CHAPTER FOUR
Quinn waited until Russel’s truck disappeared around the next block before quickly crossing the street then heading back the way they’d come. She’d made sure he’d driven a couple of blocks past the café in case Thomas was watching, which she was sure he was. He’d been blowing up her phone since before they’d left. And had basically just told her to get her ass there before her old man sent out a search detail. Exactly what she was trying to avoid. She’d made a point to never be alone with any of her father’s associates.
Associates. What a joke. They were thugs. The kind of men to strike first then worry if it had been warranted, later. Especially Thomas. Just thinking the man’s name made her stomach roil. Why her father had picked him to be his go-to guy, she didn’t know. Thomas was mean—junkyard dog mean—always sticking his nose in her personal business. He’d been chasing her since she was sixteen, and despite telling him repeatedly that she wasn’t interested, he still kept texting. Kept showing up at her usual hangouts, not that she had many.
She’d done everything she could to distance herself. Had blocked him. Avoided him. She’d finally gone to her father, but he seemed confused as to why Quinn wasn’t interested in the guy. Her dad seemed to think Thomas was the perfect man for her. Thankfully, he had told Thomas to let Quinn decide when she wanted anything more to happen between them. It had been enough to get him to curb some of his usual behavior.
But Quinn didn’t trust him. That’s why she’d secretly moved into her loft apartment. As far as her father and anyone else was concerned, she lived in the bachelor suite above her small studio. She made sure to have her lights on timers, her mail delivered there. To stay a few nights whenever she got the impression someone would be checking up on her. Whatever it took to maintain the illusion.
A cold gust of wind whipped her hair across her face, the icy sting of rain making her shiver. She glanced over her shoulder—half expecting to see Russel’s truck parked on the side of the road, his luscious mouth turned down into a hard scowl—and sighed in relief at the empty road.
Christ. He’d actually offered to join her. To walk through the doors with his hand on the small of her back, his side pressed to hers, completely unaware of what he’d face. What kind of situation she could have been leading him into. And he hadn’t been scared. Not an ounce of fear had crinkled the lines around his eyes. Whitened his knuckles as he’d held onto her. Any worry had been directly solely at her—for her.
Her chest tightened, her heart pounding forcefully against her ribs. Tears pooled in her eyes as his image wavered in her mind—eyes narrowed, mouth pinched tight. She hadn’t been convinced he was going to listen to her until she’d pointed out he was putting her at greater risk by staying. Something had passed over his expression, and he’d relented—driven off.
She took a deep breath, dabbing at any residual moisture. She needed to get back in control, and thinking about Russel wasn’t going to help with that. Not after the way he’d turned her inside out with that kiss. Exposed the pieces of her she’d hidden away. Buried so deep no one could find them, least of all her. She wasn’t sure if love at first sight—or first kiss—existed, but he was definitely putting that theory to the test. And, while she vaguely remembered kissing him last night, today’s kiss was off the charts. She’d wanted to climb on top of him, make love to him right there in the truck, idling beside the curb, in broad daylight. Then tell him to drive and never look back. It was crazy. He was obviously crazy.
Or crazy good.
She swallowed past the large lump in her throat. She’d recognized the tattoo on his arm. Military. Special Forces. While she couldn’t remember exactly which division, she knew she’d seen a similar one when she’d been doing a photo shoot at Fort Lewis—a charity calendar with the proceeds going to wounded veterans. All of the men had ink, and she’d seen her fair share of emblems. They had been SEALs, Marines, Army Rangers—the elite. Men who didn’t shy away from a fight. Who didn’t know the meaning of the word surrender. Men just like Russel.
She would have figured it out sooner if she hadn’t been smashed the night before. Looking back, Russel screamed military. His hair, his moves. His sense of honor. Why she hadn’t considered it before, she wasn’t sure. But everything had clicked into place when she’d spotted that one mark.
