Owen did his best to keep his smile under control. Quinn was practically vibrating with excitement. It was contagious and he wanted a piece of that. To think, a few weeks ago she’d been this prickly thing ready to bite his head off, and now she’d let him past her walls. The real Quinn, under all those defenses, was still finding herself and full of wonder.

“I can’t believe Levi wants me use his bike. You heard that, right? I didn’t dream that?” She sat forward, flopped back then turned toward him, in a constant state of movement.

“I heard. You weren’t dreaming. Remember, he said it would be good visibility for what he’s doing, too. You’re really doing him a favor.” Owen turned onto his street.

“Yeah, I know.” Quinn rolled her eyes. “You don’t get it though, this is...it could be amazing.”

“It totally could be. I heard him sort of offer you a job. Interested?”

“Maybe...”

“Levi seems happy working there.”

“I can’t think about that until after the conference, and then if I do move on, I need to be prepared to phase out slowly. HI-Co won’t be able to pay someone what they’re worth to do what I do for them.” Quinn stared straight ahead, chewing on her lower lip.

“You have to do what’s best for you and Kierra. If changing jobs is it, then you have to do what you have to do.” Owen glanced at Quinn. “What did you do differently with the battery?”

“This whole time, I’ve been trying to come to a finished product point. I wanted a battery that wasn’t just functional, but almost ready for market. Levi is right. That’s not what the grant is about. They want to see proof of concept. The money is about developing it for market. I’ve been...trying to eat the whole pizza, not just my slice.”

“Okay, so...what did you do different?”

“The battery will hold a charge for maybe half an hour, fifteen minutes if it’s being seriously pushed at full performance ability. Not near long enough, but with his modified bike, that’s a pretty awesome proof of concept. Or at least it will be when I finish assembling it. I’m using some of the casing from the scrap yard to sort of...skip ahead.”

“Sounds good to me.” Owen pulled into the driveway. “What’s the big deal about this battery anyway? I don’t think I’ve really understood what’s going on.”

“What’s the—?” Quinn sputtered then groaned. “Okay, so your normal battery—cars, remotes, any of it—they’re so not eco-friendly. The acid is toxic. Putting those in landfills is a terrible idea. The goal is to develop a product that not only holds charge longer—which magnesium can do—but will also be environmentally friendly. The biggest hurdle is delivering enough of a charge at once. Mom had some theories I’ve tried to...if not see through, pay homage to.”

“My head hurts just thinking about it.” He killed the engine and got out. Seeing Quinn excited, rather than terrified was a relief. He liked happy Quinn. She was cute, bubbly and animated. He hoped to find a way to keep her around a little more often.

She met him at the front of the car, sliding her hand in his.

“You’ve been really quiet all day,” she said.

Their shoulders bumped as they walked across the paving stones to the porch.

“Just a lot is happening at—I mean, the precinct.” He unlocked the front door and ushered Quinn inside.

“Like what? Any more developments on, well, everything?”

“Nothing we need to worry about.” He shrugged and flipped the locks.

“Owen.” Quinn stared at him, the corners of her mouth turning down.

“The FBI turned over the list of people who were customers of Yuri Gabor. A lot of people got fired today, and a lot more are going to get in trouble. People are angry, and since I was somewhat involved, there are guys pointing fingers at me.”

“You think yesterday—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I confirmed that what happened yesterday was before the list was released. No one who got fired knew about it. Whatever is going on there, it’s not connected to this list.”

“Then...how’d you know?”

“Because I know the guy who found the list.” Owen didn’t think telling Quinn that Zach was involved would be smart.

“How’d you know them?” Quinn tilted her head, the frown bursting her excitement bubble.

“I think this might be something we’re better off not talking about. Not because I don’t want to tell you, but because I’m not certain I should have been told.”

“Is it...safe?”

“I think so.”

“We have no idea who attacked me, except they wanted to get back at you. And we only know that whoever broke into my house isn’t likely to be someone I work with. Both leave us with a lot of questions, Owen.”

“I know.” He crossed to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Just...one thing at a time, okay? Battery first, then whoever is keeping tabs on you.”

“I’m just as concerned with that note.”

“I know, but the reality is, it could be from anyone I’ve ever put away. I am—was—a cop.”

“You are a cop.” She leaned into him, her body going soft, arms circling his waist. “What are we going to do now?”

