Noble Prince (Twisted Royals, #4)

by Sidney Bristol

  “The younger one, does she need to go, too?”

  “If necessary, yes. If she’s out of the way, no. She doesn’t know anything of value.”

  “What about collateral damage?”

  “Do I look like a woman who wants to know about collateral damage?” She gripped the handle of her cane harder.

  I’m sorry, Quinn...

  “No, you do not,” the man said. “I’ll take the job, but it’ll happen on my time table.”

  “So long as it’s before the convention, I don’t care.”

  She was signing the death warrant for not only Quinn, but the company her mama had built from the ground up. The guilt would eat at her for a while, but that was fine. She’d live long enough to experience it.

  “This is who my dad is. He does things and goes places I will never know about. His job, the mission, whatever he’s doing, it’s more important than us. Always has been.”

  Quinn hated those words, but they were the truth. Believing a fairy tale, that their father would miraculously remember he loved being a dad, wouldn’t solve their problems. In fact, it would likely create more. The only way Quinn was able to keep them out of the poor house was with the money their father earned. There was no use in denying it. They simply had to find another way to survive. Like they always had.

  At least she’d graduated from her days working as a maid after classes, just to make sure she finished school.

  “Sorry, that was...” She shrugged for lack of a better way to apologize.

  “I like to fix things. Faucets. People.” Owen spread his hands.

  “No wonder you picked us.” Quinn chuckled.

  Owen opened and closed his mouth. “It means I put my foot in my mouth sometimes.”

  “It’s okay. You’re different. You mean well. You actually do what you set out to do. We might be your charity project, but you don’t treat us that way.”

  “You’re not.”

  “It’s not an insult.”

  “I care about you and Kierra.”

  Quinn bit the inside of her mouth and dug her nails into her calf.

  They were just words.

  He didn’t mean them how she might want him to. If she were interested in that. Not that she was. Maybe?

  “If you think it’ll help, go ahead and ask questions.” Quinn shrugged and latched onto the change of topic.

  “Hey, I’ve got a random idea.” Owen’s eyes had a dangerous twinkle in them.

  “What?”

  “You might hate it.”

  “Okay...”

  “I noticed Kierra’s bed is a little small for her.”

  “Yeah, she needs a big girl bed.” Quinn managed to hold back her wince. Beds cost money.

  “Well, I know a guy who runs an antique shop. He owes me a favor. He might be able to hook us up. Interested?”

  “I don’t know. Antique shops sometimes over-charge.”

  “Not this guy. Besides, it doesn’t look like you’re making progress, and when I’m stuck on a case, it helps to go do something totally unrelated.”

  He did have a point. Plus, it would be nice to have some purely adult company for a while.

  “I’ll go get changed.” Quinn gathered the pages and took them to her bedroom.

  The research notes got locked in the top drawer of what used to be her mother’s roll top desk. Even if they were copies, they were somewhat valuable and incredibly sentimental.

  She turned to her closet and surveyed the more than boring assortment of work clothes and her mom regalia. It was...well, her tiny wardrobe was disappointing. Looking at the shirts, none of them said I’m a single, attractive woman. Which was ridiculous thing to care about.

  Owen, no matter how well intended, was merely docking in their lives for the moment. He wouldn’t stay, but when he left, they would miss him. Somehow he’d wormed his way past her walls. She didn’t resent his involvement with them now. It simply was.

  “Why am I being so stupid?” she muttered to herself.

  Quinn grabbed a pair of jeans she’d hacked off at the knees, her flip flops, and a plain, black tank top. It wasn’t a stunning outfit, but was comfortable. She scraped her hair back into a bun, armed herself with her purse, phone and charging cable.

  Owen had wiped down the counters and cleaned out the coffee pot by the time she was ready. The blinds were down, curtains drawn.

  “Ready?”

  “Sure.”