She’d done her best to hide the fact she’d clued in to his profession, not wanting him to offer any other details that would make finding him, again, easy. That was a road she couldn’t go down. While he might have the ability to keep her safe, she’d never put that kind of burden on him. Fighting a war was one thing. Going up against organized crime—never knowing who was on the payroll. If you were putting friends and family at risk—that was entirely different. And the last thing she wanted was to have his blood on her hands. She already had enough guilt weighing her down.
Quinn hurried toward the door, cursing under her breath when it opened before she reached it as Thomas walked out into the rain. He smiled smugly at her, stepping in front of her when she went to dart inside.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist with brutal force. “You’re late, Harlequin.”
She shivered at the way he drew out her name then yanked her arm free. “I’ve told you not to touch me.”
“Your father was getting worried. You know better than to worry him.”
“I came. That’s all that matters.”
“Where’s your car?”
She stilled. Damn, had he spotted Russel’s truck? Better to give him a version of the truth. “In the shop. A friend gave me a lift.”
“A friend? What kind of ‘friend’ are we talking about?”
“The kind that gives you a ride last minute when your car breaks down. That kind of friend. I’ll assume my dad’s at his usual table.”
Thomas moved with her, still keeping the entrance blocked. “You can change your name. Make as many identities as you want. Live in that pathetic excuse of an apartment. Refuse to be seen in public with him. Severe every tie to this family. But you’re still Harlequin James—Henry James’ daughter and heir to his estate. You can’t escape that.”
“You’re not part of this family. I’ve kept my promise. I don’t interfere with his…business. And he stays clear of mine. And, by he, I mean you and all of your minions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve kept my father waiting long enough.”
Quinn pushed past him, breathing deeply as she headed for the table and chairs near the back of the café. Her father turned once she’d rounded the corner, holding his arms out to the side.
He arched his brow, glancing at his watch. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”
She flashed him a small smile. “Sorry. Got tied up.”
“You could have called me.”
She nodded, though they both knew she’d never willingly call. Wouldn’t leave any kind of physical evidence on her phone that they were connected. It was bad enough her father sometimes texted her, or had Thomas do it, like today. She didn’t need to initiate anything. “I’m only fifteen minutes late. Hardly a reason to have Thomas send me a dozen texts.”
“You’re my daughter. I’ll always worry. And I only asked him to check to see if you were still coming. It’s not like you to be even a minute late.”
And this was exactly why. “Car trouble.” She held up her hand. “It’s fine. I had a friend drop me off.”
He arched a brow then motioned to the chair. “Sit.”
She slid onto the seat, thankful for the chance to hide the ways her hands were still shaking. Knowing Thomas was standing by the corner, watching her, make her skin crawl.
Henry sat across from her, his hands folded on top of the table, looking regal. He was dressed in a button-down white shirt and sports jacket, accompanied by a casual pair of tweed pants. Quinn wondered if he even owned a pair of jeans.
He leaned forward, smiling. “So, a friend. Tell me about this friend.”
She plastered on the fake smile she’d perfected by the time she was twelve. “It’s not like that. He’s actually dating a girlfriend of mine. He’d asked me to hide her birthday present and was kind enough to drive me here when my muffler went. That’s all.”
He stared at her then sighed. “I was hoping that maybe you were seeing someone. Since you refuse to date Thomas, I thought you might have found someone else.”
Good, she was obviously still skilled in the lying department, at least where her father was concerned. “You know I work crazy hours. Landing that magazine contract has made them even crazier. I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”
“You need to make time.” He held up his hand. “I’m not getting any younger, Harlequin. I’d like to see my grandchildren before I die.” He scowled. “I can’t help but wonder if your mother was still alive, if you’d be less stubborn about getting involved in a relationship.”
She cringed a bit at her full name. Only her father and anyone associated with him actually used it. None of her friends even knew it was her real name, and that’s how she liked it. “Trust me, I wouldn’t change anything. Besides, I’m only twenty-eight. I’ve got lots of time. And you don’t look like you’re on death’s doorstep.”
“Still, these things take time. And I’d feel better with you living on your own, going to some very questionable places, trying to capture…how did you put it? The real human experience? If you had someone to protect you.”