“Right now I’m going to start on some dinner, we’re going to find something awful to put on TV, and ideally after I’ve pulled dinner out of the oven, though maybe before we eat, I’m going to make out with you. I might get a little handsy, and after that, who knows?” He shrugged, but the grin was pure sin. “We might christen another surface in this house.”

He could feel the heat in Quinn’s cheeks. She bit her lip and tried like hell to look away from him, but he had her prisoner. Did she know he’d never brought a girlfriend here? No other woman, at least romantically speaking, had set foot in the house. Before her, he’d never wanted anyone to see his in-progress house. He wanted to share it with Quinn, like she’d shared her project with him.

“How’s that sound?” he asked when she didn’t reply.

“Like you’ve been planning it all day.”

“Can you blame me?” He cupped her cheek.

She peered up through her lashes at him. Slowly but surely, Quinn was coming out of her shell. She was growing to trust him. Like him, if he dared say so. He could be patient and wait for more.

He dipped his head, brushing his lips across hers. She slid her arms over his shoulders, pulling herself up.

The blush might be real, but so was the chemistry.

“I’m going to shower real quick.” She rocked back on her heels. “I can smell myself.”

“Mmm.” Owen sniffed her neck and shoulder.

“Stop it.” She laughed and shoved at his chest, dancing out of his grasp.

Yeah, Quinn was learning how to relax around him, and he found himself growing to like her more and more. Prickly Quinn was a challenge. Fun Quinn was a treat.

Let her retreat to her shower, try to compose herself, whatever. He’d seen underneath that icy exterior she used to protect herself, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Quinn needed to shave desperately. She’d given it a half-assed job last time, and she regretted it. If Owen wanted to have sex—again—she really had to take care of the landscape or risk scaring him off. Not that he’d appeared to mind, but she did. It was awfully hard to feel attractive, relax and enjoy what was going on, when she was worried about giving him some sort of stubble-rash.

She picked out some comfortable, easy to get out of, clothes from the bedroom. Since Owen wasn’t finished with the master bath remodel that meant using the Jack-and-Jill bath the other two bedrooms shared. It wasn’t much of an inconvenience and she couldn’t wait to see what he did with the master. The area reserved for the tub and shower alone were heavenly looking.

Quinn padded through the room that served as Owen’s home office. The other bedroom had been stripped back to the studs because of some sort of roof leak that did too much damage to simply repair. She couldn’t imagine building this place, then ripping it out to do over again, but it was Owen’s house and he had a vision for it.

She closed the bathroom door, flipped on the fan and got the water going. One of the few things that wasn’t new was the water heater. It took a minute to get the hot water running, and then if she wasn’t efficient with her shower, she’d end up with just cold water.

Despite all the bad news and the ominous view of the future, Quinn felt...light. Hopeful. It was crazy and good, all at the same time. She didn’t know where she’d be in a week, but for the first time in years, she had a sense of excitement about the days to come. Was it because of Owen? Or that she had options for the first time ever?

In her experience, it was always Owen’s fault.

She snickered and shook her head. A week ago, she’d have said that line with a touch of bitterness. Now, it made her giddy. Life was a strange, wonderful thing.

Quinn frowned at the other door to the bathroom. The darn thing didn’t seemed to want to stay closed and it was letting the meager heat out. She crossed to the other side and reached for the doorknob.

A hand shot out from the darkness, wrapping around her wrist.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

She gasped so fast and deep her lungs got a chill.

Quinn recoiled, frowning into the darkness, but the grip was too tight.

“Owen—not funny.”

There was no answering chuckle, no warmth in his fingers. This was wrong.

That wasn’t Owen...

He lifted his other hand, holding a canister.

Quinn shut her eyes and held her breath.

No, no, no!

She pulled back, stumbling out of the man’s grasp.

Her lungs burned.

Her feet touched the bathmat.

She opened her eyes, the steam billowing up from the shower.

The man lunged at her.

She tripped sideways, half falling-half sitting down in the tub. The spray of water hit her in the face.

It hadn’t been enough.

Her head swam.

The room went fuzzy.

Quinn sucked down a deep breath.

She was going to pass out—and Owen didn’t know anything was wrong.

The world faded to darkness, but not before a voice whispered, “He took someone from me.”

Was this an eye for an eye?

If it was, she was fucked.

Owen tapped his finger and frowned at the oven. Why wasn’t it pre-heated yet? What was wrong?

He was loath to pull the door open on the off chance it was just about there. Letting all the warm air out would only make the process longer and he had a vested interest in not taking a second more than necessary.

