Owen sat on the curb, sharing a tank of oxygen with Quinn, and watched his house burn to the ground. He’d seen places burn before, but this was his home. He’d put blood, sweat and tears into that place with the hopes that someday, in the not too distant future, he’d raise children there with his wife. They’d make a life there. And now that dream was crumbling before his eyes.

The firefighters knew it was a lost cause from the moment they’d arrived. They never once attempted to fight the fire. They’d gone immediately into containment mode, ensuring it didn’t spread to the other houses, the ground, the fence, letting the blaze burn itself out. There was no saving the bungalow.

Morgan and Wu were still doing witness interviews. Owen didn’t expect either to hit on anything of value. The guy who’d done this was a pro. The way the fire was started, around the perimeter, with the gas line to the range cut under the house, it was professional. Plus, hadn’t he said something about this being a job?

Which led to the question, who wanted him killed?

Was this something to do with Gabor?

That didn’t make sense. If it was, then the other guys would be targets, especially Jaxon and Freya. Not just Owen.

“Hey?” Quinn bumped his shoulder with hers.

“He wanted me to look at his face. He wanted me to remember him.” And then he’d said Quinn was the job, Owen the bonus. He hadn’t told her that yet. Didn’t know how. This was his fault. Not hers.

“Can you look at pictures or something?” she asked.

“Yeah, but—tomorrow.”

Kade wasn’t happy about letting them go. If Kade had his way, they would both spend the night in the hospital, but neither Quinn or Owen were truly injured. Just a little battered. Besides, if they were at a hospital, they were easy to find for a guy looking to finish the job.

“You look like shit.”

Blake’s shaggy hair obscured his eyes, but Owen didn’t need to see him to know it was Blake.

“They released you, yet?” Blake stepped off the curb and in front of them.

“Yeah, I guess.” Owen shrugged.

“They find the guy who did this?” Blake frowned at the slowly collapsing house. If it could be called that anymore. The roof had already caved in. The walls didn’t stand a chance.

“If he got out, no. They won’t be able to look for a body until it burns itself out.” Knowing how this played out didn’t make the pill easier for Owen to swallow.

“You guys ready to go?” Blake thumbed over his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” Quinn asked.

“Best if we don’t say.” Blake glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of onlookers.

Too often, perpetrators came back to gawk at their crimes. Since the guy hadn’t finished the job, chances were he’d want another go at them. It was now Owen’s sole goal to prevent that from happening.

He’d have to tell Quinn soon that these acts, they were all connected somehow, but not here. Not where someone could watch her fall apart again. This time because of him.

He hadn’t seen that coming.

All along, he’d just assumed he was involved by choice. If he was the reason the guy was targeting Quinn...

He took a deep breath from the tank.

No.

Thinking like that did nothing to help Quinn, it only invited more problems.

“Let’s go.” Owen took off his oxygen mask.

“Here, let me help you up.” Blake offered Owen a hand and then Quinn. “You...have...anything?”

“Not anymore.” Owen grimaced. He didn’t have so much as a clean change of underwear. He’d brought everything back from Quinn’s.

“I’ll see if Chloe’s got some stuff. You know how she is.” Blake slapped him on the shoulder, then took the lead.

Quinn fitted her hand in Owen’s.

He should probably tell Kade they were going, but he didn’t have it in him right now. All he wanted to do was retreat, review what’d happened, and gather his thoughts. Too many things were changing all too fast.

They climbed into Blake’s car. Quinn dove into the back seat so Owen took the front passenger. It was almost like old times.

“Where are we going?” Quinn asked.

“Trinity Hall,” Blake answered.

“I’d really like a shower.” Quinn cringed.

“There’s an apartment over the bar. I think that’s what Blake means.”

“There is?” Quinn leaned forward. The smell of smoke was stronger on her for whatever reason.

“Yeah, Erik used to live there, back before the bar took off.” Owen had been to the apartment a few times. Occasionally Erik hosted poker nights, though lately it seemed to be their staging location for either charity events or protecting one of their own.

“Erik’s expecting us,” Blake said

Shit.

That meant the others would likely know what’d happened.