“This isn’t the nineteen fifties. I can fight my own battles, Dad.”
“If you’d only agree to let me provide you with a bodyguard—”
“No!” She pursed her lips when he arched his brow at her sudden outburst. “Thank you, but no. I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m fine.”
He sighed, again, but the way he moved his cutlery around marked his displeasure. He stared at her for a few moments, glancing around before leaning forward. “I’m not a threat to you. You know that, right? Despite what people might say. What I do. You’re my daughter. I’d never let anyone harm you.”
She reached out and took his hand, a twinge of guilt eating at her stomach. This was why she’d turned a blind eye ever since she’d discovered his business empire was just a front for illegal activities. Money laundering. Weapons dealing. She suspected he did it all. That he was as cutthroat as the rumors she’d heard. As dangerous. But the man sitting in front of her, holding her hand as if she was made of glass, his worry etched in the lines across his brow and around his mouth… This was her father. And, despite everything, she still loved him.
“I know. But I promise you, I’m fine.” She paused when Thomas appeared beside the table.
Henry turned. “Problem?”
Thomas glanced at her then focused on her dad. “Nothing you need to worry about. I just wanted to tell you that I have some business in the back office. You can text me if you need anything.”
“That’s fine, Thomas.”
The man leered at her, making a point of ogling her breasts before spinning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway.
Henry gave her hand a squeeze then released it. “I really don’t understand why you won’t go out with him. He would definitely keep you safe.”
But who would keep me safe from Thomas?
She smiled. “Not my type.”
“I’m starting to think no man’s your type.” He relaxed back in his chair. “You look tired. And is that a bump on your head?”
“I dropped a lens and banged my head on the table getting up.”
“You need to take better care of yourself. If you’re working these insane hours because you’re having money troubles…”
“No. I’ve got everything covered.” She stood. “Though, I could use the ladies’ room. Please order me the usual.”
She dropped a kiss on his cheek then headed for the hallway. The washroom was down near the end of the hall, next to a couple of offices. Cool air swirled around her feet as the door closed behind her, giving her a moment’s peace.
It appeared her father was in full coddle mode, and if she didn’t stop his line of questioning, she’d scream. She didn’t want his help, his money, or his men. She just wanted to see him once a month—pretend for an hour that he wasn’t the head of some kind of crime syndicate. That he was Henry James, loving father and successful businessman.
Quinn ran the water, splashing it across her face. She’d hide out for five or six minutes, give her dad time to forget what other questions he was going to drill her with, then she’d make her way back. Choke down eggs and toast, call a cab, then head home. Alone.
Now was not the time to start thinking about Russel. He was gone. Period. And, even though she could probably find out which branch he’d belonged to, and ultimately his last name, she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. She’d been born into this life—accepted it as just a crappy roll of the dice. But she’d be damned if she’d bring someone else into it. Not willingly. And Russel was too stubborn, too proud, too much a soldier, to consider the danger before barreling in, guns blazing, all to save what he saw as the proverbial damsel in distress.
She took a calming breath, stilling when a series of dull thuds sounded through the wall. She pressed her ear against the cold surface, jumping when the next thud reached her, followed by a low moan. Like an animal that had been trapped so long it barely had the strength to call out. An angry voice came next, then another thud.
Quinn eased away. It didn’t take a genius to deduce what was going on in the next room. And the thought that someone was getting beaten sickened her. Surely, this didn’t have anything to do with her father. After she’d learned the truth, she’d confronted him. He’d calmly admitted to his “ventures” but had sworn to her that he’d never hurt anyone. That he didn’t condone violence. That he’d never let anything like that touch her.
But, as she stood there, listening to the mumbled sounds in the next room, uncertainty surfaced. Hadn’t Thomas said he had “business” in the back room? Which meant either her father had lied to her or he’d been kept in the dark, too. Shielded from certain undertakings.
She drew herself up then grabbed the door handle. She wasn’t a scared teenager, anymore. If she’d had the guts to demand answers, then, she wouldn’t balk at demanding them, now. She took a deep breath when the door down the hall opened.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I suggest you reconsider our offer.”