The sooner food was done, the sooner he could give Quinn a better reason to be hungry.

He’d feel guilty about his plan if Javier hadn’t shown up late that afternoon with a box of pastries from his mother’s bakery. They’d all had more than their fair share.

Screw it.

He opened the oven door, bracing himself for a wall of heat and...nothing.

Owen reached a hand into the appliance, wiggling his fingers around.

“What the...?”

He reached up and turned the knob, listening to it click.

Was the pilot light even on?

He breathed in a deep breath.

No smell of gas.

What was going on?

Owen stuck his hand back in the oven.

Damn.

It really wasn’t on.

Could it be the stove? If one of the gas lines were cut, he’d have noticed the odor by now. The problem had to be something besides the oven or range.

He straightened and frowned at the appliance. Was that—?

He inhaled.

Nothing.

Owen bent and caught the slightest whiff of...something.

He got down on his knees, placing his nose nearly on the floor, and sucked in a big breath.

Was that gas? Or had something died in the crawl space under the house?

This was inconvenient and perplexing.

First, he needed to call the gas company. Get it turned off so someone could come check the lines. He’d rather be careful.

Pizza it was, then. It’d at least give them a decent amount of time. But what to do about the chicken he’d thawed for dinner?

“Hey, Quinn? You aren’t in the shower yet, are you?” Owen pushed to his feet and turned toward the hall.

Something swung out of the shadows faster than Owen could react. A solid, hard object bashed him in the head so hard his knees gave out and Owen went down like a sack of potatoes.

What the—?

Owen gasped for air and blinked up at the man looming over him. His brain wasn’t yet back online, but this wasn’t good.

“Hello, Detective King.”

Quinn clung to the tiniest sliver of light. It was important. The darkness couldn’t take her. She needed to get back to the light. Somehow. Some way. It was vital.

Open one eye. Just one.

She chanted those words at herself, each repetition building steam. The motivation was important. The cells in her body had to charge, get ready, fuel the tissue to create movement.

One. Just one. Come on...

She lifted one lid.

The world was bleary, out of focus.

She blinked, working both lids now.

No, that was—water?

Her hair, face and clothes were drenched.

The shower drummed away in the tub a few feet away.

Her hip hurt. Her shoulder ached.

What’d happened?

Had she fallen?

Where was Owen?

Quinn lifted her hand and a chain rattled.

She stared at the handcuffs. Her befuddled brain skipped bits, playing back a montage of moments all smooshed together.

The gas. The canister. The man. She’d fallen.

Steam still billowed from the shower, which meant she’d only been out for a few moments. Her brain sparked, shooting off complete thoughts. Landing in the water was what had probably saved her. It’d washed away most of the drug before it could get into her system, before she could breathe it in. She was groggy, but not incapacitated.

Quinn sat up, staring at the silver handcuffs binding her wrists together.

Her thoughts drifted through her fingers like...that glittery slimy stuff Kierra liked to play with. Insubstantial. Hard to grip.

What was she thinking?

It was important?

But—what?

She shifted. Her foot nudged a can.

The man. The gas.

Why would he knock her out and handcuff her, when she could just get up and walk out of here?

Because he thought she’d still be knocked out.

What had he said?

She’d heard him say something.

A voice in the darkness.

She’d felt dread. Panic.

This was something about Owen. Something bad.

Quinn gripped the counter. She had to get up. She had to move. Bad things were going to happen to Owen if she didn’t. It might be up to her to save him this time around. She wouldn’t lose him, not to this faceless, nameless person with a vendetta.

They needed help. The cops. No, the cops were mad at Owen right now.

She was thinking. Good.

The guys, then. Someone they could trust who’d come for help.

Quinn got one foot under her, then the other. Every bit of bodily control was a fight, but one she could win. The adrenaline, the fear, it’d work to her favor. The body was a wondrous thing.

She slid her other foot under her weight, centered herself, then pulled her upper body mostly onto the counter. She paused to let her head stop swimming, then pushed so she was sort of standing, partially leaning.

There was no yelling, no shouting from the rest of the house.

Was Owen already dead?

She swallowed.

He couldn’t be.

He was her reason for finding hope, for wanting to go on.

Quinn pushed off the counter, her focus on the still open door to the work in progress room. She made it as far as the doorway before she stopped.

What was that—?

She sniffed the air.

The humidity in the bathroom made it hard for her to get a whiff of anything, but—was that smoke?

Owen.

