“Really? Huh. I’d move him in, if I were you. That eye is lookin’ pretty gnarly.”
“Thanks for the reminder. Anyway, Owen is not staying here and nothing is happening between us.”
“Do we get to vote on it? Because if we do,” Chloe held her hand up, “I think you should get laid.”
“Chloe!” Quinn glanced at the stairs and swallowed.
“Come on, Quinn. Owen’s kind of hot when he’s got that five o’ clock shadow goin’ on.”
“If you think he’s so hot, why don’t you date him?” Quinn didn’t want to examine the irrational urge to push her friend over a statement about a man’s attractiveness.
“Because I don’t date my brother’s friends and as attractive as Owen is, he’s not my type.” Chloe smiled, her cool blue eyes twinkling.
They weren’t the same as Owen’s. Owen’s were...icy, at times. So cold they could cut, but also refreshing. Like the first snowfall in winter. He made her want to snuggle closer, always nearer, and never leave.
“And what? He’s my type?” Quinn frowned.
“You said it, not me.” Chloe grinned.
“How’s Delilah?”
“Good. She just needed a little company is all.”
“Was Stacey not around?”
“Stacey was home. Delilah loves Stacey, but she’s not Kierra. Sometimes she just needs her best mate.” Chloe’s smile was easier, relaxed. The procedure must have gone well. “Owen, hm?”
“No.” Quinn shook her head.
“Come on.”
“No. You’re terrible.”
“Fine.” Chloe sighed. “Is he stayin’ here, for now, then?”
Quinn chewed her lip. They hadn’t talked about it, but if he was right and it wasn’t her father the thief had wanted to get to, maybe having someone around to take on the bad guys wasn’t a terrible choice. At the very least, Kierra might sleep easier. Quinn hated to admit it, but she would, too, with Owen near. She couldn’t keep asking him to sleep on the sofa, though.
Chloe began humming the Jeopardy theme song, which Quinn ignored.
The only other place for Owen to sleep would be her parent’s room. She kept the master shut up most of the time, though she did air it out occasionally. Change the sheets. Dad never did warn them when he was coming. He was just there.
“Do you think he’d be okay staying in Dad’s room? Or is that weird?” Quinn asked.
“That’s perfect. A nice, big bed, all to himself.” Chloe sighed.
“I hate you. Leave. Now.”
“You don’t hate me.” Chloe laughed and wrapped her arms around Quinn’s shoulder’s. “Do yourself a favor and shave.”
“I am not sleeping with your brother’s friend.” No matter how much her body was signaling otherwise. They’d just had an awfully close call that highlighted to her why this wasn’t a good idea.
“I’m goin’ to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Chloe grinned and walked toward the stairs. “I need to live vicariously through someone else’s sex life, and Taylor is out. Love her like a sister, but not enough to hear about my brother gettin’ off. I already hear too much as it is.”
Quinn followed, flipping off the lights as she went. She was too tired to make heads or tails of things tonight on the battery. A good night’s rest would solve most of her problems, and tomorrow she could tackle try number three hundred and whatever.
They emerged from the basement to the sounds of Kierra and Owen chatting away at each other. Chloe cast not so subtle glances Quinn’s way. Owen was so good with Kierra. Patient. Kind. All of which were reasons she should keep her distance from him. If she dated Owen, or even slept with him, things would change. She wasn’t built for frivolous sex. And then what about Kierra?
No, it was better to not go there. He could sleep in Dad’s room, he could watch over them, if that was what he wanted to do, but it was for Kierra. And not Quinn.
Quinn would look after herself, as she’d been doing. Now was not the time to fall into some man’s arms simply because he was there, and definitely not two weeks before what might be the biggest event of her career.
He’d said it himself, anything worth having was worth working for, and sometimes that meant walking away from what looked good on the surface.
Her bones hurt worse tonight. She hadn’t thought it was possible. Then again, stress did some nasty things to the body.
She’d waited a full twenty-four hours for this.
The asset in training was dead. She’d received the all-clear signal over lunch. And now, well, she’d kicked the hornets’ nest, that was for sure.
Her time was fast running out.
This was it.
She was going to hire a professional.
Finding someone was an awful lot like bringing home a mutt from the pound. She never knew what she was really getting in bed with, what their training was, the pitfalls, any of it. And it wasn’t like she was hiring for a snatch job either. Whoever did this would likely have to handle Quinn Schaeffer, because Lord knew she couldn’t. No matter that her own life was at stake, she couldn’t bring herself to personally harm Quinn. She’d already bugged the girl’s computer and phone. Whatever she said, wherever she went, was known to them.
God, what a mess.
She’d tried to shepherd Quinn out of this industry. She’d done her best, but Quinn was a determined soul. Now, Quinn’s blood would be one of many staining her hands.
At least she’d tried.
She fired up the laptop she kept in the crawlspace below the house and waited. The thing was ancient, but damn well near hack-proof. While the laptop booted up, she pulled out her phone. She’d need a recent photo of Quinn, something clear as day.
