone twice her age. She was remarkable, a bit intimidating, but everyone needed someone. Owen wanted to be that someone. At least tonight.
Did he lay it out there for her?
Quinn, like Kierra, was wicked smart. If he didn’t tell them now, they’d figure it out later. Usually, he wouldn’t want to unnecessarily alarm a victim, but in their case, forewarned might help.
He pulled out a seat at the table and sat down, bracing his forearms on his knees. Quinn wasn’t going to like hearing any of it, and while he didn’t think sitting would make it go over any better, at least he wouldn’t be looming over her. Sometimes it was all about the delivery.
“What happened tonight...it’s highly unusual.” He kept his voice low on the off-chance Kierra hadn’t been asleep. He’d learned the hard way how Kierra’s memory worked. If she heard him say this, she’d never forget it. Ever. She was a walking, talking recorder. It didn’t mean she always understood what was said, but someday she might.
Quinn, on the other hand, didn’t seem surprised.
“What I’m saying is, whoever that guy is, he might come back.” Owen spread his hands out. “I’d like to stick around, be here just in case.”
“I’m fully capable of dialing 9-1-1, Owen.”
“Did you this time?”
“...no.”
“I’m guessing one of the guys did. What if they come back? What if it’s two of them? What are you going to do then?”
“Why do you care so much?”
Because it was the right thing to do. He opened his mouth and then closed it. It went deeper than that. Blake had pointed it out, otherwise Owen wouldn’t have realized the connection.
“I just do. I don’t want to see anything happen to either of you.” Besides, he was suspended without anything better to do. This would give him purpose.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Owen. I know you want to make things better, but have you considered that you’re making them worse?”
“Worse?” Where the hell did she get that idea from?
“Tonight... If you hadn’t been here...” Quinn’s mouth worked silently. She closed her eyes and shook her head, gathering herself. There were cops who couldn’t pull themselves together the way she could. “Thank you. For taking care of the window and calming Kierra down, but... What happens when you aren’t here? When you don’t answer the phone when Kierra calls anymore? What happens when you’re busy with your own life? Have you considered what happens then? How it will hurt Kierra? We have to figure out how to handle our own problems.”
Owen opened and closed his mouth again.
Where the hell had that come from?
Quinn set her pen down and turned to face him.
“I know you want to do the right thing, the good thing, but...maybe that’s not being here.” She delivered the line like she’d practiced it.
“If you don’t want me here, all you have to do is say so.” Owen tried to ignore the voice screaming in the back of his mind to stay. Instead, he stood and gently pushed the chair back into place.
Quinn stared up at him, the calm mask she wore for the rest of the world slipping. Those wide, dark eyes begged him to stay and he would. Under this roof or out in the yard. He wasn’t going anywhere, but he also wouldn’t force his way where he wasn’t welcome. Someone had broken into Quinn’s home, and she was trying to put it back in order. Regain some semblance of safety. That included shoving him out the door. He wouldn’t stand in the way of that.
“That’s not what I said, Owen,” she whispered.
“Look,” he braced his hands on the back of the chair, “ever since we met, ever since Kierra told me what she was afraid of, you’ve been fighting me on this. Now, it happens, and you’re coming up with other reasons for me to not be here. Just say it. Say, Owen, I don’t want you here.”
Quinn stared up at him.
He could look into her eyes all night long.
They were captivating.
He’d never met anyone with so many flecks of color in their eyes. Browns, golds, a heck of a lot of green, some blue. Behind it all, there was a flickering flame, that intangible something that kept Quinn going. She was one of those strong-as-steel women, and he admired that strength a hell of a lot, but his gut screamed at him to stay.
Lines creased her brow and the corners of her mouth turned down. She wanted him gone but couldn’t bring herself to say it. He could take a hint. She’d been through enough he wouldn’t push her more.
“I’m going to go get my car. I’ll do a drive through the neighborhood, and I’ll be out of your hair.” He’d pull into the driveway of the house four doors down. It was for sale and he wouldn’t bother anyone there. “I’ll come back tomorrow and make sure the tools get back to your neighbor.”
Owen pushed off the chair.
“Good night, Quinn.” He turned toward the front door.
“Stop, Owen.” Her chair scraped against the floor.
He peered over his shoulder at her.
She’d let her hair down at some point. He hadn’t seen it down since the infamous princess party. The long, curling waves taunted him. He wanted to touch them, see if they were as soft as he imagined. Usually her hair was up in such a severe bun or ponytail it aged her. He liked her like this. Relaxed. Comfortable. The only thing he didn’t like was that shiner the bastard had given her. It was hard to make out on her tanned skin, but he’d become something of a study in the ways of Quinn. He saw the marks for what they were, and he hated them.
“You can sleep on the sofa, if that’s what you want. It’s not comfortable, and I’m likely to wake you in the morning.” She stared at his chest, eyes haunted. “But Kierra will sleep better if you’re here.”
