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“Now?”
“He’s your father. Family is important.” Mikel put the SUV in gear.
“I… Okay.” Her boss still surprised her. She pulled out her cell phone, wishing she’d taken off the bulky vest before she got in the car. She thought for a second before she sent a text to Uncle Pete. Pete would know if Brendan had gotten into trouble, and she wouldn’t have to deal with her father.
“I can’t figure out what message Dupont was sending with this.” She held up the key chain. “He proved that he knew I’m working on the investigation when he asked for me by name.”
“I need to find out how he came by that piece of information. Someone shared it who should not have.” Mikel’s tone was grim.
Before today, Quinn had not worried about anyone learning what she did for her job, although she knew not to discuss it with those outside the royal circle. She should have realized that criminals like Dupont would consider her a threat to their well-being. People like that didn’t take well to threats.
“So why the key chain?” Quinn asked.
“I believe the message was meant for me,” Mikel said. “Dupont wanted me to know that he could find out who my people are and apply pressure to them through their families. He chose you because your father lives in the U.S. and is therefore more accessible, especially given”—Mikel cast a wry glance her way—“the nature of his associates.”
“That makes sense. It would be much harder for Dupont to operate in Caleva because he would be within your sphere of influence,” Quinn said. “He picked the low-hanging fruit.”
However, Dupont hadn’t done his homework on her fraught relationship with Brendan, or he might have searched for more effective leverage. Still, the Frenchman was not wrong in believing that she wouldn’t want her father harmed. After all, she had spent a year in prison to keep that from happening.
“You will let me know when you hear from your father,” Mikel ordered.
“Yes, jefe,” Quinn said. “Honestly, I’m not all that worried. Brendan can take care of himself.” He always had.
Mikel gave her a look she couldn’t interpret before saying, “You handled yourself well at the meeting. Dupont tried to frighten you, but you didn’t flinch. Buen trabajo! Good job!”
Satisfaction warmed her. Her boss praised others only when he felt it was deserved. She basked in the glow, even as she worried that her phone lay silent in her hand. She was tempted to break down and text her father, but maybe that was what Dupont wanted her to do. Her finger hovered over the screen.
No, she wasn’t going to let that bastard succeed in making her crazy. She tucked the phone back in her pocket.
Then she thought of another problem. “How much of this can I tell Gabriel?”
“He has a right to know anything Dupont said about the case,” Mikel said. “However, I would recommend that you not mention the key chain.”
Chapter 22
The next morning, Quinn perched on a carved wooden chair with a green velvet cushion, waiting for el Príncipe Raul to meet with her. The majordomo had called the room where she sat the Sala de los Enebros, the Juniper Room. Ornate wood paneling—the juniper, she assumed—was accented by extravagantly draped seafoam silk around the windows, gilt-framed paintings of landscapes, and crystal decanters set on a marble-topped bar.
She fidgeted with the Calevan dragon pendant that hung around her neck and grimaced as she remembered last night’s conversation with Gabriel. He’d been royally—she snorted at the word—pissed that Mikel had taken her to the meeting with Dupont. His mile-wide protective streak had been on full display as he’d ranted about the danger her boss had put her in. When she’d admitted that Dupont had recognized her from Lisbon, Gabriel had started to call Mikel about adding extra guards to Quinn’s security. She had been able to stop him with the reminder that he would be interfering with her job, something he had promised not to do.
She had taken Mikel’s advice about not mentioning the key chain.
She checked her phone again. Still no message from Uncle Pete after almost twenty-four hours and six text messages.
The door swung open, and Raul strode into the room. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said with what sounded like genuine apology. “Sometimes you just can’t shut politicians up.”
Quinn jumped to her feet as he came toward her. She had already decided to shake his hand. He was her contemporary, and this was business, so he would just have to deal with her lack of curtsying. She put out her hand, and he shook it without any hesitation. “May I get you something to drink?” he asked as he waved her back to her seat. “I’m parched.”
“No, thanks. Alberto already offered.” She watched him cross to the bar and pull a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. He and Gabriel shared the same body type, so his blue suit accentuated wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and long legs. His hair was a shade lighter brown than Gabriel’s and cut much shorter, as befitted a modern prince.
He turned as he unscrewed the top and took a swig straight from the bottle. “Alberto would be horrified that I’m not using a glass,” he said with a grin that made him look like a mischievous schoolboy.
Yup, Raul had charm.
Quinn reached into her black leather tote and pulled out her tablet. “Do you mind if I take notes while we talk?” she asked, holding it up.
“Not at all,” Raul said. He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it neatly over a chairback before he settled on a velvet love seat, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
She smoothed the dark gray silk of her trousers before she set the tablet on her thighs.
