Noble Prince: Tin Gypsy Series - Book 4 Read online

  Her spirit hadn’t just faded. She’d drained it dry.

  I followed her to the door, giving her plenty of space while matching her glacial pace.

  Nathan whipped the door open the moment her foot hit the single porch step. “Chief—”

  I held up a hand, then waved for him to get out of Scarlett’s way. When we were all inside, I closed the door behind me. “Scarlett, why don’t you go change into dry clothes.”

  She nodded and shuffled down the hallway toward the only bedroom with an actual bed.

  “I’m sorry,” Nathan blurted. “She said she wanted some fresh air and I didn’t think that was a big deal.”

  I sighed. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow at the station.”

  “But—”

  “Tomorrow.” I jerked my chin at the door. “There should be a shovel in the garage. Would you mind hitting the sidewalk?”

  “No, sir,” he said, then disappeared outside.

  Nathan would be reprimanded verbally for not watching Scarlett more closely, but I wasn’t going to blow the kid up. He was new and hadn’t realized she was a flight risk. Hell, I hadn’t either. When I’d gotten a text from Bryce saying she’d recognized Scarlett at the grocery store’s deli counter, I’d about fallen out of my chair.

  I’d thought Scarlett understood the severity of the situation, but clearly, I’d been wrong.

  Maybe I should have pushed her harder that night. Instead of letting her ignore my questions as she’d sat in my office, huddled beneath a blanket, staring at my face, maybe I should have demanded some answers. But demanding anything from a woman in shock had seemed unnecessarily cruel.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have gone ten days without checking in here myself.

  I paced the living room, dragging a hand through my short hair. Everyone expected me to have the answers. To know how to handle situations like this. I’d been a cop for a long time, but even this was new. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but I’d been fumbling for days, relying on instinct, not experience. Because if I overanalyzed my decisions, I’d second-guess them all.

  So I’d focused on the facts.

  Ten days ago, Scarlett’s ex and a member of the Arrowhead Warriors Motorcycle Club had pushed his way into Presley’s house, where she’d been staying with her sister. Jeremiah had held them hostage at gunpoint, demanding money.

  Jeremiah had confessed to the women that he’d been stealing drugs from his club and reselling them. He’d also admitted that he’d pinned the theft on Scarlett to avoid punishment and certain death from his brothers. But he’d hoped that by getting money to repay the club, the betrayal would be overlooked.

  So he’d driven the three hours to Clifton Forge in search of Presley. She didn’t have the one hundred thousand dollars he’d been looking for but Jeremiah had hoped to get the money from Presley’s boyfriend, Shaw Valance. After all, Shaw was one of Hollywood’s most highly paid actors.

  Jeremiah had been a foolish bastard. Even if he’d managed to get the cash, no matter how much money he took to the Warriors, they wouldn’t have let it go. When Jeremiah had finally clued in to the reality of the situation, the coward had taken his own life. He’d trapped Scarlett and left her behind to pay for his mistakes.

  Behind me, Scarlett cleared her throat. She’d changed into another pair of sweats. The navy hoodie and matching pants were articles I’d snagged from the station. The police department crest was embroidered in stark white above her breast. The set was a women’s small but it sagged from her body in bunches.

  I hadn’t thought to check if the things I’d sent actually fit. When I’d first set Scarlett up here, I’d had a female officer make a hasty trip to the store, picking up the necessities. Soap. Toothbrush. Deodorant. Bedding for the bedroom and towels for the bath. I’d told her to take two sets of sweats from the station’s supply closet and make sure to pick up Scarlett some socks and underwear.

  Each shift change was scheduled around meal time and my team was supposed to have been bringing Scarlett food, but had anyone actually made sure she ate? Scarlett looked to have lost five pounds she hadn’t needed to lose.

  A knock came at the door before it opened and Chuck stepped in with two plastic grocery bags on his arm. “Hey, Chief.”

  “Thanks.” I went to the door and put my fingers to my teeth and whistled, stopping Nathan before he could get into the patrol car and disappear. “Hold up,” I hollered at him, then took the bags from Chuck. “I’ve got tonight’s shift. You can report to the station and grab a patrol car for the night. Watch out for the drunks.”