“Quinn, if you don’t want me here, I’m not staying.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves. If I say that, you’ll leave and spend the rest of the night sitting in front of the house in your car.” She peered up at him, a strange smile curling her lips. He’d like it if he thought it had anything to do with him, but he was pretty sure it didn’t. “I...would also—stay? Please?”
“If that’s what you want.” He didn’t pump his fist. A sofa was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the front seat of his car.
“I want to go to sleep, wake up and realize tonight never happened, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?” She glanced up at him, her smile bitter.
Who in Quinn’s life had let her down?
Whoever he was, Owen hoped the bastard got his knees bashed in.
“I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow. It’s not going to be comfortable.”
Owen hadn’t been sleeping anyway. At least this way there was some good coming from his insomnia.
A few moments later, Quinn presented him with a quilt and pillow, both of which had seen better days.
“Sorry it’s not...nicer.” She shrugged.
“It’s perfect.” He tossed them on the sofa and turned back to Quinn.
Who did she tell her fears to? Or did she bottle them up inside? Something like this had to bring out the worry wart in all of them.
“You going to be okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said without hesitation or thought.
“It’s okay to be angry, scared, worried...”
“I’m fine, Owen.”
“Hey?” Against his better judgment, he reached out and gently wrapped his hand around her wrist, giving it a squeeze. “I’m worried about the two of you. I’m sorry if that’s coming out bad.”
“You’re fine. Everything is just fine.”
/> “I’m sure it is.” Fuck it. She’d probably kidney punch him, but his gut wasn’t often wrong. “Come here.”
He pulled Quinn’s wrist and she came to him slowly. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and tucked her head under his chin. Her body remained tense, rigid, but she didn’t push him away. He stroked her back from shoulder to hip and back again. The tension knotted under his hands was worse than anything he’d felt before.
Quinn had been strong for herself and Kierra for so long that she didn’t know how to accept help.
She bent her neck after a few moments, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Then she sucked in a deep breath that shook her body. That small tremor seemed to rattle her being. She muffled the sob in his shirt, and he pretended not to hear it. She was human, and she hurt. He closed his eyes, holding all the words he wanted to say inside. That wasn’t what she wanted, and he knew it. Words were cheap, it was action that carried weight with Quinn.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and she leaned into him, granting him these vulnerable moments. It was trust, of a sort, and it proved his theory.
Someone had hurt Quinn Schaeffer, and all those angry glares, the harsh words, they weren’t for him. They were for that other guy, the one who’d left scars on her heart. Owen might never wear her down, they might never be friends, but he wasn’t going to give up on her. Or Kierra. Quinn Schaeffer was stuck with him.
3.
A dark figure materialized out of the shadows.
She slid down deeper into her seat. These days were supposed to be behind her. She should be headed into retirement, not teaching a new batch of idiots how to wipe their asses.
The figure approached the side of the car, bent, and tapped his knuckle on the window.
She punched the button and the glass rolled down.
“You made yourself noticeable and a target. I should shoot you, just for that.” Her fingers curled and she had the urge for a cigarette again.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Don’t approach a car straight on again. You’ll get yourself killed and I don’t have the patience to train another replacement.” Working with these guys, that’s what drove her to start smoking in the first place. The government vetted people, tested them. Corporations picked the most readily-available bodies and tossed them her way. It wasn’t the same thing.
“Won’t happen again, ma’am.”
“It’d better not.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
“There was a...problem.”
“A problem? What do you mean a problem?” She gaped up at the man big enough to be the Jolly Green Giant’s stunt double. The big ones were always problematic.
“They weren’t alone.”
She stared at the man, cold fury taking root in her chest. These wanna-bes today, they just didn’t know how to get a job done right.
Fuck this. She wanted to look him in the eye without craning her neck.
She grabbed her cane from the passenger seat and pushed the driver’s side door open. The man had to scramble back to avoid getting hit in the balls.
“She didn’t have it, ma’am. Honest.”
She gripped the cane with one hand and straightened her spine. She crooked her finger at the man. The higher ups had something on him. Whatever it was, it would be bad. That’s how they roped her into doing this again and again. All she wanted to do was retire and tinker and leave behind this spy bullshit. But it kept haunting her.
Without the experimental lung treatments, she would die within the year. To get them, she had to wade back into this life for what was possibly the most soul-crushing job she’d ever had: to destroy the one woman she wanted to see succeed.
If it came down to Quinn Schaeffer or her, she’d kill Quinn herself.
It was the same decision she’d had to make about Julia Schaeffer all those years ago. Loving the family didn’t protect them. After all, if she didn’t look out for herself, no one else would.
The man grimaced and edged closer.
She smiled and beckoned him closer.
What an idiot.
Whoever had picked this one should be culled.
He got within striking distance. She grasped his ear like an errant child’s, twisting it.