Quinn froze. That was definitely Thomas’ voice. She stood motionless as his footsteps echoed down the hallway, toward the dining area, then faded.
Emotions warred inside of her, but curiosity won out. Maybe it wasn’t what she’d assumed? Maybe she’d been wrong? Either way, she wanted to know the truth before she confronted her father, again.
She cracked open the door, made sure the hallway was clear, then darted out. She turned toward the office, quickly moving to the door before trying the handle—unlocked. She took a deep breath then peeked inside. A man was tied to a chair, head bowed, body slack against the bindings. Blood trickled down his face then dripped off his chin, pooling on a sheet of plastic covering the antique throw rug. His labored breath wheezed through his lungs, the light hiss to it sending shivers down her spine. She took a step in then stopped as her gaze dipped lower. His left knee was shattered, shifted off to one side at an unusual angle. More blood stained his pants, what looked like a piece of bone stabbing through his denim.
Bile burned her throat, and she turned, closed the door then raced back to the washroom. She made it to the closest stall before emptying her stomach into the toilet. Endless heaves that left her slumped against the metal divider, heart pounding, hands shaking. Maybe it was a by-product of the alcohol. Or the meds Russel had given her. Or just the cold truth that had slammed into her like a damn freight train. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back up. Walk out the door.
Dear god. How had she been so naïve? So wrong?
Footsteps in the hallway. Two this time. One slower than the other.
She turned to gaze at the closed door, wondering if it would pop open—if she’d be the next person tied to a chair—when the footsteps passed by then stopped.
“God damn it, Thomas.”
Another crest of bile rose in her throat, but she pushed it down. That was her father’s voice. She’d know it anywhere.
She forced her legs under her, tripping her way to the door. She heard them step inside the other room followed by the distinctive click of the lock.
Quinn slipped out, once again, making her way to the office door. She glanced toward the hallway then pressed her ear against the wooden panel. She needed to hear what her father said. Needed to believe that his outrage was because he’d only, just now, discovered what Thomas was capable of. That he’d toss Thomas out on his ass.
More groaning, followed by incoherent mumbling. Nothing concrete until Thomas yelled at the man to just tell them already. The guy muttered something—it sounded like “fuck you”—before the room quieted. She stared at the door, wondering what would happen if she knocked, when a couple of dull pops broke the silence.
Quinn inhaled, placing her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. There was no mistaking that sound. It had been a gun. The kind with one of those large black barrels that hushed the loud blast. The kind she pictured assassins carrying. Or mercenaries. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Russel had pulled one out of his kit. If he’d had one stashed in his truck. He looked the part. Dangerous. But here? Her father? She’d never seen her father touch a weapon.
Not that it mattered. The harsh truth was that man she’d seen was likely dead. Dead and tied to a chair, and her father was in the room, just…standing there, staring at him. Letting it happen, unless.
No, no, no, no, no. What if…if…he’d fired the shot? If he’d…god…killed the guy? She shook her head, wild hair bouncing all over. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be another explanation. She had to be wrong.
But, even as she tried to talk herself into it, she heard her father sigh. Sigh. Like it had been an inconvenience to kill the man. A drain. The same way he’d sighed after he’d asked who her friend was. Like it was nothing. Normal.
“How many times have I told you not to conduct business when my daughter is around? Seriously, Thomas. She’s in the bathroom, for fuck’s sake. What if she’d heard you or seen you? Knocked on the door and seen him? All bloody and tied to the damn chair?”
“Maybe it’s time your precious Harlequin owned up to her birthright. Took her place in the organization before she topples it. Turns you, and everyone else here, into the feds.”
A hand connected with skin. “Don’t you fucking talk about my daughter like that. You know I want her shielded from this. It’s bad enough I’ve got accounts in her name. Properties. I won’t have her subjected to your mode of business. You know I don’t approve of your methods.”
Accounts in her name? Properties?
