A dark figure materialized out of the shadows.

She slid down deeper into her seat. These days were supposed to be behind her. She should be headed into retirement, not teaching a new batch of idiots how to wipe their asses.

The figure approached the side of the car, bent, and tapped his knuckle on the window.

She punched the button and the glass rolled down.

“You made yourself noticeable and a target. I should shoot you, just for that.” Her fingers curled and she had the urge for a cigarette again.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t approach a car straight on again. You’ll get yourself killed and I don’t have the patience to train another replacement.” Working with these guys, that’s what drove her to start smoking in the first place. The government vetted people, tested them. Corporations picked the most readily-available bodies and tossed them her way. It wasn’t the same thing.

“Won’t happen again, ma’am.”

“It’d better not.” She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“There was a...problem.”

“A problem? What do you mean a problem?” She gaped up at the man big enough to be the Jolly Green Giant’s stunt double. The big ones were always problematic.

“They weren’t alone.”

She stared at the man, cold fury taking root in her chest. These wanna-bes today, they just didn’t know how to get a job done right.

Fuck this. She wanted to look him in the eye without craning her neck.

She grabbed her cane from the passenger seat and pushed the driver’s side door open. The man had to scramble back to avoid getting hit in the balls.

“She didn’t have it, ma’am. Honest.”

She gripped the cane with one hand and straightened her spine. She crooked her finger at the man. The higher ups had something on him. Whatever it was, it would be bad. That’s how they roped her into doing this again and again. All she wanted to do was retire and tinker and leave behind this spy bullshit. But it kept haunting her.

Without the experimental lung treatments, she would die within the year. To get them, she had to wade back into this life for what was possibly the most soul-crushing job she’d ever had: to destroy the one woman she wanted to see succeed.

If it came down to Quinn Schaeffer or her, she’d kill Quinn herself.

It was the same decision she’d had to make about Julia Schaeffer all those years ago. Loving the family didn’t protect them. After all, if she didn’t look out for herself, no one else would.

The man grimaced and edged closer.

She smiled and beckoned him closer.

What an idiot.

Whoever had picked this one should be culled.

He got within striking distance. She grasped his ear like an errant child’s, twisting it.

“You can’t handle two girls? Children? She has the damn key. She’s told me she has it, but I don’t know where she keeps it. That was your job. This was your test, and you failed.” She tilted the cane toward him, until the end touched his shoulder, and pressed the button. She felt the snick of the coil releasing inside the handle.

The man flinched.

“Go on. Get out of here. You’re useless.” She released him.

In about two hours, the drug would cause a heart attack. A nice, neat way of taking care of loose ends. No one would be able to trace him back to her or the company.

“I’ll go back. I’ll—”

“You’ve had more than your fair share of chances. I’m done with you.” She folded her hands over the handle of the cane.

The man wavered.

That would be the epinephrine. She’d happened on including the tiniest bit of it in the dosage. It jump-started the fight or flight response. Most failures tended toward running away with their tail between their legs, that way they got wherever they were going to die faster.

“Please, give me one more chance. I’ll wait until they’re gone—”

“You idiot. Haven’t you been listening? The whole point was to make her tell you where the key is. You’re—what? Going to go in there and get every damn key under the roof? I don’t think so.” Good lord, she was going to have to do everything herself, wasn’t she? And at her age.

“Ma’am, please?” He took a step toward her, hands up. “You don’t understand, my—”

“And I don’t care to. You think you’re special? That you’re the only one they have by the balls? You ain’t. So, don’t please or one more chance me. Because you fucked up, it’s my ass on the line.” She jabbed her thumb at her chest.

If she didn’t produce results soon, they’d stop treatment on her lungs. If they stopped treatment, she’d die. And then the party was over. After her laundry list of crimes, people killed and so forth, she wasn’t looking forward to finding out if there was an afterlife. The key was to keep breathing. For however long possible. She knew what was at stake here.

“Get out of my sight.” She jerked the driver’s side door open and sank into the driver’s seat.

The man stood there, like a lost puppy, while she rolled up the window and shifted into drive.

Talk about shit storm.

It was like they’d intentionally sabotaged her.

Fuck.

This was a disaster of epic proportions.

She drove aimlessly for ten minutes, going over her options.

The first thing she had to do was inform the higher ups that their man would be dead shortly and recommend they clean any and all data regarding to his employment with them. That was plain courtesy. Besides, if they found out the hard way the guy was dead, it would be more difficult for her to sweet talk her way out of something else.

It might be time for the contingency plan, as much as she hated that. She’d done well using the tools and means at her disposal, and only what she was comfortable with. If she went with the contingency plan, if she hired a professional, it would be different.

She hadn’t done that since the war. Since she was young and pretty. Even the good ones forgot she was dangerous when she fluttered her eyelashes. These days, the only thing she had going for herself was the granny routine.

