“He showed up about fifteen minutes ago. He and Ian are shootin’ the bull, havin’ coffee. I thought, after our chat last night, you might want to...avoid him.” Chloe’s blue eyes were sympathetic. Full of feeling.
It’d been Ian who’d given Quinn’s vague thoughts and feelings about the events form. He’d pointed out in clear terms that her life was still at risk, and they all knew it. Unless Hansel sang like a canary, there was little chance they’d get to the bottom of it.
“Thank you,” Quinn said around the lump in her throat.
“You know what you’re going to do?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to stick around while you get ready, or should I go try to push the guys out the door?”
“Go take care of Delilah. She probably needs you.”
“I wish. My baby’s getting so big and grown up. She hardly needs me.” Chloe chuckled.
“Kierra’s the same way.” Quinn sighed and pulled the tray closer. She sipped the coffee.
“Our babes are goin’ to be teenagers before we know it.” Chloe rolled her eyes.
“We should dig a pit. Keep them in it. That way they always look little.”
“I like the way you think.”
Chloe let herself out, leaving Quinn in peace.
She halfway expected Owen to burst through those doors and demand to fix things. That was him. Always coming to the rescue. But that was the problem. He couldn’t fix this.
Quinn’s phone vibrated with an incoming call.
She turned it over, more than a little surprised it wasn’t Owen.
She flicked her finger across the answer button and shoved it between her head and shoulder.
“Morning, Pearl.”
“Quinn! Wasn’t sure you’d answer.”
“I’m alive.” She chuckled. The joke was only funny to her.
“Glad to hear it. Are you almost ready for the convention?”
“I’m going to pack up Karen, Molly and Anna Beth’s stuff today, then probably head out.”
“What about your prototype?” Pearl asked.
“I don’t think I can do it.” Though part of Quinn wanted to. If for no other reason than to thumb her nose at whoever was out there.
“What? You have to. You’ve worked far too hard on this.”
“Pearl—”
“No. I’m not having any of this. You work too hard so those lazy bitches don’t have to do anything. They work you to the bone with no thanks whatsoever.” Pearl was on a roll now. “You have your stuff ready to go by five o’ clock. I’m going to pick you up and you’ll come down with us in the bus. I’m sick of you not getting to shine like you deserve.”
Quinn wished she could feel the warm-fuzzies. If Pearl had said this a week or two ago, it’d have given Quinn infinite joy. Now, she was full of dread.
Pearl finished handing down her decree before she had to run.
It was a lot to take in.
No one said no to Pearl.
Quinn got ready for work, the idea rolling around in her head.
If she went ahead and let Pearl do this for her, it would mean Quinn was surrounded by people. Her equipment would be on a cargo manifest. Chances were it was safer than traveling alone with a trailer.
Getting to show, to be part of that, it would mean the world to her, even if nothing came of it. Quinn didn’t expect to win or to have any special treatment. But the opportunity to be there was enough.
Besides, if she survived the convention, what then? What purpose would anyone have to kill her?
First, she’d have to survive seeing Owen. Quinn didn’t know if she was that strong.
Owen stood at the bar, the coffee cup clenched in his hand.
He hadn’t slept.
There were kinks in his back from sitting in his car all night, watching Chloe’s house.
Ian had finally trudged out in nothing but his boxers to tell him to get inside before Chloe chewed Ian out for not noticing Owen was out there sooner. From the sound of it, Chloe hadn’t yet realized it, which was good for both him and Ian.
“Figured out what you’re goin’ to do yet?” Ian slid a plate of pancakes across to him.
Chloe had taken the first ones up stairs. For Quinn? Owen hoped so. She just didn’t eat enough half the time. That was why he was always making her something to eat. He wanted to take care of her, and now she wouldn’t let him.
“Earth to Owen?” Ian waved his hand in front of Owen’s face.
“Yeah.” He batted the other man’s hand away.
“Care to share with the rest of us?”
“Nope.”
Owen doubted Ian would exactly approve of Owen’s next move. Quinn would likely go ballistic on him, but she’d be alive to do so.
“How’s John, by the way?” he asked.
“Fine. Duke’s probably chewed him a new asshole. Turns out he had a whole litter of puppies at the garage no one knew about.” Ian rolled his eyes.
“Good. Oh, and the guys went over Quinn’s house from top to bottom. Looks like that creep had been in there.” Owen didn’t want to share just how intimate the footage was likely to have been, but the guys at the station had promised to keep him appraised of what they found and that it would not survive past the trial.
The stairs creaked.
Owen went still.
The hair on the back of his neck rose.
There might as well be a Quinn-finding lodestone in his stomach.
Everything in him said to turn toward her. Look at her. Demand they work this out. It was a simple miscommunication.
He counted to ten, then turned.
Quinn set her breakfast tray on the counter. Chloe bustled over to snag it.
“Thanks for the bed. I’ll swing by tonight and grab my stuff.”
“Any time.” Chloe brought Quinn in for a quick squeeze.