  He took the lead, ushering her out of her own house and locking up behind them. Giving him the spare key had seemed like a no brainer. What was more, it didn’t feel like an invasion of privacy, either. What was happening?

  Quinn rolled the idea around in her head, more concerned about her lack of bother over the whole thing.

  A week ago she’d have been up in arms about a dozen things that she’d let slide today. Was it Owen? Was he wearing her down? Or was he just different than anyone else?

  He opened the passenger door to his car and held it for her while she got in. Because that was the kind of thing Owen did.

  Quinn watched him walk around the front of the car.

  Some of the guys who’d been at Delilah’s infamous Princess Party had let the costumes wear them. Oh, each guy had their own style and personality, but that first time dressed up, they hadn’t all owned it.

  Owen, on the other hand, he’d breathed Prince Charming.

  He was the real deal.

  A great guy with a heart of gold. Any girl would be lucky to have him around, but he was out of place in her life. Or maybe he wasn’t.

  She hated that they were both hitting a low point together, because she had nothing to offer a guy like him.

  But Owen was with her.

  And today, well, maybe she could stop being a tightly-wound grump for all of an hour, and actually enjoy his company.

  “This friend, how’d you meet him?” she asked.

  “Oh. Someone sold him a trunk with a body in it.” Owen grinned.

  “You...you’re kidding, right?”

  “No.” Owen laughed and shook his head. “To date, it is one of the weirdest cases I’ve worked. Don’t worry, he checks all incoming merchandise for dead people now.”

  “Oh my god.” Quinn covered her mouth, laughing. “Well, who did it? What happened? How’d it get there?”

  Owen vowed her to secrecy before regaling her with the highlights of his case. He told the whole story, the animated way he spoke was enchanting. By the time they reached the antique shop she’d laughed and cried. It was the most absurd whodunit she’d ever heard.

  “Here we are. Roger’s Antiques, certified clean of any dead bodies.” Owen eased into a parking spot.

  Quinn snickered and popped her seatbelt.

  “Hold on a second,” Owen said.

  “What?” Quinn blinked at him, but he was already out of the car, jogging around to her side.

  This wasn’t a date. He didn’t have to get her door or drive her around.

  Stop thinking about it and enjoy it.

  Owen opened her door and held out his hand.

  She put her palm in his. It was a friendly touch, nothing out of the ordinary at all. And yet... Had the temperature gone up? Why did her stomach feel so funny?

  “Let’s see if Roger’s here?” Owen closed the car and locked it before placing his hand on Quinn’s back, guiding her toward the door.

  She stepped through the doors into the barn-like antique store. The ceiling went up forever with all sorts of chandeliers, light fixtures and...things...hanging from it.

  Was that a dinosaur skeleton?

  “Oh, hey, Roger.” Owen waved at the skeleton.

  “That’s Roger?”

  “He was one of the props on the original Jurassic Park movie.” Owen grinned. “Do you want to browse a little or go straight to the beds?”

  “We can look some.” She peered around, not sure where to look next.

  “I’d like to go upstairs, if you don’t mind?”
>
  “You lead the way.”

  Owen grabbed her hand. He practically vibrated with excited energy that was contagious. What was upstairs?

  They climbed to the open, second-floor loft. He led her to a display case full of tin toy trains. Owen dropped her hand and crouched in front of the case.

  “That one’s new,” he said.

  Quinn knelt next to him and studied the shiny red-and-yellow train set that seemed to have captured Owen’s attention.

  “I grew up out in the middle of nowhere—”

  “Farm boy, I remember.”

  “As you wish.” He lifted a shoulder.

  Be still my beating heart.

  “We used to get carted over to our grandparent’s house when my parent’s had to cut hay, or if there were a bunch of calves being born all at once. Whatever it took to get us out of their hair. Anyway, my grandpa had these tin toy trains. They were handed down through the family. They got beat up, of course, but I always loved them. The idea of jumping on a train and seeing where it would take you.”

  Quinn didn’t look at the trains, she watched him. The way his face lit up.