Owen wasn’t sure he had his head wrapped around what’d gone down enough to field that many questions. He’d barely been able to string together enough sentences for Morgan and Wu. Ian would ask as many—if not more—questions, and that didn’t factor in the sixth sense for trouble many of them had.

“Want to tell me now, or save it?” Blake always knew when Owen was chewing an idea, trying to find the right angle.

“Save it.” Owen stared out of the passenger side window.

“You know a person’s ability to recall events accurately deteriorates at a rate of—”

“Blake—please? Not right now.”

“Sorry, just making conversation.” Blake turned on the radio instead.

Owen had to think. To recall that man’s face.

What had he said?

He leaned his head back against the headrest.

There was something, the shadow of an idea he couldn’t quite grasp.

They rolled on without speaking.

What was it?

Blake was the best person to field his questions. They’d worked together for so long they used to laugh about sharing brain waves. Deep down, the man in the driver’s seat was still his friend. Maybe not the same person—hell, neither of them were—but they still recognized each other.

“He wanted me to know he’d killed Quinn. Making sure I saw his face was important. Why?” Owen glanced at Blake.

“Walk me through it. From the beginning.” Blake killed the radio.

“We came home, Quinn went to take a shower, and I was going to start dinner. I stood there forever waiting for the oven to preheat.” Owen should have seen it then, but he’d been lost in lustful thoughts.

“I went into the bathroom,” Quinn leaned forward, “turned on the shower, and then that guy came in. He sprayed me in the face again, but I held my breath and fell into the shower. The water washed most of it away so I came to quicker. He must have handcuffed me and dragged me out of the shower. Why?”

“So you’d burn to death.” Blake’s tone was flat. “If you were in the bathtub, if the firefighters got there in time, you might have survived, had things gone to plan.”

“He said...” Owen swallowed. “He said Quinn was the job, I was the bonus.”

“What?” Quinn gasped.

“Wow.” Blake pulled the car over on the shoulder and twisted to look at Owen. “Did you just remember that?”

“No, I told the cops, I just...” Owen twisted. “I didn’t know how to... I’m sorry Quinn.”

Quinn stared at him, jaw slack, eyes wide, her hair a mess.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Quinn blurted. “This is because of me...”

“No. This guy clearly had it out for me.”

“But he was sent after me.”

“Holy shit.” Blake shook his head and gassed it. “You’re both targets. The question is why.”

“Let’s get to Trinity Hall and discuss it there. Is Zach coming?”

“I don’t know, but I can call him.”

“Make sure he’s there,” Owen said.

Whatever Zach had found, it was bigger than they’d anticipated. Much bigger.

Quinn trudged up the hidden staircase to the apartment she’d never known about above the bar. She could hardly hear anything from the bar downstairs. Not the talking, laughing or loud music. There was surprisingly little bleed-through with the noise levels. The voices coming from upstairs, however, those she could make out clearly.

Sounded like the whole gang had shown up.

Awesome.

Owen held the door at the top for her.

“Quinn!” Chloe squealed her name and the next thing Quinn knew she had a face full of red hair and the air was squeezed out of her. “Oh, Quinn, we just heard. Are you okay?”

“Give her some space,” Taylor barked.

“Yeah, go easy on her. This girl saved my life tonight.” Owen kissed the top of her head.

“What happened?” Chloe demanded again.

“Is there any chance you brought some clothes?” The scent of smoke was starting to make her skin crawl and her stomach do dangerous lurches. The memories were too fresh to deal with.

“Yes.” Chloe hefted a large, carry-on sized suitcase. “We brought you both clothes, toiletries, charging cables. Aunt Liv should have food up soon, too.”

“Great. Bathroom?”

“This way.” Taylor turned, leading the through what passed as the kitchen, through the small bedroom and into a spacious bathroom. Chloe wrapped her arm around Quinn’s waist, ushering her along.

Taylor closed the bathroom door behind them, shutting out much of the man-talk going on.

Quinn blew out a breath.

Being around Owen and Blake in cop-mode was exhausting. Intense. They’d begun finishing each other’s sentences, jumping to conclusions without fully fledged ideas being spoken, but they obviously understood each other. She could see why they’d worked so well together in the past.