Unlike most modern girls, Quinn wasn’t all that active online. Likely because she didn’t have the time, bless her.
When was the last picture she’d even seen of Quinn?
That birthday party.
With all those men dressed up in ridiculous outfits.
She did a quick internet search, which yielded dozens of articles—with pictures. She nearly cackled. Oh, this was too easy. She had her target photo and her cipher, all in a link. It was brilliant!
The laptop finished booting up, so she set the phone and her pad of paper aside.
In the old days, you had to know someone to hire a man for a job. In these modern times, all she had to do was know how to access certain dark corners of the internet. It was child’s play. Anyone could do it.
It was really a wonder that more people weren’t doing it.
She found the right spot, a sort of hidden door to a secretive part of a forum on one of the far-flung bits of the interweb. Her message looked like a bunch of gibberish, but to anyone with training, anyone she’d want to work with, they’d see it for what it was.
An advert for a killer.
6.
Owen sat between his boss and the head of Internal Affairs, watching his career go down the drain. He’d already been told to shut up or risk getting thrown out of the single most important meeting about his career.
“The FBI issued a congratulatory letter. They’re thanking us.” The Captain paced behind his desk.
“Detective King chose to participate in activities that do not reflect well on the badge.” The head of IA wouldn’t even look at Owen anymore.
“You’re—what?” The Captain stopped and stared at the other man. “Making an example of him for doing a good thing?”
“We are setting the standard for your department.”
“You’re putting a good detective down.”
The two men glared at each other.
Owen bit the inside of his mouth and dug his fingernails into his palms.
He knew they had dirty cops. Once the shit with Jaxon, Yuri Gabor, and the FBI went down, it was glaringly obvious that there were cops on the take. From the worst scum on the planet.
Those cops knew it.
Owen knew it.
And now, so did
others on the force.
He had to wonder, was he sitting in the room with one of those dirty cops? Was his career on the line because he’d decided to wear the white hat and do something good, instead of follow the rules? How many others would lose their jobs?
“Captain, the ultimate decision about Detective King’s misconduct is up to you. I can’t fire him, but your choice will reflect on you. Think about that.” The IA suit tucked his notebook under his arm, got up and exited the office.
Owen stared at the floor, the war of right and wrong clashing between his ears.
He’d willingly done what he shouldn’t, in the name of saving an innocent woman law-enforcement had failed. Numerous times. That wasn’t on anyone but Owen.
His captain was one of the good guys. The really good ones. If he went to bat for Owen over this, it would paint a target on both their backs. Owen already had one on him because he knew there were dirty cops. If the captain pressed for an investigation, he’d become next on the list.
“I can’t let you put your job on the line for me.” Owen lifted his gaze. “You’re going to be chief someday, if this doesn’t derail you.”
“Owen—”
“Don’t tell me it’s the right thing to do, or you’d do it because I’m good at my job, or any of it.” He leaned forward. “Look, we both know someone is covering their ass here. This is politics. It’s playing the system. Yes, I broke the rules. I am in direct violation of the code of conduct. But, if you go forward with firing me, you cover your ass. You can find out who the bad cops are.”
“I can’t let you fall on this sword, Owen. You’re too good.”
“You’ll find someone else. You know I’m right.”
“I don’t have to like it.”
“That’s what makes you a great captain. It’s what’ll make you a good chief.”
“Fine.” The captain grimaced. “Don’t do anything for a while. I’m going to try my best to get you the whole severance package, and a copy of the FBI letter. You have to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“You’ll find another department, somewhere that will have you. You’re too good of a detective to quit.”
Owen wasn’t so sure about that, but he wasn’t in a position to argue with his captain.
“It’s a deal.” He stood and shook his captain’s hand. “You have my shield and my gun. I guess...there’s nothing left but to clean out my desk.”
“Actually...”
“Right.” Owen sighed. If this was the route they were going, he couldn’t do that. “Can Wu and Morgan at least walk me out?”
If he was escorted out of the station with his friends, most people would assume they were going out for lunch, not that he was being let go. That would take days still, maybe weeks, but there was no use in denying that the gig was up.
Owen was no longer a detective.
He wasn’t anything.
His gaze zeroed in on the captain’s desk, following the wood grain.
He’d always known he wanted to be a cop. He’d taken college courses while in high school, cramming in all of his classes and graduating in half the time, all so he could get into the police academy, ready to work his way up. Because he wanted to get on patrol so he could clock the necessary number of years to move up to being a detective. He’d had a plan for his life, and...now what?
“I’m sorry, Owen. I’ll go get Wu and Morgan.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
Inside, he was numb. He’d known there would be consequences, but he hadn’t truly thought them through. What it meant for his career. All he’d wanted to do was the right thing.
And now he had nothing. Nothing at all.
He could pick up and start again somewhere else, but this would follow him. It would be a black mark on his career, potential employers would turn him down, others that wouldn’t entertain the idea of hiring him.