She turned and strode out the front door, never even glancing at Owen.
Fuck this.
He followed her, his vision narrowing to the way her ponytail bobbed back and forth.
“Quinn? Hold up.” He jogged down the path to the street where she’d parked at the curb.
Quinn didn’t pause, much less stop.
“Hey?” he grabbed her car door as she pulled it open holding it in both hands.
“Go away, Owen.” She tossed her bag in and turned to face him finally.
“You said to push for more if you—”
“Yeah, well, we’d just nearly died and had sex. We weren’t exactly thinking clearly, now were we?” She stared at him, her gaze so cold and impersonal, she might as well have been a stranger.
“Look, I was out of line last night—”
“You were.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Good.”
They continued staring at each other.
There wasn’t so much as a little defrosting going on.
“Quinn?”
“I have to get to work, Owen. Some of us have places to be.” She sat in the driver’s seat and yanked the door out of his hands.
He stepped back and watched her gas it out into the street.
What the hell?
The woman in the car wasn’t his Quinn.
It was like someone had cloned her. Twisted her head all around.
“She thinks she’s protecting you.”
Owen turned.
Chloe stood in the driveway with two mugs in hand. She offered one to him.
“How is this protecting me?” He shoved a hand through his hair and gulped the now lukewarm coffee.
“My brother’s going to kill me,” Chloe muttered. She glanced over her shoulder. “They had a talk last night. Whoever hired that guy, Ian thinks they’re going to get someone else. Someone who doesn’t want you dead, too. She’s...pushing you away. I thought giving her space was a good idea...”
Owen grit his teeth.
That was Quinn. Taking care of everyone else before her.
“I should get
going,” he said.
“What are you going to do about Quinn?”
“I’m handling it.”
Quinn wanted to play with her life? Fine. But he’d be there to watch her every step of the way. And he had a pretty good idea how to do that if she did what he thought she’d do. Quinn, deep down, was a fighter. She’d keep going until someone stopped her.
He handed the coffee back to Chloe and climbed into his car. He dropped his phone into the cradle and jabbed the most recently-dialed contact.
The phone rang through the speakers once.
“What?” Zach rumbled in stereo.
“That virus on Quinn’s phone and laptop, can you—I don’t know—tap into it?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Do it. I need to know what she’s saying, where she’s at and who she’s with.”
Owen was resorting to stalking the woman he loved. It was miles over the line, but if it meant keeping Quinn alive, he’d do it. Someone was still out there.
She straightened her spine and forced her hands to relax. The cane had grown necessary as of late. Not only was the lapse in treatments hurting her, so was everything else.
Getting old sucked.
“I thought you were taking care of the competition.” The man behind the desk didn’t glance up at her entry.
“I have.” She balled her hands into fists and glared. “Issues one through five have been handled satisfactorily, last you signed off on them. Seven through twenty have either pulled out or canned their projects.”
“But not the girl from six. She’s one of yours, and you can’t control her?”
“I wouldn’t say she’s one of mine,” she snarled. Damn Julia and her brilliant, bright daughters.
“Handle six.”
“I’ve bent over backward cleaning this up for you. Isn’t that worth something?”
“You’re still breathing, aren’t you? You have a job. A pension. Health care. Sounds to me like you’re getting far more than you’re giving.”
Except she wouldn’t be alive to enjoy those things if something wasn’t done about her lungs soon.
“I’ve got it under control,” she snarled.
She didn’t wait to be dismissed. She turned and strode out, spine straight as a rod.
That man had still been in diapers when she’d been training spies. The real ones. And he thought he could order her around like a child? Threaten her? She’d show him.
But first, there was the matter of Quinn to deal with.
Quinn climbed off the bus, more than ready to collapse into her bed, but she wouldn’t get to do that for hours still.
She’d survived most of another day.
Alone, but she was alive.
Owen had shown up again that morning. She’d held it together, despite him doing exactly as she’d begged him to do. She’d left her driveway sobbing into her coffee, only to have a yelling match with Karen over the budget she’d blown while Quinn was busy not dying and packing for the conference. Of course, she’d also had to run the gauntlet of Molly and Anna Beth, with their constant list of demands, which now included questions about Owen. He’d garnered even Anna Beth’s interest, which was saying something.
This whole circus was almost over, though.
Quinn was done.
She’d handled getting everything to the convention, courtesy of Pearl and some extra room on their transport truck. After the convention was done, she’d figure out getting everything back to HI-Co and then—she was out. She was done. Levi was already coordinating her interview and going over her resume. She just had to make it through this event.
If she lasted that long.
Quinn had stuck close to Pearl all the way here, and would continue to do so.
She stretched a bit. Her legs ached and the full-body soreness wasn’t fun to deal with.
The bulk of the people on the bus headed straight to the convention floor, where the prototypes were supposed to be set up in their slots. She’d need to get all four prototypes up to snuff before hauling her ass upstairs to crash.