  “Sorry, this is probably the most boring thing in the world to you.” Owen glanced at her.

  She studied the locomotive. Part of the front was dented, but it was otherwise in what appeared to be good condition. “I don’t have a train in my life. I mean, I don’t really have those same, fond extended family memories. Mom hired a nanny pretty fast after I was born, Dad was gone, and Mom didn’t like spending too much time in the boonies with Dad’s family. Kierra goes to see her grandparents pretty often. She has more of a relationship with them than I ever will.”

  “You have the basement, inventions with your mom.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do.” Quinn stared at the light reflecting off the tiny plastic windows in the train. “I have a piece of a solar panel my mom made framed in my room. She carved her name into it. That’s why I kept it.”

  “It’s special. And probably a lot more reasonable than a guy who likes to occasionally collect toy trains.”

  “It’s cute.”

  “Yeah, well, if I have to move back home, I fully expect my little brother is going to give me shit about it.”

  “Move?” Quinn whipped her head around to stare at him so fast she sat down on her hip.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t imagine I’ll be able to find work here. Back home, at least I’m that King boy everyone knows. The town’s too small to have a homicide department, so I’d be back on patrol, if they even have a spot open for a washed-up detective like me.”

  “What? No.” Quinn shoved up to her feet, hands clenched into fists. “I know you didn’t share all the details about why you’re being fired, but no. You are not someone who gives up. You’re good at what you do. People like you. They trust you. Because you’re a good person, Owen King. Giving up and leaving because of whatever bullshit reason you’re getting fired for? No.”

  Owen rose up, looking at her with a funny expression on his face.

  The shop was far too quiet.

  Her hands were shaking.

  It was a wholly unreasonable, extreme reaction, and yet—Quinn had given up what she wanted to do, what she’d been good at, to do what had to be done. Owen didn’t have the same kind of demands on his life. He didn’t have a kid brother to raise, people to tend to. He could take a chance, fight for what he wanted, and he should. Because when dreams died, they took a part of the person with them that was simply gone forever.

  Quinn glanced away. “You’re good at what you do, Owen. This, being a cop, it’s been your dream. I had to give up my dreams for my family. I don’t regret it, but I wish it could have been different. Please, don’t give up?”

  “Give up your dreams?” Owen chuckled. “You’re a snazzy inventor. That’s a pretty awesome life.”

  He...

  What?

  He didn’t really think...

  “Hey?” Owen hooked his fingers around hers and edged closer. “I’m not going anywhere any time soon. That’s just a backup plan.”

  He tucked a wayward piece of hair that’d escaped her bun behind her ear.

  Even that small, kind gesture left ripples across her soul.

  She opened her mouth, but her disbelief had stolen her words. She couldn’t pretend she was something she wasn’t. Not even for him.

  “You have this way of talking sometimes...” His gaze searched her face, for what, she didn’t know but she hoped he found it. “You sell yourself short, propping other people up. You’re more than that.”

  “Is this pep talk hour?” She could use it for what she was going to say.

  “If it is, we should make a regular date of it.”

  Quinn swallowed, suddenly aware of just how close he was. If she breathed too deep, they’d have full body contact. Owen twined the same piece of hair he’d swept back around his finger. He wasn’t backing up.

  She stood frozen to the spot, her mind blanking out. The little revelation she’d had about Owen’s perception of her life faded away. In the scheme of things, what she did wasn’t what defined her. It was the choices she made, and right now, she wanted him to kiss her.

  He leaned down, his breath warm on her skin.

  “This is the one chance you’ve got to tell me no,” he whispered.

  Quinn couldn’t make her mouth work, which was likely for the best. Anything she’d say would only embarrass her.

  Owen cupped the back of her head and she rocked forward. A zing of need went through her, and she pressed her toes against the spongy material of her flip-flops in an effort to ground herself. He let go of her hand and wrapped the arm around her waist, tugging her closer. There was nothing hurried about his kiss. His lips moved against hers, slowly. She flattened her hands against his chest and curled her fingers into the fabric until she fisted his T-shirt.