That didn’t even take into consideration that he’d be leaving behind the life he’d created for himself here. For the first time, his friends weren’t just cops. He’d become part of a group that reminded him there was more to life than the badge, but that shield defined who he was. Without it, who was he? What did he do?
Owen was nothing.
He had nothing.
It wasn’t fair. The suspension, yeah. He agreed with that. But firing him over misconduct that resulted in saving lives and a FBI commendation? Someone was covering their ass at the expense of honest cops.
Internal Affairs?
Someone higher up?
If Owen found out...
He curled his hands into fists.
The office door opened and the captain stepped in.
“They’re ready for you,” he said.
Owen gathered the growing rage and shoved it down deep. Acting on his emotions would only further the case. He would not do anything which might add fuel to the fire.
He paused at the door, staring into the eyes of the man who’d welcomed him to homicide.
“I’m not going to fight you firing me. It’s the right thing for you to do. But, I’m going to find out who is covering their ass. Someone is trying to hide their illegal activities and they hope this shuts me up. It won’t.”
“I’ve got this. You figure out what your next move is.” The captain slapped Owen on the shoulder, but his eyes were sad.
Owen turned to the two patrol officers he’d gone through the academy with. Owen had been best man at Morgan’s first wedding. Wu had helped Owen refinish the floors in his house. These were people he’d known for a third of his life. And now they likely wouldn’t see each other again.
“Come on, guys. Let’s get this charade over with, shall we?” Owen led the way through the building, past familiar faces, walking the gauntlet of memories.
He’d lost his lunch in that trash can after his first truly horrific case.
He’d sat next to victims’ families on that bench.
That was the spot Blake had pegged him with a pie for charity.
Over there, he’d shaved his head with six other officers, in a show of support for one of their own who’d been diagnosed with cancer.
This building contained his life. Who he’d been. Without it, he wasn’t sure what came next. Who he was. What he would do.
Wu and Morgan didn’t try to cheer him up or broker false words of peace. They let him be, which Owen appreciated.
He pushed the double glass doors open and stopped short.
Blake leaned against the top of the rail, hands in his pockets.
“Hey, Owen,” Blake said.
“Owen?” Morgan slapped him on the shoulder and then held out his hand. “It’s been an honor, man.”
“Thanks.” Owen’s throat was oddly tight.
Wu didn’t say anything. He merely nodded, his expression stony.
Owen had no idea what they knew, and it wasn’t his place to tell them. If those guys knew there were dirty cops on the force, there’d be hell to pay. No one won when the good guys went after each other instead of the bad guys.
He’d have to take care of this one on his own.
Wu and Morgan left Owen standing there on the front steps to the building they’d all reported to for years.
He almost didn’t want to move. As though being here would postpone the inevitable.
Owen wasn’t a cop anymore. He was nothing.
He stared at the gray stone that made up the stairs.
“You’re lost right now.” Blake’s shadow fell across the spot Owen was staring at, his voice pitched low. “You’re wondering how you’ll go on, what you’ll do with yourself. In a little bit, you’re going to get pissed. Angry enough you’ll likely do something you will regret, if you hang around here long enough.”
“What are you doing here, Blake? Come to rub it in?”
“No. Captain thought I might, I don’t know, help you put things into perspective. Like I said, there is a life after the badge.”
“Not for me there
isn’t.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it on the drive over to Trinity?”
“That’s the last place I need to be.” All the people, the questions, and not to mention the temptation to drink himself stupid.
Owen needed to...do something. Be useful.
“If you need a ride, I’ll drop you off.” Owen pulled his keys out and headed for his car.
Except the key to the Charger wasn’t on the ring anymore. He’d given that to the Captain already.
He was stranded.
“Where you want to go?” Blake asked, the jingle of his keys sharp.
Quinn’s neighbor had remarked about the brush in their yard, encroaching on the property line. That was at least something useful he could do.
“I guess I need to go home and get my own damn car.” The one he barely drove because he was always working.
“Come on.”
Neither spoke on their way to Blake’s ride. It wasn’t the beat-up, old sedan he’d bought following his wreck six months ago. Where the hell was Blake getting the money for new cars?
Owen dropped into the passenger seat.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Blake glanced at him.
“What?”
“Me driving. You always drove.”
Owen grunted, but otherwise didn’t respond.
This whole day was surreal.
Getting fired.
Blake showing up, much less driving and talking to Owen.
What next?
“Mother fucker,” Blake stomped on the brakes as a car zipped by.
“They’re looking for a ticket to the court house.”
“Did you know that a motorist will curse an average of thirty-two thousand times in their life while driving?”
Owen snorted.
“Where do you get this shit?” he asked.
“Just making conversation. That number seems a little low to me, don’t you think?” Blake merged with traffic, aiming for Owen’s house.
“Captain call you yesterday so you’d know to be here today?” Owen stared out of the window as tiny droplets of water splattered the windows.
“No, when he called I was already here,” Blake said softly. “Sally in records has been keeping me updated. I know you. I know what went on. I just...figured you might need a friend close by today. I hate being right sometimes.”
Noble Prince (Twisted Royals, #4) Page 7
