“Forget about what I said. I’m a bitch, I don’t know what I’m talking about. You can’t give up. That’s not who you are.”
“I should probably be happy to not be in jail, or anything else.”
“The thing with Jax, Ian and the rest?”
He lifted his shoulders but didn’t offer further commentary.
She searched his face, looking for some reason, some source of it all.
“As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been the good guy. I...how could they fire you? What could you have possibly done wrong?”
“I did something I wasn’t supposed to, and these are the consequences,” he said.
“Bullshit.” Quinn marched around the bar and jabbed her finger against Owen’s chest. “You are the most frustrating, do-good kind of guy I’ve ever met. There’s like, no stopping you. Ever. And I’ve tried until I was blue in the face.”
Owen wrapped his hand around hers, firmly returning her hand to her side, but he didn’t let go of her.
“Drop it, please, Quinn?”
“No.” Her voice broke.
Couldn’t things just go back to the way they were? When Kierra called Owen to chase the monsters away, and then Quinn chased Owen out of the house? When things were simple, albeit strange?
“Quinn, if I don’t drop it, good people might end up hurt. It’s already taking every bit of my self-control to not fight this. It’s time to...figure out the rest of my life. When I’m stressed, I fix things. I clean. I fucked up today, I shouldn’t have—”
“Whatever. The yard doesn’t matter. What are you saying? People could get hurt? Owen?”
“I’ll make you a deal.” He held up his pinky. “You stop asking questions, and I’ll stop helping.”
She stared at his finger.
That was what she wanted.
It was what she’d come over here to tell him to do.
And now...
Owen was giving up a part of himself, his career, to keep being the good guy. She didn’t have to know more, the particulars didn’t matter, because she knew him.
“I’ll stop asking questions, and you’ll start acting like a guest in our house, deal?”
“A guest?”
“Kierra doesn’t sleep through the night without nightmares. Vivid ones. She slept when you were here, though. I want her to feel safe enough to sleep. At least for a few more nights.” And Quinn was beginning to enjoy his company. That was dangerous, but there was no going back.
“I’m not a good guest.” Owen lifted his hands and gestured to the countertops, still spotless. “I clean.”
“You may clean one area a day. That’s it.”
“I fix things, remember?”
“You may fix one thing a day. Only one.”
“I might try to kiss you again.” He smiled, some of the light coming back into his eyes.
“We can skip that part.” Heat crawled up her neck. She’d really rather not discuss that part.
“We could.” Why did he make that word sound like a challenge? He wiggled his finger at her. “Deal.”
This was a mistake, and yet...
Kierra slept safe and sound, and they had their own, personal hero on the premises.
Quinn knew what it was like to lose her dream. Having that yanked out from under her, it hurt. She knew that flat, dead look in Owen’s eyes because she’d been there. When Mom died, Quinn had to make choices about her future she didn’t like. Now, Owen would too. He’d have a long ways to fall, but maybe...maybe she could help him find his way. She might have nothing more to offer than a shoulder, but sometimes, when the world took everything away, a shoulder was an invaluable resource.
“Deal.” Quinn hooked her finger in his.
She glanced from their fingers to his face. Owen’s gaze was on her mouth. She could practically feel him tracing her lips. The brush of his skin on hers again. She sucked down a breath and rocked back on her heels.
“Hot chocolate’s getting cold,” he muttered.
“Right.” She swallowed. She’d dreamt about his kiss last night.
“I’m not going to kiss you now,” Owen said.
“Of course not, that would be silly.” Her cheeks heated. Part of her, a part with a steadily growing volume problem, wanted him to kiss her.
“No, I’m not going to kiss you because I’m pretty sure you’d kick me out right now if I did.”
Owen lifted their hooked fingers until he could press his lips to the back of her hand.
Quinn’s body was boiling from the inside out.
His lips caressed one knuckle, then the next. It wasn’t just a quick kiss. It was a caress. Sensual. Slow.
Owen opened his eyes, head tilted to the side.
She could kiss him. He was right there. His lips... She’d never really studied a man’s lips before. Owen’s were nice. The lower one fuller. They were generous, prone to smiling.
Kissing him wound be fun.
“Kierra’s home.”
“What?” Quinn struggled to wrap her brain around those two words.
“Kierra.” He nodded at the front windows. “She’s home.”
Quinn whirled toward the front door right as it burst open.
Her sister. Right. Her sister’s name was Kierra. And now she was here. Great. Awesome. Wonderful.
Hansel watched the youngest Schaeffer girl return home. The cameras were set up, doing their job. Before he made any decisions about how to move forward, he needed to know who—and what—he was dealing with.
Quinn and Owen were the targets.
The little girl, though? He’d never liked jobs with kids. Maybe that meant that deep down he had a heart or something, but he wasn’t going to kill the little girl to get at Owen. Even if that was what Hansel wanted most in this world.
8.
Four days later...
Owen smoothed the comforter back into place, leaving the room just as Quinn had showed it to him. When was that? How many days and nights had he spent under their roof?