“Yeah? Well, my methods get the job done. Keeps your ass out of a federal prison and on your throne. The guy was an informer. He was going to tell the feds everything. You really think a slap on the wrist or a warning was going to change that?”
“What I think is that you’re a necessary evil, at times, and that you could have done it anywhere other than here. While I’m having brunch with Harlequin.”
“Please. She looks hungover. I’m betting she’s hurling her guts out as we speak. She won’t know a thing. I’ll have this cleaned up before she’s even out. By the way, she showed up in a truck. One I haven’t seen before. A very large guy driving.”
Shit. He had seen Russel’s truck.
“She claims it was a friend’s boyfriend helping her out.”
“Want me to check into it?”
“I’m very protective of my daughter, Thomas. Very protective.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Now, make sure this place is spotless, and don’t pull a stunt like this, again, if Harlequin is remotely close. I promised I’d never let anyone or anything hurt her. And I’m a man of my word.”
Quinn backed away, forcing herself not to run down the hall and out the door. Run until her lungs burst or she died of a heart attack. Until she ran out of land or hit the mountains. Instead, she headed for the bathroom. She made a point of flushing the toilet several times—in case Thomas was listening. Waiting—before finally returning to the table.
Her dad rose as she stopped beside her chair, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. “Harlequin? Are you okay? I’ve never seen you look so pale.”
She feigned a half smile, gathering her coat off the chair. “Actually, I’m not feeling well. The truth is, I went out with some friends last night. You remember Rhonda? She’s getting married, so we gave her a surprise bachelorette party. I’m afraid I drank a bit too much. I thought I was okay, but it turns out, I’m really nauseous. Would you be upset if we rescheduled? I know you’re busy, and you go to a lot of trouble to arrange all this, but…”
Her stomach gave a short heave, and she had to palm her mouth to keep from throwing up, again. Right there on the table.
Henry sighed. Just like in the room. Like before. God, it made her want to heave twice as much. “Of course. Why didn’t you just tell me? You could have called. You’re young. You’re supposed to go out then wake up with a few regrets the next morning.”
“I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Not possible. I do remember what it was like to be your age, you know.”
She feigned that smile, again. “Thanks. I promise I won’t go drinking the night before, next time.” She pulled on her coat. “I’ll call the house. Tell Gladys what Sundays I have free. Like I said, the new contract…”
“Can I have Thomas drive you home? He’s just tidying up in the back office.”
She knew the color bleached from her face. She felt it. Like her skin just turned to ice. Frozen. Dead, like the man in the office. “No. I already called a cab in the bathroom. I’m just going to go home and sleep this off.”
“You really do look pale. Please, promise me you’ll take better care of yourself. Not work so much.” He smiled. The kind he’d given her as a child. The kind that had always made her look beyond the surface. Only now, all she saw was that room. That man. “I worry about you.”
“I know.”
He shifted on his feet, looking slightly…suspicious. “You sure you’re not really going to meet this ‘friend’?”
“What? No. He’s off-limits. And I’m in no condition for company.”
“Still…” He took a step toward her. “You know, you can tell me anything. I only want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Nothing to tell. Promise. I’m going straight home. Alone.”
And by home she meant her studio. No question that he’d have someone check up on her, now. And she couldn’t risk he’d discover her loft.
She moved past him, using her impending bout of puking as an excuse not to kiss his cheek, again.
“Take care, honey. I’ll see you, soon.”
She nodded, aware if she opened her mouth that scream she’d somehow suppressed would break loose. She’d probably shatter all the glasses. Hell, maybe create a concussive shock wave. Instead, she walked a quickly as she could without looking as if she was escaping. The cold air bit into her skin as she hurried across the road then around the corner. As far as she could get before bending over—puking, again.
Images of the man flooded her mind. The blood. The white cast of his bone through his jeans. The way he’d slumped against the ropes. And she knew, she’d just jumped down the rabbit hole. That there was no coming back. No more pretending. It was time she decided which side of the line she was on. And what the hell she was going to do to stay on that side.