Page 99 of Beneath the Surface

Finally, Dax spoke, his voice rough. “I’m protecting you—”

“No.” Quinn shook her head. “You’re protecting yourself. From the pain of losing someone else. And you’re willing to destroy what we have—destroy me—to do it.”

His face went white. “That’s not true.”

“Then prove it.” Quinn held his gaze, refusing to look away. “Let me leave. Let me go back to Gran’s house. Let me make my own choices about my own safety.”

“No.”

The word was automatic. Immediate. Decisive.

And in that single syllable, Quinn heard everything she needed to know.

He wasn’t going to change. Wasn’t going to bend. Wasn’t going to treat her like an equal who deserved agency over her own life.

He was going to keep her here, keep her safe, keep her controlled.

Even if it killed her in every way that mattered.

“I’m leaving,” Quinn said quietly. Then she walked to her room to start packing.

CHAPTER 19

The Uber driver gave her a concerned look in the rearview mirror when he picked her up—probably wondering what kind of emergency had a woman calling for a ride from a remote mountain cabin at 10 PM on a Tuesday. Quinn didn’t explain. Just sat in the back seat, her duffel bag clutched on her lap, and watched the dark trees blur past the window.

The drive took forty minutes. Forty minutes of silence broken only by the GPS directions and the hum of tires on asphalt. The driver tried to make conversation once—“Rough night?”—but Quinn’s one-word response—“Yeah”—shut that down.

When they finally pulled up to her grandmother’s house, Quinn saw Nathan immediately—leaning against his car in the driveway with his arms crossed and an expression that said he’d been briefed. Thoroughly.

Quinn climbed out of the Uber, her legs stiff from sitting. “Thanks,” she told the driver, adding a generous tip through the app. He gave her one last concerned look before pulling away, his taillights disappearing down the quiet street.

“Dax called me,” Nathan said by way of greeting.

Quinn just nodded, too wrung out to explain, to justify, to defend her decision. Her throat was raw from crying in that back seat, and she didn’t trust her voice.

Nathan studied her for a moment, then seemed to understand she wasn’t ready to talk about it. He straightened from his car but didn’t move toward her. Just waited.

Quinn’s gaze drifted to her own car, still parked in the driveway where she’d left it weeks ago. The day they’d found the bomb. The bomb squad had cleared it. Dax had told her it was safe to drive.

But she hadn’t touched it since.

Looking at it now—sitting dark and silent, a shadow in the driveway—Quinn felt a chill run down her spine. Just another reminder of how close she’d come. How close she still was.

She stood there for a long moment, staring at the car. At the physical evidence of Wheeler’s willingness to kill her.

“You okay?” Nathan’s voice was quiet. Not pressing. Just checking.

Quinn tore her gaze away from the car. “No.” The honesty surprised her. “But I’m better than I was an hour ago.”

Nathan nodded as if he understood. Maybe he did. Federal agents probably knew something about the suffocation of protective custody, about the cage that kept you safe and drove you slowly insane.

He gestured toward the house. “Let’s get you inside.”

Quinn picked up her duffel bag from where she’d set it on the ground and walked toward the porch, Nathan falling into step beside her—close enough to respond if something happened, far enough to not crowd her.

Professional. Respectful.

Everything Dax hadn’t been.