  “You got it.” Chuck nodded, then lifted a hand to Scarlett. “Ma’am.”

  He left the house, hurrying across the now shoveled driveway to catch up to Nathan, and I closed the door, bringing the food to the living room.

  “Have a seat.” I gestured to the recliners, a pair that I’d had in my old house before I’d moved and upgraded furniture.

  After I’d bought this place, it had become a storage unit of sorts. I kept my raft here so it wasn’t crowding my garage at home, and any spare furniture in case my future renter wanted something partially furnished. These chairs weren’t much but they were better than nothing, even if one of them had a protruding spring that poked into my spine. I took the uncomfortable chair, gesturing to its mate.

  Scarlett perched on its edge as I hauled out the to-go container, popping the top.

  The smell of fried chicken filled the room, chasing away the lingering scent of pizza Nathan must have brought over earlier. I handed it to her along with the package of Hawaiian rolls and her drink.

  “Thanks.” She set the meal on her knees but didn’t eat.

  “Don’t mind me.” I nodded at the food. “Go ahead.”

  She didn’t hesitate. She tore into the chicken and rolls, eating with hurried bites and chasing them with gulps of chocolate milk. When was the last time she’d eaten? She’d been famished.

  And when was the last time she’d slept? The circles under her eyes were bottomless and black. Her skin looked pale and her cheekbones hollow. Scarlett’s eyes should have been a vibrant, blinding blue, like her sister’s. But they had no shine. No spark.

  Either she’d lost it in this house. Or she’d lost it a long time ago.

  I waited, observing as she ate, and when she was done, I took the empty container from her and stuffed it back in the plastic sack.

  Scarlett curled into a tight ball in the chair’s seat, pulling her knees to her chest. Her hands disappeared into the hems of her sleeves. Her shoes were knotted to her feet, even though they had to be wet from her trek to the store.

  Most people would look at Scarlett Marks and think she was broken. Maybe there were a few cracked and scraped pieces, but this woman was not broken. She was lost. Tired. Alone. But not broken.

  “Time to talk,” I said.

  Her eyes flicked to mine. “No, thanks.”

  “I wasn’t asking. I need to know what’s going on. The truth.”

  “You locked me in this place and all but tossed away the key. Which tells me you already know exactly what is happening.” Her eyes flashed and that bright blue I’d been searching for blazed for a split second. Maybe I’d missed the blue in the store earlier when I’d had her over my shoulder.

  “Yes, I know what’s happening,” I said. “But I want to hear it from you anyway. Your words.”

  “Jeremiah was stealing drugs from the Warriors. He got caught and told them it was me.”

  Her statement was in line with what I already knew but I’d hoped for more details. Not that I’d get them. Scarlett had retreated behind her fortress, her chin raised and her gaze impassive.

  Asking questions straight on wasn’t going to work so it was time to try a new tactic.

  “Do you know Dash Slater?” I asked Scarlett.

  She paused. “Sounds familiar.”

  “He’s the man who carried you out of Presley’s house that night. He’s Presley’s boss at the garage.”
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  “So?”

  “Dash used to be president of a motorcycle club in town. The Tin Gypsies. Heard of them?”

  She blinked.

  That’s a yes. The Tin Gypsies and the Warriors were known enemies. Even though the Tin Gypsy Motorcycle Club had disbanded years ago, the animosity between members hadn’t disappeared. Anyone who’d spent any time with the Warriors had likely heard the Tin Gypsy name. And according to Presley, Scarlett had spent months with the Warriors, living with Jeremiah at their clubhouse in Ashton since last June.

  “He thinks the Warriors will retaliate,” I said. “I tend to agree.”

  Scarlett said nothing, though the worry line between her eyebrows lengthened.

  “I want to help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your sister asked me to.”

  She blinked and the look of surprise on her face, well . . . it took me by surprise. Why would Presley’s concern be a shock to Scarlett?