She’d only worked with people she’d trained for so long that the idea of auditioning someone, looking at resumes, was daunting, new territory. But if it meant she got to keep receiving the treatments, then so be it. This was her life. She wanted to keep living it, even if it meant killing the woman who was like the daughter she’d never had.

“Hand me that wrench, please?” Owen held out his hand, never taking his eyes off the faucet.

“Um, this one?” Kierra gingerly placed the tool in his hand.

“That’s the one.” He used the pliers to hold the washer in place while he tightened the nut with the wrench.

The whole faucet needed to be replaced, but for now, this would solve the near-constant drip he’d listened to for most of the night. Quinn probably wouldn’t take too kindly to him making changes to her kitchen, and after last night, he expected her to be especially prickly, given that he’d seen her vulnerable, but a leak was something he could fix with his eyes closed.

“There we go.” He secured the lever in place again, then gestured to the fixture. “Give it a try. Let’s make sure it works.”

Kierra grinned and grasped the lever. She pumped it a few times, and when she turned it off it stayed off.

“No more drips!”

“Sh.” He laid his finger across his lips and winked. “Your sister’s still asleep.”

Kierra covered her mouth with her hands and smiled.

He was glad to see that the events of last night hadn’t stolen the child’s cheer. From his understanding, she’d hidden fast, which meant she hadn’t seen the man hit Quinn or any of the hallway brawl.

“What do you say we make breakfast, hm?” He leaned his forearm against the counter.

“We have cereal.” Kierra tilted her head.

“I was thinking more like...pancakes?”

“The stove broke.” Kierra’s shoulders slumped.

“Well, how about I look at the stove and see if I can fix it?”

He turned toward the stove. It’d been a while since he’d used an electric range, but not too long that he didn’t recall a few tricks. Judging by the age of the appliance and the blackened state of the burners, he was willing to bet the issue was in the connection from the heating element to the inner workings.

Electrical was out of his scope of knowledge but he could always try.

“Okay, first rule of stove fixing, never do it by yourself, okay?” Owen pulled the first element out and examined the connector. Sure enough, it was coated in grime and burnt bits of food. “I think we might get pancakes today.”

“I like pancakes.” Kierra grinned. “Daddy makes them when he visits.”

When he visits.

Not when he’s home.

“Yeah? When’s your dad going to be here again?” Owen could only hope that the man would hear about what had happened and come home. It was hard for Owen to not have strong feelings about a man who’d leave his daughters to fend for themselves. Everyone had to work, but couldn’t the guy get a job a little closer to the homestead? He stuffed his personal baggage down deep. Just because he and his siblings had to more or less raise themselves didn’t mean he got to project on Quinn and Kierra. Much.

“Christmas?” Kierra shrugged. She didn’t say the word with much hope.

“When’s the last time he was home?” Owen scrubbed at the heating element, taking out his frustration on that.

“Um, right before Thanksgiving. He had to go back, so we had the turkey early.”

“That must be tough, not seeing him often.”

The light in Kierra’s eyes dimmed a bit.

Shit.

Had he hit a nerve?

“Quinn says Dad is in Neverland, that he’s playing Peter Pan. What does that mean?”

Owen bit his lip.

This was not a conversation he should have with Kierra. It was so easy to look at her and see a child, a little girl, and forget that her memory retention was almost perfect. He’d learned the hard way that she had what was considered a photographic memory.

He couldn’t lie to her, make up some story about how her dad was trying to save people or do the right thing. Because she’d remember the lie. He had to be honest with her, but he also didn’t want to hurt her.

“There we go.” He held up the cleaned element and smiled. “Let’s see if this works.”

“Are you ignoring my question?” Kierra tilted her head the other way.

“I’m trying to decide how to answer.” He slid the burner back in place and flipped it on. The stove hummed to life. “I think...that is something your sister will have to decide when to explain to you. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it would be out of line for me to break down what that statement means.”

“Like when Stacey plays with my dolls without asking me?”

“Yeah.” Owen winced. “Have you asked Stacey to not play with your dolls?”

“No. Delilah told Stacey it was okay.” Kierra pressed her little lips together.

“This is where I’m supposed to say that sharing is caring, I think.” Owen sighed. Navigating the complicated social structure of a little girl’s world was beyond him. Especially when dealing with three so uniquely gifted little girls.

“Look!” Kierra pointed at the burner turning red at the edges.

“Well, how about I make some pancakes?”

Owen grabbed the box of pancake mix from the pantry, checking inside for weevils or anything crawly, but it seemed safe. With Kierra’s help, he made the batter and poured the first few pancakes. He got the coffee going and checked the time.

His guess was—

“What are you doing?”

Despite knowing Quinn was due to wake up at any moment, the sound of her voice still made him freeze for a second, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Morning, Quinn.” Owen pasted on a smile and turned around.