  Life was in his kiss.

  She wanted more of it.

  Below them, the bell on the door jangled.

  Owen broke the kiss but didn’t let her go. She buried her too-warm face against his chest and he kissed her brow.

  Holy shit.

  She needed a relationship, even a fling, like she needed another bill on her plate. But a kiss like that? Might just be the best thing since her newly-fixed sink.

  Hansel adjusted the airflow on the AC unit while reading over the obituary with the other.

  How was it not obvious to anyone else that Julia Schaeffer’s death was not natural? Even the worst diseases didn’t act that fast. Someone had killed the girl’s mother. For what reason or purpose, that wasn’t Hansel’s concern. What it told him was that his target was potentially valuable. He’d have to make sure to get a good look around before he did anything to the place.

  The obituary went into the pile of known information.

  Quinn Schaeffer shouldn’t be too hard to kill, but he’d toy with her first. That would drive Owen King mad.

  Hansel pinned a photograph of the now-former detective to the hotel wall.

  He’d go for the girl first, make Owen suffer. Figure out who and what else the detective cared about, and then Hansel would dispatch Owen.

  Hansel’s brother would be proud.

  9.

  Quinn bustled into the house, keeping her eyes forward. Her cheeks were warm, and it was hard to breathe. Her whole body tingled with awareness.

  Very soon, she’d come crashing back to earth and the full realization of what’d happened this morning would hit her with all the weight of parental responsibility, but right now she didn’t much care. At least not about what they’d done.

  Letting Owen continue to believe that she had followed in her mother’s footsteps was chipping away at her giddy high. What her friends were about to say, that wasn’t exactly something she could control.

  She’d let Owen buy Kierra a bed.

  A bed.

  And not just any bed, the antique white one with pink flowers painted all along the whimsical
ly carved headboard and footboard, with a detachable canopy. Owen had pegged it as the one bed Kierra would love above all others.

  It was fit for a princess.

  He was right.

  And she’d said nothing as he laid down cash to buy it.

  Quinn had no idea how much it’d cost, or the mattress, which the antique shop had still in the original plastic. Someone had offloaded it for a steal and the shop owner didn’t want it taking up space. She’d been too busy reeling over yet another Owen kiss to put a stop to it. They were sneaky things that started innocent enough and led to weak knees, jumbled thoughts and a racing heartbeat.

  She stepped through the front door and smiled.

  Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong.

  Taylor and Chloe sat on the sofa, eyes large as saucers, while the sounds of three girls playing echoed down the hall.

  “I can’t wait to hear what happened to you,” Chloe said without the decency to keep her volume down.

  “Sh.” Quinn laid her finger across her lips.

  “You cannot do that to me,” Chloe whined, holding up her coffee mug like an offering.

  “Both of you, hush.” Quinn slashed her hand through the air.

  She didn’t know what was happening between her and Owen, only that it was changing. She wasn’t ready for change. She didn’t handle it well. Hell, she was still adjusting to being friendly with Owen. What was she going to do about kissing Owen?

  The front door swung open, and Owen himself backed in, carrying the end of the white frame.

  “Good lord, did you already break your bed?” Chloe leaned forward, completely bemused.

  “Chloe!” Quinn stared at her friend, wide-eyed and horrified.

  “Watch the door.” Owen grunted under the weight of the solid-wood bed frame.

  Quinn scrambled to hold the door while Owen and the delivery guy from the shop wrestled the biggest pieces of the frame through the front room and down the hall. Quinn, Chloe and Taylor stood back and watched the marvel of the male form at work, hefting and maneuvering the pieces through Kierra’s door without so much as bumping the pictures that had hung on the wall since her mother put them there.

  “Wow, I really hate my brother’s friends.” Chloe sighed.