He was losing track of time, burying himself in projects, things Quinn didn’t have time to deal with that were perfect busy work for Owen. It felt good to be useful. But it wouldn’t last.
They still hadn’t talked about the all-too-brief kiss in the basement. He didn’t know how to bring it up the right way. Teasing Quinn made her run away from him. Flirting got him the side eye of death. Maybe after Kierra left for her grandparents, he could pin Quinn down to talk about it. Figuratively, though he wouldn’t mind something more literal either.
There were times when Quinn looked at him like she wanted to wrap herself around him, and others when she was nearly in tears and on the verge of begging him to leave. Owen was even conflicted about staying now, and he hadn’t seen that one coming.
The deciding factor so far was Kierra. She’d slept through every night since the break-in without fail. But she was leaving tomorrow for her grandparents. Not because the cops working the case had found anything. Owen didn’t have to ask to know that the guys taking the calls had classified her as a nuisance. The one thing Quinn and Owen could agree on was that whoever had broken in, wasn’t done with the girls yet. That was why Kierra was leaving tomorrow.
He tiptoed to the bedroom door, listening once again for the sound of movement.
He’d slept later than he’d intended, but it was Saturday. The day made for lazy mornings.
Still no noise.
He twisted the knob and crept out, shutting it quietly behind him.
He inhaled, catching a whiff of coffee.
Shit, had he forgot to turn off the programmed start?
Owen padded down the hall, past the closed bedroom doors, into the main living space. The curtains were open, blinds up, early morning light streaming in. He had to squint, it was so bright. To think, days ago they’d been coated with so much grime they hadn’t needed curtains.
“Morning,” Quinn said from somewhere under the sunbeams.
“Didn’t think y
ou’d be up.” So much for getting started on the crawlspace repairs before she stopped him. He’d noticed tears in the vents big enough for rodents to get into, which made him wonder what else was busted down below.
“Taylor offered to take the girls to breakfast at the zoo. When someone with an early childhood education degree wants to babysit your genius kid sister, you don’t say no. Even if they did get up ungodly early.”
“Is it...I heard a rumor Taylor’s pregnant?”
“Rumor?” Quinn snorted. “That’s a fact. Though...maybe they aren’t telling everyone just yet? Shit.”
“I won’t tell anyone. Promise.” He snagged a coffee cup and poured himself a mug. The skin between his shoulder blades prickled.
Quinn was watching him.
“I had a Pop Tart for breakfast. You can have one,” Quinn said.
Owen passed up the packaged food and stuck to coffee and a banana. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Pop Tarts, they had their place in things, but growing up the way he had, he still had funny ideas about food that came in wrappers. He crossed to the living room.
What he’d thought was just obnoxiously bright sunshine off the newly-polished floors was actually pages of paper, some of them clear transparencies, and notebooks, all spread over the coffee table, the middle of the floor and around Quinn, who was sitting on the old rug in front of the TV.
“Working on something?” He perched on the sofa since it seemed safely away from the sphere of her paper and peered at a page that might as well have been hieroglyphics.
“Yes.” Quinn groaned and ran her fingers through her hair. She was still in pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt, which was a nice look for her. The suits she wore to work were so severe and utilitarian. They made her look older, less...Quinn-like.
“What is all this stuff?”
“Copies of some of my mom’s research. At least, stuff that the DoD didn’t confiscate.” Quinn’s gaze traveled in a half circle around her, taking in the pages.
“Working on the battery?”
“Yes. I’m trying to...” She waved her hands. “In layman’s terms, I’m trying to make the charge more powerful and last longer. My prototype will hold a charge for about six hours and then it’s dead, but it’s not powerful enough. I can get it powerful, but then it only lasts a half hour. That’s not enough. The whole grant is about doing something better than the batteries we already have. Something that won’t harm the environment. Something that won’t be as dangerous to kids. A better battery.”
“Looking at the research like this helps you?”
“No, not really, but it’s all I have. After mom died, a bunch of people started nosing around, wanting what research was left. Dad and Karen decided that to protect the intellectual property, they’d lock it up until they could decide what to do with it.”
“But...”
“We made some copies along the way. Or, well, Dad and Karen were both around at the same time to get into the safety deposit box to make some copies.”
“Karen lives here in Seattle though, right? She works with you?”
“It takes all three of us to open the box, and I don’t know that Karen would really want me to have this stuff, if she knew about what I was doing with it.”
“Wait, why—”
“I need to apologize to you.” Quinn looked at Owen for the first time since he’d stepped foot into the room. She stopped bobbing her knees and gripped the loose material of her pant legs in both hands.
“O...kay.” That was about the most abrupt change in conversation he’d ever experienced.
“This has been a really...stressful time for me. And Kierra. But mostly, me.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve... You’re not the person I keep trying to make you out to be.” Quinn didn’t look pleased by that statement. Her lips curled up, as though she’d tasted something she didn’t like. “I’ve been unfair to you, totally bitchy and unappreciative.”
“Really, it’s fine. You’re under a lot of stress.”