“They are beating their chests, ready to go after someone.” Chloe shook her head. “How are you? Really? Are you okay?”

“I’ll be okay. Probably later. Right now—is smoke sickness a thing? Like my stomach and head?” Quinn pressed her hand to her lower ribs.

“You’ve always been sensitive to odor.” Chloe gestured to the glass walled shower. The bathroom lacked a tub, but made up for it in square footage. “Jump in the shower. We can hold the boys at bay for you.”

Quinn swallowed.

Something about the sound of water pinging against the shower floor set her teeth on edge. She rubbed her bruised wrists and drew in a deep breath of the humid air.

Taylor hooked her arm around Chloe’s waist, dragging her toward the door.

“Would you guys—stay? It’s just...I was trying to take a shower earlier when...everything...happened.”

“Oh, god, whatever you need,” Chloe blurted.

“Of course.” Taylor let go of the door handle. “Just assumed you’d want some privacy.”

“Owen thinks whoever did this is after me.” Quinn wrapped her arms around herself. “He said—I’m the job, but Owen’s the bonus.”

“What?”

“No way...”

She swallowed, but the lump wasn’t going away.

Quinn was putting the two people she loved at risk. Kierra. And Owen. How did she stop this? What could she do?

“Quinn?” Chloe gripped her by the shoulders. “First, you’re going to take a shower. It’ll make you feel better. Then, we’ll figure out whose ass it is we’re kicking, because no one is going to threaten you and get away with it. Understand?”

Quinn nodded and sucked in a deep breath.

She stripped out of her clothes, glad to be rid of them. The shyness she might have felt a few hours ago about her nudity was gone. Right now, she wanted that shower, to wash away the last traces of this nightmare and get to figuring shit out.

She stepped into the shower while Chloe and Taylor made themselves comfortable perched on the vanity.

“So—things with Owen going well?” Chloe asked.

Quinn stood under the spray, the smell of smoke slowly abating.

She’d lain in the tub at Owen’s, losing consciousness, and her only thoughts had been about him. What losing him would do to her. How he mattered to her. After Kierra, he was the one person she needed. More than Chloe, and she was her best friend. How had that happened? And so fast?

“Would it be weird to fall in love with him? Now? After all of this?” Her voice echoed off the walls. Droplets of water dripped from her lashes.

“Intense situations breed intense feelings,” Taylor said. “In time, I would have warmed up to Ian, but it would have been an uphill battle. Instead, given what we went through, it forced us to a place where...it was easier to accept our feelings. It’s also why I keep telling him no when he asks me to marry him.”

“How many times is it now?” Chloe asked.

“Three.” Taylor chuckled. “I mean, I can’t imagine not saying yes, but what if he changes his mind after the baby is born? What if I’m not what he really wants? We’ve been together for—what? Six months? That’s not a lot of time. We know each other, but...I want to make sure he’s sure.”

“You clearly don’t know my brother well enough, yet, if you think he changes his mind about somethin’ once he’s decided that’s how it is.” Chloe laughed. “I’m not a good judge of romance or love. I defer to Taylor on that, even if I think she’s refusin’ to accept the inevitable. She’s stuck with my family.”

If Quinn loved him, if that’s what these funny feelings were, then it was time for drastic actions. There was only one way to save Owen—and possibly herself. She had to do it alone, though. Owen would never allow her to pull a stunt like this, but if it meant they both got to walk away from this, she’d do it.

Owen tried not to stare at the bathroom door. Quinn was okay. Just because he couldn’t see her didn’t mean everything wasn’t fine. It was.

“Hey, Zach.” Blake waved at the last to arrive.

“What the hell is going on here?” Zach hefted his laptop case under his arm and eyed the full room.

“Can you do an advanced search of local arrest records?” Owen asked.

All arrest records were public knowledge, but without the advanced ability to search other parameters, they were fucked. An average person couldn’t sort by what officer had filed the reports or when.

“Why?” Zach slid his laptop onto the table.

Owen had thought this through, from beginning to end. He’d never felt...right about what Zach told them. The guy set off Owen’s something’s off alarms, but not in a bad way. More in a, your friends are planning a surprise party for you, sort of way. Owen’s gut feelings about people and situations had saved his neck more than a few times. Right now, he was going out on a limb and making assumptions based on his instinct.