Pearl had been so gracious and kind to Quinn. Not just in getting her here, but letting her room with her. Quinn knew how private Pearl was.
Quinn got in line for registration.
Maybe she could nap, then set up?
But that would put her coming in horribly late, and possibly bothering Pearl.
That wouldn’t do.
Quinn pulled out her phone. The battery was—once again—dreadfully low.
No messages, besides the one from earlier. She’d texted Chloe to let her know they were pulling into the parking lot.
Nothing from Owen.
Kierra was immersed in a school project, and Quinn had collaborated with her grandparents to keep Kierra busy while the bruises went away and things died down. The last thing Quinn wanted was the image of her battered burned into her little sister’s mind.
It was stupid to want to hear from Owen, after spending the last three days telling him to go away at every corner. He should be here, or at least know she was at the conference, going forward with the show. But that would just put him in danger.
“Next.”
Quinn lurched forward, following the voice to one of the registration windows.
She gave her company ID, name and badge number to the attendant.
“Your site assistant will meet you at the doors,” the man said.
“Thanks.”
Quinn turned and skirted the other people doing registration. As much as she wanted to collapse, there was still a lot to do. Thank goodness she’d have a little help.
Every company showing more than two things got a site assistant to aid in setting up and logistics. Mostly, they were just good for pointing out where the electrical outlets were and so forth, but if she was really lucky.
She paused at the doors.
The man...
That face...
She gaped at him, her whole world tilting slightly.
“Ready?” Owen tucked a clipboard under his arm.
“How...?” She stared at him, a mix of horror and hope warring inside of her.
“I’m out of a job. They were looking for people to work the convention. I signed up. I believe your stuff is this way.” He was so matter of fact about it.
He strode through the doors, leaving her gaping at his ass. His rather nice ass in slacks, but still—his ass.
She quick stepped after him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I told you—”
“Why?”
“The floor’s only open for two more hours. If you want a chance to get stuff set up, we should do it now. Here we are...” They rounded the end of a row and slowed to a stop.
Quinn frowned at the one large crate and two medium ones.
“There should be a third crate here.” Quinn pointed at the containers marked HI-Co.
“Let’s see...” Owen flipped through the papers. “The unloading slip has—three.”
“I registered four. I’m positive I registered four. I loaded four.”
“You did.”
“What?” Quinn gaped at the side of his head.
“Zach is still hooked into the virus code. I used it to figure out where you’d be and where someone might try to kill you. Hm.” He frowned at the paper.
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“More like stalking. I’m ethically torn on the whole thing, but right now, I’m more concerned about getting your stuff here. Who would know where it is?”
That statement should not give her any sort of the warm-fuzzies. It was wrong. Invasive. And Owen hadn’t really left her. He was still trying to fix shit he had no business in, but he was still there. Behind her. Pushing her forward.
“We are going to have a long talk about this later, understand me?” She prodded his shoulder.
“Duly noted.” He nodded, as though that were the logical course of action. “Who would know where your four
th crate is? And I’m assuming that’s the one the bike is in?”
“Yeah. Um—Pearl. I’d need to ask Pearl.”
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs.”
Quinn pulled out her dying phone and dialed Pearl’s cell phone. It rang a couple times.
“Yes?” Pearl sounded about as tired as Quinn felt.
“Hey, sorry to bother you. One of my crates isn’t here.”
“What?”
“My crate, it’s not here.”
“I can barely hear you. Come upstairs and we’ll look at the paperwork. I’m sure there’s someone we can call to sort this out.” Quinn hung up and turned to Owen. “Pearl wants me to come upstairs and call the shipping company or something.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“It might be more helpful if you checked the loading docks and some of the other vendor spots. It might just be misplaced.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone.” Owen edged closer, the corners of his mouth turning down.
“We’re in a hotel with hundreds of people, and I’m going to see a woman who’s—what? Eighty years old? I’ll be fine.” She took a deep breath. “Thanks for coming to see me. Even if it’s creepy stalker style.”
“You didn’t really think I was going to wait for you to call me over, did you?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. No, deep down, she’d wondered what he was up to. Showing up in her driveway was rather tame considering the number of times he’d burst through her door in answer to Kierra’s phone calls. “We’ll talk about this later. First, find the crate.”
“If I don’t hear from you every five minutes I’m coming to find you.”
“Of course you are.” She rolled her eyes.
“Room number?”
“Um, here. This one.” She showed him the four digit number she’d never remember.
Owen took a picture of it then kissed her cheek.
“We’ve got this.”
Quinn turned on her heel. Her skin tingled from his touch.
She had to survive this so she could read him the riot act. He couldn’t just tap into a surveillance virus on her phone and it be okay, even if she was grateful he was there.
First the crate, then Owen.
Quinn hoofed it to the elevators. She had to wait for what felt like ever before one descended to her level. By then more than five minutes had passed. She got in the lift and shot off a quick text, just before the damn thing died.
Noble Prince (Twisted Royals, #4) Page 26