  “She comes into the station every day. She stomps in, demands to know where you are, even though she knows I won’t tell her. Mostly, she wants to know you’re safe, and she’s counting on me to keep you that way.”

  Scarlett’s gaze dropped to her knees.

  “Let me. Let me keep you safe.”

  “I don’t want to be trapped here.”

  “Then tell me everything. All of it. I can’t help you if you’re hiding things from me.”

  Her lips pursed together and when she lifted her gaze, it was ice.

  “Talk to me,” I pleaded.

  Nothing.

  “You’ll do this? You’ll really fight me on this? I can’t keep you safe out there if I don’t understand the threat.” I threw my hand toward the door. “Where are you going to go? Huh? If you walk out that door, where are you going to go? To Presley? You’ll be bringing trouble straight to her door.”

  “I would never endanger my sister on purpose.”

  “Then you don’t have a choice. You must stay here. You must talk to me so I can help you.”

  Scarlett shook her head as she pulled her legs closer to her chest. “No.”

  Goddamn stubborn woman. “Scarlett—”

  “Please don’t leave me here.” Her whisper was pained. Desperate.

  “You have to stay somewhere. Until we learn more. Until I know what we’re dealing with.” Until you confide in me. “They call it witness protection for a reason.”

  Though this was the small-town, temporary version.

  Scarlett turned her gaze to the wall, giving me her profile. Shutting me out.

  I didn’t have time for this. Was cooperating really so fucking difficult? I stood from the chair and went to the kitchen, taking a long inhale as I reeled in my temper.

  Christ, it smelled in here. I walked to the garbage can and popped the lid, my nose scrunching at the stench inside. Nathan must have brought over the pizza place’s infamous garlic deep dish. I refused to let the guys bring it to the station because it stunk up the break room so badly. Meal choice was another thing I’d address with Nathan tomorrow.

  Slamming the lid back on the garbage, I yanked open the back door and set the entire thing outside. Then I closed the slider and scanned the kitchen.

  The linoleum was cracked in a few places and worn thin in front of the sink. My plan was to put hardwood flooring throughout the entire house and get rid of the vinyl flooring and worn, ragged carpet. The refrigerator was yellow, the tinge of a sweat stain. If it had once been white, I couldn’t tell. The cabinets were faded and dull. One of the drawers was missing a pull.

  There was a reason I’d gotten this house for a steal. It was a shithole. The ugliest house on the block.

  No wonder Scarlett had run. I wouldn’t want to stay here either.

  “Go pack your bag,” I said, returning to the living room.

  “Huh?” Scarlett unfolded.

  “Your bag. Go pack it.”

  This was a stupid fucking idea I was sure to regret, but at the moment, I was fresh out of other options.

  She hopped out of the chair, brushing past me on her way to the bedroom, her scent trailing behind her. The smell of wind and snow clung to her hair but there was a citrus sweetness underneath.

  I liked that smell.

  Which was a good thing.

  Because it was coming to my house for a little while.

  Chapter Three

  Scarlett

  I wasn’t sure where Luke was taking me, but as he wound through the empty, snow-covered streets of Clifton Forge, I didn’t ask. As long as I wasn’t in that safe house, I’d be fine.

  Luke wouldn’t take me to Presley, not after his speech about putting her in danger.

  Still, my spirits soared that she’d asked about me. Not just once, but every day. It was the only ray of hope I’d seen in ten days and I was clinging to it with a death grip.

  Maybe, when this was over, I’d get my sister back after all.

  I did my best to memorize street names as we rolled past intersections marked with signs. I wanted to know where I was, not in case I decided to run—I had nowhere to go, as Luke had so graciously reminded me—but because then I might not feel quite so lost.

  Walnut Lane.

  Maple Street.

  Ash Court.

  I recited them in my head as the headlights shone on their names. The sky above was pitch black, but the golden glow from porch lights and streetlamps reflected off the fresh snow, chasing some of the darkness away.

  Luke had cranked the heat up for me and the inside of his truck was toasty compared to the frozen world beyond the windshield. Despite the warm air blowing through the vents, I shivered, mostly from nerves and adrenaline. From fear.