“Because whoever is after Quinn—and me—is someone I arrested,” Owen said.

“Which means it might be from the last year.” Blake perched on the back of the sectional, his new blade runner leg swinging back and forth. “That’s a narrow pool of people.”

“I’m not so sure. Otherwise, why hasn’t Jordan run across this guy? I think I must have done something to make him focus on me.” Owen stared at the wooden floors.

“Who have you killed?” Duke asked.

The room grew quiet.

Half the people there were either law enforcement or had served in the military. There was blood on their hands.

“Three,” Blake answered.

Owen swallowed.

Some people remembered those deaths with crystal clarity. For him, they were a blur. Time had corrupted those memories, easing the guilt. Each and every one had been a last resort situation. The suspects had had guns, they’d been by-the-book sort of calls. To save bystanders and law enforcement on scene, he’d taken those shots. Every life was precious. That was why he was a cop. To stop bad things from happening, but he wasn’t all powerful.

“Let me get set up, then we can look up the arrest records.” Zach took the last remaining chair at the table next to Jaxon and opened his laptop.

“What about the virus? Is your computer okay?” Owen didn’t want to alert whoever had hired the guy that they were on to them.

“Yeah, I cleaned that up.” Zach typed away. “Okay, so I’m just searching for Owen, right?”

“Let’s start with me.” Owen slid his hands into his pockets, bracing himself for the truth.

“Give me a moment...” Zach tapped at the keys, his gaze intent on the screen. “Okay, any of these three ring a bell?”

He turned the laptop to face the room. Three mug shots filled the screen. The better to obscure how Zach was finding out all this stuff? That’s what Owen would do in his shoes.

Owen closed his eyes for a moment, bringing up the mental image of the man who’d burned his house down. He’d wanted Owen to see his face. That was important. Now, would he see a version of it staring back at him in those pictures?

He opened his eyes.

Three faces stared back.

“Fuck...”

Owen swallowed.

His fingers tingled.

A rock plopped down in the pit of his stomach.

It was obvious.

He hadn’t seen the man’s face. Too much had gone on for him to process the body. That’d been up to IA. That night was still one of the worst of his night.

“What?” Blake frowned at him.

“It’s him. The guy I shot the night of your accident.” Owen could hardly believe it.

“Is that the driver? The one who ran from the scene?” Blake took several steps forward.

They’d been working a homicide. Owen and Blake were following up on a lead, which was how they’d found the hostage and two men holding the victim. It was still mostly a blur, but they’d pursued the two men. No shooting, just following. Granted, the perps hadn’t hesitated to fire on Owen and Blake, but they couldn’t return fire. Not with the hostage. It’d been too risky. Backup was on its way. Owen and Blake had only needed to keep eyes on the suspects until more officers were on scene.

The two suspects had split, one with the hostage. That was the one Owen and Blake had followed. The other had disappeared while they were out of line of sight. They’d thought this was their chance to get the hostage. They’d closed in. The perp dragged the hostage across a street, heading into a crowded park, gun clearly visible.

It was odd, the things that were still crystal clear.

The moment the perp had set his course for the park, both Blake and Owen lifted their guns. It was no longer a tail operation, they had to take this guy down before he walked into that park and shot innocent bystanders.

Owen had taken the shot. He’d had a clear line of sight.

It was a judgment call he still believed to be right.

He’d killed the suspect in one shot. Instantaneous, the ME had said. No pain. Just—gone.

The hostage had stood there, in the middle of the road, staring at them with wide eyes when he was hit by the car. Owen had always wondered if that car was driven by the second, fleeing suspect.

He was pretty damn sure it was.

“What do we know about him?” Owen’s voice was cold, detached.

He’d brought this horror down on Quinn’s shoulders.

“Hansel Garris. Parents were probably big Grimm storyteller fans, judging by their names. His sheet’s a mile long. He and his brother ran a lucrative ransoming business until, well you know. There’s not much on him since his brother died, just some parking tickets here and there. Honestly, if he’s your hit man, that sort of stuff isn’t going to be on his record if he’s worth his salt. The only reason he was identified in the ransom racket is because they actually returned their victims if payment was received.”