She’d already told him about the people looking for a charity project, how the revolving door of do-gooders did more damage than they fixed. He got it. And, he’d known this conversation was coming.
Thanks for all you’ve done, we really appreciate it, but please leave.
“No, it’s not. I don’t know what we would have done without you this week. I’m barely holding it together.” Quinn’s smile was too tight, almost fracturing her face. “Kierra, she actually slept. I realize you don’t know what a big deal that is, but it’s huge. She’s just a little girl, but her mind, it’s always going. She hardly ever makes it through a whole night without getting up at least once. But when you’re here...she sleeps. I don’t know why, but she does. I’ve been really unfair to you, especially when you’re going through a lot, too. I’m sorry.”
He glanced at his coffee cup.
Yeah, he didn’t want to discuss that part at all.
“I’m not easy to put up with.” He glanced up, his smile a little forced. “I’m pushy and—”
“You’re a nice guy, Owen. You mean well.”
“Ask before I do things, I know.” He chuckled. “We’re good.”
“Okay.” Quinn blew out a breath and pushed her shoulders back, as though a weight was gone.
“Back to the battery.” Owen gestured at the pages. Maybe they could skip the please leave bit for another day or two. The longer he could stay here, the more chance he’d have of catching whoever was interested in the Schaeffers.
“I was hoping that reorganizing things and laying them out would help me find a better solution. I’m just not seeing it. Maybe it’s me? Maybe this is where talent isn’t enough and technical know-how matters. But then, why is my battery more sustainable than Karen’s, Molly’s or Anna Beth’s?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and groaned.
“You’ll figure it out. Don’t you have a team working with you?” He didn’t know what Quinn did exactly, he’d never dared to ask. All he knew was that her family owned some sort of an inventor’s company.
“No, it’s just me.”
Quinn seemed receptive to new ideas. Talking to him. This could be his moment to wedge the door open a little wider, so to speak.
“I was thinking, not battery related...what if I started my own investigation into the break in? Privately, and with permission, of course.” He was a homicide detective, the only thing missing from this case was a dead body, and he’d like to prevent that from happening.
“I can’t afford that.” Quinn shook her head.
“I’m not going to charge you. I just want the green light from you to start asking questions.” He spread his hands. “The cops have closed the case. We both know what happened wasn’t a one-time deal.”
“Are we sure it isn’t?” Quinn’s face creased.
“Do you think it is?’
“Do you believe Kierra?”
“Yes.”
“If you believe Kierra, then no. It’s not over. Whatever that person wanted is still here.” Quinn dropped her gaze to the floor, shoulders slumping.
“No word from your dad yet?”
“Nope.”
“He’s probably off somewhere, doing really important things.”
“You don’t have to make up a story so I feel better, Owen.” Quinn lifted her chin. “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.”
Owen stared into Quinn’s eyes, his mouth incapable of making an intelligent enough argument to that statement.
Quinn was a brilliant, beautiful woman not afraid of the hard work life threw her way. She was a fighter, just like her dad. Only Quinn’s weapons weren’t guns, bombs or fists. She deserved someone who’d have her back.
She lit the cigarette, her lungs be damned, and shifted her ass a bit.
Whoever this young yahoo was, she wa
s going to set him straight on a few things. Like not leaving an old lady like her waiting. She should have gone with the girl out of Arizona instead of the man, but she didn’t trust other women because she knew herself. Men, on the other hand, were simpler creatures. Easier to predict.
She took a drag on the cigarette, that old, familiar hit of nicotine surging through her blood. Oh, how she missed it. Those vape things just didn’t do the job the same way a stick of tobacco did.
Her backup plan wasn’t panning out so great. She had two of the three keys, but Quinn’s was eluding her. One way or another, she needed to get a copy of that key as leverage. To cover her ass if things went wrong.
“Did you miss the no smoking sign?” a man said behind her.
It was the way he spoke, the easy manner, like a coiled snake. Dangerous, yet relaxed. Not poised to strike. Yet.
He would, given time.
She flicked the ash onto the ground.
“Do I look like I care?” She took another drag and kept facing the door.
He’d picked this spot, not her. She’d made a calculated guess that he’d enter the same way she had, instead of having to go through the heart of the building and perhaps get caught by the people on shift.
Interesting.
High risk didn’t faze him.
Good to know.
“Well? You taking the job or not?” she asked. It was time to shit or get off the pot. The window to do this job was closing and fast.
This whole situation irritated her.
He’d made contact, they’d met briefly, she’d reiterated the job highlights, and he’d said he’d be in touch after a little recon work.
He circled her, the hat pulled low over his brow shielding his face. She didn’t know what he looked like, what his name was, or where he was from. Whoever her spook for hire was, he was good, at least.
“What exactly are you wanting done? You said you wanted the girl out of the way. What does that mean?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” She narrowed her gaze.
“I prefer to be clear on my instructions.”
“Kill the girl. Make it look like an accident. The little one? Don’t let her see you. She’s got a photographic memory or something.”
Noble Prince (Twisted Royals, #4) Page 9