“You can’t handle two girls? Children? She has the damn key. She’s told me she has it, but I don’t know where she keeps it. That was your job. This was your test, and you failed.” She tilted the cane toward him, until the end touched his shoulder, and pressed the button. She felt the snick of the coil releasing inside the handle.
The man flinched.
“Go on. Get out of here. You’re useless.” She released him.
In about two hours, the drug would cause a heart attack. A nice, neat way of taking care of loose ends. No one would be able to trace him back to her or the company.
“I’ll go back. I’ll—”
“You’ve had more than your fair share of chances. I’m done with you.” She folded her hands over the handle of the cane.
The man wavered.
That would be the epinephrine. She’d happened on including the tiniest bit of it in the dosage. It jump-started the fight or flight response. Most failures tended toward running away with their tail between their legs, that way they got wherever they were going to die faster.
“Please, give me one more chance. I’ll wait until they’re gone—”
“You idiot. Haven’t you been listening? The whole point was to make her tell you where the key is. You’re—what? Going to go in there and get every damn key under the roof? I don’t think so.” Good lord, she was going to have to do everything herself, wasn’t she? And at her age.
“Ma’am, please?” He took a step toward her, hands up. “You don’t understand, my—”
“And I don’t care to. You think you’re special? That you’re the only one they have by the balls? You ain’t. So, don’t please or one more chance me. Because you fucked up, it’s my ass on the line.” She jabbed her thumb at her chest.
If she didn’t produce results soon, they’d stop treatment on her lungs. If they stopped treatment, she’d die. And then the party was over. After her laundry list of crimes, people killed and so forth, she wasn’t looking forward to finding out if there was an afterlife. The key was to keep breathing. For however long possible. She knew what was at stake here.
“Get out of my sight.” She jerked the driver’s side door open and sank into the driver’s seat.
The man stood there, like a lost puppy, while she rolled up the window and shifted into drive.
Talk about shit storm.
It was like they’d intentionally sabotaged her.
Fuck.
This was a disaster of epic proportions.
She drove aimlessly for ten minutes, going over her options.
The first thing she had to do was inform the higher ups that their man would be dead shortly and recommend they clean any and all data regarding to his employment with them. That was plain courtesy. Besides, if they found out the hard way the guy was dead, it would be more difficult for her to sweet talk her way out of something else.
It might be time for the contingency plan, as much as she hated that. She’d done well using the tools and means at her disposal, and only what she was comfortable with. If she went with the contingency plan, if she hired a professional, it would be different.
She hadn’t done that since the war. Since she was young and pretty. Even the good ones forgot she was dangerous when she fluttered her eyelashes. These days, the only thing she had going for herself was the granny routine.
She’d only worked with people she’d trained for so long that the idea of auditioning someone, looking at resumes, was daunting, new territory. But if it meant she got to keep receiving the treatments, then so be it. This was her life. She wanted to keep living it, even if it meant killing the woman who was like the daughter she’d never had.
“Hand me that wrench, please?” Owen held out his h
and, never taking his eyes off the faucet.
“Um, this one?” Kierra gingerly placed the tool in his hand.
“That’s the one.” He used the pliers to hold the washer in place while he tightened the nut with the wrench.
The whole faucet needed to be replaced, but for now, this would solve the near-constant drip he’d listened to for most of the night. Quinn probably wouldn’t take too kindly to him making changes to her kitchen, and after last night, he expected her to be especially prickly, given that he’d seen her vulnerable, but a leak was something he could fix with his eyes closed.
“There we go.” He secured the lever in place again, then gestured to the fixture. “Give it a try. Let’s make sure it works.”
Kierra grinned and grasped the lever. She pumped it a few times, and when she turned it off it stayed off.
“No more drips!”
“Sh.” He laid his finger across his lips and winked. “Your sister’s still asleep.”
Kierra covered her mouth with her hands and smiled.
He was glad to see that the events of last night hadn’t stolen the child’s cheer. From his understanding, she’d hidden fast, which meant she hadn’t seen the man hit Quinn or any of the hallway brawl.
“What do you say we make breakfast, hm?” He leaned his forearm against the counter.
“We have cereal.” Kierra tilted her head.
“I was thinking more like...pancakes?”
“The stove broke.” Kierra’s shoulders slumped.
“Well, how about I look at the stove and see if I can fix it?”
He turned toward the stove. It’d been a while since he’d used an electric range, but not too long that he didn’t recall a few tricks. Judging by the age of the appliance and the blackened state of the burners, he was willing to bet the issue was in the connection from the heating element to the inner workings.
Electrical was out of his scope of knowledge but he could always try.
“Okay, first rule of stove fixing, never do it by yourself, okay?” Owen pulled the first element out and examined the connector. Sure enough, it was coated in grime and burnt bits of food. “I think we might get pancakes today.”
Noble Prince (Twisted Royals, #4) Page 3