“And in this case, Quinn and me alive is the last thing the people paying him want.” Owen scrubbed a hand over his face. He couldn’t think. His mind was stuck on a loop.

“Okay, how would someone hire a hit man like Hansel? God, I can’t believe I’m saying the name Hansel.” Blake shook his head.

“Darknet, an asset that’s been used before, someone knows someone else, sometimes you can even post a damn Craigslist advert,” Zach answered without hesitation.

“The virus on Quinn’s laptop. You said that’s sophisticated?”

“Ish.” Zach bobbed his head and squinted out of one eye.

“We can probably strike Craigslist off that list then. If it’s an organized thing, then they likely have people or know people.” Owen continued to stare at the floor.

How had this happened?

The blows just kept coming.

He couldn’t recover from one without another one landing a hit.

When did it stop?

“Based on the virus, I’d say it’s either an asset or someone an enterprising individual found on the dark net.” Zach pushed back from the table and stroked his chin. The bit of facial hair was new.

“What can we do to help?” Duke asked.

“I...don’t even know,” Owen said slowly.

“Why are they after Quinn? Did we ever figure that out?” Blake asked.

“Best guess, there’s a key and some journals of her mother’s.” Owen shrugged. “It could be connected to her battery project, but that’s speculation.”

“I’ll let Big John know. He’s rented out the apartment over the garage while his roommates find them another place to live.” Duke rolled his eyes. “If anything happens there, he’ll know.”

Big John worked with an animal rescue, and from what Owen had heard, they’d run the operation out of their four bedroom rental for a while until they were properly established. From the way it sounded, John and his roommates had housed a few too many animals under their roof while vetting and placing them in homes.

“How safe are we here?” Owen glanced across the apartment to Erik.

“I’ve got a security system. Fenced and gated now. The apartment has its own entry. Bars on the windows. It’s not Fort Knox, but it’ll do.” Erik shrugged.

“How the hell do you even have this stuff? What network is this?” Blake leaned over Zach’s shoulder.

“Answers are not always your friend.” Zach closed the laptop.

“We can take the identity to our people,” Ian said and gestured at the other guys who worked for Aegis Group. “We might have some connections.”

“I can dig more into any darknet ties, but chances are, without something more concrete to go on, I won’t have a lot of luck,” Zach said.

“The rest of us should let you and Quinn get some rest.” Erik opened the door. “Beer’s on the house downstairs for the next hour. Come on, guys. Owen? You need anything let us know.”

Owen glanced toward the bathroom door. All he needed was Quinn, but first he had to figure out how to keep her alive.

She stepped into the storage unit, but went no farther than the open doorway.

Hansel reclined on a cot. A camp light cast a weak halo of illumination, enough to see the nasty red burns and melted flesh on the man’s torso.

“You fucked it up, didn’t you?” She sighed and rest her hands on the top of the cane. It was becoming more necessary to use it for more than just putting down those who failed her.

“It was a setback. No big deal. What the hell are you doing here?” He cast her a grumpy glare. He had to be hurting, by the looks of the burns.

“I’m paying you, therefore I keep tabs on you.” She answered his unasked question–How did you find me?

“I’ll get the job done,” he snapped.

“How?”

“I’ll do it.”

“You have yet to establish that you can take orders or deliver. I fail to see how I could possibly trust you.” She eyed Hansel’s arms. How much of him was burned?

It could be in her best interest to dispose of the man and take care of Quinn—and now her little boy toy—on her own. She was too old to take matters into her own hands like this, but if it meant she got the lung treatments she desperately needed, she’d do it. It was her life or theirs. They weren’t all walking away from this.

Hansel pushed to his feet, towering over her.

“I’ll do the damn job,” he roared at her.

She gripped the handle with both hands and flinched, but didn’t take a step back.

“See that you do,” she said.

She took two steps back and one to her right.

Hansel wasn’t yet a lame horse, but he was close. She’d have to be careful with him. He knew enough to be dangerous to her, and by extension, her employer, and that had to be dealt with. But first, Quinn. There wasn’t much time left to head off that problem.