“That burner doesn’t even work.” She groaned and pressed a hand to her face. The bruise had darkened under her eye and she hadn’t tried to hide it. With her natural, tanned coloring, it wasn’t immediately obvious, but he saw it. He knew it was there.

“Owen fixed it,” Kierra said in a sing-song voice.

Quinn dropped her hand and blinked at him. Her hair was up in some sort of messy knot, pieces sticking out every which way. It was kind of cute.

“You...did?” she asked slowly.

“Yeah, you just got some stuff in the connection.” He shrugged and turned back in time to flip the pancakes.

“And he fixed the sink,” Kierra proclaimed.

“You did?” Quinn asked again.

“Oh, you just had a loose screw is all. Chances are, it’s going to happen again. Parts of it are worn down. You could get a replacement faucet for twenty bucks and I could put it in for you, if you like.”

“You did all this today? This morning?” Quinn stopped, facing the sink. She stared at it as if she didn’t know how it worked.

“It’s nothing. A loose screw and a little scrubbing.” He was an unwanted guest, no matter that last night he’d rocked her to sleep and tucked her in after drying her tears.

“Kierra? Go get dressed, please?” Quinn stared at him with a funny expression on her face.

The little girl scampered down the hall without another word.

“I can’t let you do this stuff,” Quinn said quietly.

“It’s just breakfast.” He shrugged.

“No, it’s not.” She braced her hand on the counter and ran her other over her hair.

Owen snagged one of the travel coffee cups from the drain board and poured some of the freshly-brewed liquid into it. He’d learned growing up that it never bode well to have an argument with anyone pre-coffee. Quinn took the cup and sipped as if on auto-pilot. That taken care of, he flipped the pancakes out of the skillet and onto plates ready with butter.

“Owen, you’re ignoring me.”

“No, I’m waiting until you’ve had coffee to have this discussion.” He smiled and offered her a plate. “The dripping was keeping me awake and everyone has to eat. Given how late everyone was awake last night, I figured I’d help out with food.”

“Why are you doing this?” Quinn held the plate in one hand and the coffee in the other.

“Because...I can’t change the world, but I can do my best to make sure a few people’s lives are better. Besides, I’m on suspension, and this,” he gestured at the sink and pancake batter, “gives me something to do.”

“Wait, you’re suspended?” Quinn frowned.

“Yeah.” Owen grimaced.

“What for?”

“It’s a story for another time.”

“Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah.”

“By the way, Kierra asked me what Neverland and Peter Pan meant.”

“Shit...”

“I told her it was something you’d have to explain when you were ready.”

“That’s a good answer. Sorry about that, she can be...”

“Delightful?” Owen chuckled.

“That’s a word for it.” Quinn smiled, some of the light coming back into her eyes. “Shit, the time.”

Owen glanced at Kierra’s uneaten pancakes.

“Want me to take her to school?”

Quinn froze, staring at him, eyes wide.

“I wouldn’t mind, and honestly I’d like to know that she’s safe. Then I can come back and fix that window, unless you want to replace the whole thing?”

“You can do that?” She bit her lip, obviously torn between pushing him out the door and making things easier for herself.

“I think so.” He was pretty good in a pinch. Not a professional, but he could do a lot with a little.

“What are you, some kind of magic, Fix It Felix?” Quinn flashed him a smile.

The world seemed to slow in those seconds as the full impact of those lips hit him right in the chest. He wanted to see her smile again, the light in her eyes glow brighter. He wanted to hear her laugh. Be happy. It was completely irrational, and that’s what he wanted.

“If you’re Fix it Felix, am I Wreck It Ralph?” She shook her head and smiled.

“What’s a Felix?” he asked.

“You clearly don’t watch a lot of kid’s movies.”

“No, afraid I don’t.” He added it to a mental list of to do items.

Quinn upended the cup of coffee, gulping down the rest. She set the cup down and pulled the elastic out of her bun, letting her hair down in long, curling waves. She stared at the ceiling as she ran her fingers through it, her brain whirling so loud he could hear her thinking.

He and Quinn had been at odds with each other since the day they’d met at the princess party. All he’d wanted to do was help, and that put him and Quinn in direct opposition of each other. Would that change, now? Or would Quinn resent him for it?

He hoped she would see them as a team and not opposing forces.

“Okay.” Quinn braced a hand on the counter and stared at him. “I’m...not going to fight with you on this. You want to fix the window? Be my guest. I’ll call the school and let them know you’re dropping her off. I’ve got to get going. We can talk about what I owe you later.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“No one does anything for free.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Maybe not, but...we’ll talk about it later.” She turned and padded out of the room on bare feet.

Owen flipped the last of the pancakes, more than a little surprised about Quinn’s change of heart. He’d gotten so used to her stubbornness that this acceptance was strange. Still, it gave him a purpose, for today at least. And later, he’d prove her wrong. He didn’t want anything from Quinn, except to know that she and Kierra were safe. And maybe another one of her smiles.