She stumbled toward the hall door, but tripped over something. She fell on the carpet that’d been pulled up and piled on one side.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

Quinn reached behind her, grasping the long, cold metal bar. A hammer? Some sort of tool? Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn’t too hard to swing.

I’m coming for you, Owen...

Owen shook his head. The sense of urgency pushed his conscious mind over the edge into wakefulness.

Something was wrong.

He pushed up and breathed in lungfuls of smoke.

He coughed and opened his eyes, covering his face with his forearm.

Tongues of flame licked the drapes, the furniture and the walls. It was like some sort of crazy TV set.

“Detective Owen King.” A man in a long coat and mask walked toward him, a swagger in his step. “You probably don’t recognize me anymore.”

Where was Quinn? Owen couldn’t make a move until he knew where she was.

Owen didn’t have the mask. He had to stay low, where the air wasn’t as polluted, even if it left him in a vulnerable position.

The man got within about six feet of Owen and crouched, going to one knee. He pulled the mask up.

“How about now? Remember this face?” the man asked.

“Yes...” No, Owen had no fucking clue who this guy was. Agreeing would hopefully placate him, maybe enough for Owen to...something.

“I wanted to savor this, but that’s not what I was hired to do. This is...a bonus. Still, watching you freak out over that girl was rather satisfying. She might be the reason I’m here, but you’re why I took this job.” He tilted his head, like a bird of prey studying its target.

Owen balled his hands into fists.

Quinn padded into view, a towel around her head, half dragging the demo hammer he’d used to bring down the drywall. He shook his head.

Not yet.

Not yet.

She wasn’t close enough. The guy was too poised to move.

“Not my best workmanship, but it’ll get the job done.” The guy leaned forward, touching his fingertips on the hardwood floor, shifting his center of gravity. “Just know—I killed her.”

“You sure about that? Quinn—now!”

Quinn swung.

The man whirled.

Owen dove.

He got his arms around the guy’s legs in time to feel the impact of the hammer throughout the attacker’s body. They went tumbling to the ground, rolling as the house started to crackle around them. The ceiling near the TV crumbled and fell, raining fire down.

The man bucked and rolled in Owen’s grasp like a wild thing.

“Get out of here, Quinn!”

The guy elbowed Owen in his already-tender head. The room faded in and out of focus.

A woman—Quinn—screamed. The sound full of rage.

Owen grappled with the attacker despite his fuzzy vision, only the man jerked and flinched in Owen’s hold.

“Fucking bitch,” the man spat.

He wrenched out of Owen’s grasp and kicked out, nailing Owen in the stomach. He lunged again for the man, caught him by the ankle, but didn’t get a good enough grip. Their attacker sprinted down the hall, the back door banging against the grill outside.

“Owen? Owen—we have to go. Come on. Here.”

A cool, damp cloth pressed against his face. Quinn slid her hands under his arm, helping him to his feet. He wiped at his eyes, but they stung and hurt badly enough he couldn’t make out more than shapes.

“Shit—the door won’t open!”

Quinn rattled the door in the jamb her coughing starting up.

“The window.” He dropped the cloth, took a step.

He grasped a dining room chair and swung at the ancient glass windows. The delicate panes shattered. He’d always known one good blow would do it.

“Come on.” He held out his hand.

Quinn put her palm in his. He helped her through the window and then threw himself out, hitting the porch on his side, coughing and gasping for air.

The gas.

“Get away—from the—house,” he got out between breathes.

Owen lurched to his feet, nearly taking Quinn down as he staggered down the stairs and across the lawn.

Neighbors were already out, staring in slack-jawed horror at the bungalow he’d tried so hard to restore.

Owen reached the sidewalk and straightened.

The air seemed to be sucked toward the house before a great boom rattled the night. The blast of heat and flames redoubled until even standing on the sidewalk was nearly too much.

“Oh, God...” Quinn stared at his house, the light reflected back in her eyes.

“The neighbors.” He turned, fear clenching his stomach. The flames could leap from roof to roof all too easily. “We need hoses to stop the fire spreading. Hoses? Anyone? George—get your garden hoses. Now! Has anyone called 9-1-1?”

Owen was still, at his core, a first responder. Just because this was his home and his love on the line didn’t alleviate him of that responsibility, badge or no badge.

“I’ve got 9-1-1!” someone from the next lawn over called.

“Hoses—everyone, we need to water the roofs, the sides of those houses, keep the flames contained.”

At least until the firefighters got there.

He just had to hold out that long.