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Chapter 1
Quinn
A loudbangshakes me from sleep.
I’m tangled in my covers like a bad BDSM bondage session. That’s all in my fantasies, though. My smutty book flies off the covers as anotherbangshakes the whole house. It could be Dad sleepwalking again, acting out his night terrors of arresting the most dangerous criminals in the state.
Something tells me there’s more to it this time.
The air, maybe. Or the eerie quiet after each disturbance. It’s like Jason or Michael Myers is stomping around the second floor and tossing furniture all over the place.
My first instinct is to call for him—but what if there’s a burglar in the house? Dad always said to assess the situation before diving into action.
Then again, who’d be dumb enough to rob Patrick Dall, Jersey PD captain of the homicide unit?
I take a breath when I realize how silly my first thoughts are. He’s fine. Dad’s always fine. I’ll just gently wake him and hope he doesn’t clobber me in the process.
My feet touch the cold wooden floor as I swing the last of my sheets off. Adjusting the tank-top strings so my breasts aren’t hanging out in front of him, I shove my feet into my slippers.
About to slide out of my room and make a shit ton of noise, I stop myself. No. That’d be silly, Quinn.What if there really is someone bad in the house?
Dark thoughts creep back in as I pull out of my Uggs, the fur soft against my feet, making me want to curl back under my covers.
Mumbling resounds beyond the door, coming from the first floor.
Oh my God. He usually doesn’t make it downstairs.
What the hell is going on here?
Jeez. Where’s his gun?
Ugh. I haven’t gone to the range with him in so long. And what the hell was his code to the safe again? My birthday or his?
Thetingof my two tennis bracelets makes me freeze in place. Yes, I sleep with my jewelry. Don’t judge me. Each charm is a different air of protection, but right now? They might get me killed.
I slip off the bracelets and place them on my bed.
I’ve been a Nervous Nellie my whole twenty-four years of life due to Dad’s profession, which is ironic because if you ask any of my past boyfriends or prospects, they’d say one look from me is like one of Homelander’s lasers. My friends too. You can imagine their surprise when they asked me to live with them in their big four-bedroom apartment in Hoboken, and I opted to stay under Dad’s protection.
Can you blame me? He’s pretty much a guaranteed bodyguard every night—
Bang!
I shiver when glass shatters. Now something is really going on.
Tiptoeing to my door, I reach for the knob with a quavering hand and slowly inch it open to more commotion below.
Eeer!
The floor creeks beneath my stupid foot, and the air sucks out of my lungs when the commotion suddenly stops.
There’s a shadow downstairs.Twoshadows… dragging something. I see it through the crack in the door amidst the leaking moonlight, and they’re looking around because theyheard a disturbance.Me. Whispers carry throughout the house. I can’t understand anything. No words, accent, nothing.
Be a good witness, Quinn, like you were trained to. Forest green ski masks, black gloves. One about six-two, the other around my height—five-three.
My heart drops to my belly when I see it. My father—all two hundred sixty pounds of him—being carried by the legs, arms sprawled uselessly over the floor. He’s out cold. Or worse.
Screaming silently in my hands is all I can do. My eyes burn from the tears itching them. Why does my body do this? Why am I freezing up when he needs me most?