  I’d spent my whole life trying not to shiver. Trying not to show when I was afraid. Most of the time it was easy. After twenty-eight years, faking happy was my specialty. But tonight, I didn’t have the strength to keep the trembling at bay.

  So I shivered.

  Deep, bone-shaking quakes. They felt endless. They came from my soul.

  I’d sat inside Luke’s truck three times now but I hadn’t really noticed the differences between it and a normal vehicle before. Between us, a computer was attached to the console. On the dash, there were rows and rows of buttons and switches. A flash of green lights moved up and down in a row beside a radio headset, like someone was speaking but Luke had turned off the volume.

  The cab smelled like Luke. Like sandalwood and earth. He didn’t give off a spicy scent or douse himself in cologne, something Jeremiah had done no matter how many times I’d suggested one squirt was plenty.

  Luke’s scent wasn’t overpowering or noticeable unless you stood close. It was simply soothing. Rich and deep. Solid.

  The truck smelled like rubber too. Because everything in the truck seemed to be covered in a layer of the black material, from the floor to the lining on the doors. The rubber made sense. If a suspect was bleeding or vomited in the back, rubber would be easy to hose clean.

  Too bad our home in Chicago hadn’t had more rubber.

  Blood wasn’t easy to extract from carpet fibers or cotton shirts. Unless Presley was the one doing the cleaning. She’d mastered blood-stain removal by the time we were preteens. Meanwhile, I was the one who’d learned how to apply a butterfly bandage to minimize a scar. I could wrap broken ribs in under five minutes.

  The bodily wounds were easy to heal. The wounds to the heart and soul, well . . . those were a different story. Ignoring them was usually how I tended them. For better or for worse, shoving the hard truths away was my coping mechanism of choice.

  Luke had pleaded with me to confide in him. To trust him.

  I swallowed a laugh. Every man who’d ever asked for my trust had betrayed it. My father. Jeremiah. Maybe Luke was different, but I certainly wasn’t going to test that theory.

  Trust? No, thanks. I’d keep my secrets. Too much was riding on them, especially my life.

  If word got out of the video on
my phone, I’d die a slow, agonizing death at the hands of the Warriors. Or it would mean a one-way ticket to a new identity.

  Maybe I didn’t love Scarlett Marks. Maybe she’d been a coward her entire life. Maybe she should have fought harder, done better. But she was me. And one of these days, I’d find a way to redeem her.

  Witness protection wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not until I’d exhausted every other option to convince the Warriors I’d been Jeremiah’s scapegoat.

  How? Not a clue. But I’d figure it out. I’d fix this fuckup and rebuild my life. And until then, the best way to protect myself was by keeping my mouth shut.

  I supposed I had my father to thank for my uncanny ability to bury my pain. He’d taught us young that a smile could be the greatest deceit.

  No one had ever suspected what life had been like for Presley and me. Teachers. Neighbors. Pastors. When they looked at us, all they saw were two little girls who wore pink and curled their long blond hair in pretty ringlets. They saw my mother as the shy, soft-spoken woman who preferred to spend her days at home. And my father was the greatest deceiver of them all. He was a monster who’d shake your hand at church on Sunday and crack the best jokes during a neighborhood barbecue.

  Sorry, Luke. My hard truths were none of your damn business. Telling them would be like slashing cuts through scars.

  Luke slowed and took a right. The angle of the turn caused me to miss the street’s sign, but the lights down this block seemed to glow brighter. Cleaner. Happier, even.

  This neighborhood was newer than the one I’d walked through earlier. We passed an open lot where the ground around a large For Sale sign was blanketed with snow. Beside it was a house in the middle of construction. The walls had been erected and the windows installed, sporting their stickers, but there was no siding on the exterior and the front door was a sheet of plywood.

  Curiosity won out and I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “Where are we going?”

  Luke didn’t answer, serving me with a dose of my own medicine. Touché, Chief.

  He slowed in front of a two-story house with dormer windows protruding from the roof. The lights were off inside but the exterior fixtures shone bright.