Page 111 of Beneath the Surface

“How long were you unconscious?”

“I don’t know. Ten minutes? Fifteen? When I woke up, I heard a car engine. Taillights disappearing down the street. I tried to follow but—” He gestured to his head. “Couldn’t stand. Couldn’t even get my weapon out. I just...I failed her, Dax.”

“No.” Dax’s voice was rough. “I failed her. This is on me.”

“Sir, we need to get him to the hospital,” the paramedic interjected. “He needs a CT scan—”

“Five more minutes.” Nathan’s tone left no room for argument. “Dax needs to know what I saw.”

The paramedic looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Nathan’s expression made him back off.

“Did you get a look at them?” Dax asked, forcing himself to think like a detective, to push down the panic and terror and focus on the facts, the evidence, the investigation.

“One of them. Briefly. White male, maybe six-two, two hundred pounds. Tactical gear, ski mask. Moved like military or law enforcement—professional training.” Nathan’s jaw clenched. “They had a vehicle waiting. Dark SUV, couldn’t get the plates. Headed east on Riverside.”

East on Riverside. Toward the industrial district. Toward—

Dax’s mind raced. Wheeler’s properties. His businesses. The warehouse district where his auto dealership was located.

“Carson’s already on scene,” Nathan continued. “Processing the house. They’ll find something—prints, fibers, something we can use.”

Dax wanted to believe that. Wanted to trust in evidence and procedure and all the things that made him a good detective.

But every second Quinn was in Wheeler’s hands was a second she could be hurt. Tortured. Killed.

“I have to go.” Dax was already moving toward the ambulance doors. “I have to find her.”

“Dax—” Nathan tried to stand, swayed dangerously. “Wait for backup. For a plan. If you go in alone—”

“Then I go in alone.” Dax jumped down from the ambulance, his boots hitting the pavement with a solid thud. “You get to the hospital. Get checked out. I’ll call you when I find her.”

When. Not if. He couldn’t let himself think if.

Nathan opened his mouth to argue, but the paramedics were already closing the doors. The ambulance pulled away, lights flashing but no siren—no need to rush for a conscious patient with a head injury.

Dax turned and ran toward the house.

Carson was in the front yard, directing the crime scene techs with his usual methodical precision. He looked up as Dax approached, his expression grim.

“Mercer. I’m sorry—”

“What do we have?” Dax cut him off. No time for sympathy. No time for anything except finding Quinn.

Carson gestured toward the house. “Entry point was the back door. Lock was already broken. Quinn and Nathan knew about it but hadn’t fixed it yet. Two sets of boot prints, size eleven and twelve. Commercial tactical boots, probably Bates or 5.11. They came in through the back, went straight to Quinn’s bedroom.”

Dax’s stomach turned. They’d known exactly where she was. Had gone directly to her room without searching, without hesitation.

“We found Quinn’s phone.” Carson held up an evidence bag. Inside was a shattered smartphone, screen cracked, battery compartment exposed. “Likely thrown at one of the intruders, missed, hit the wall. We’re pulling prints now, but I’m betting they wore gloves.”

“What else?” Dax was barely holding it together. His hands were shaking. His chest felt too tight.

“Signs of struggle in the bedroom. Quilt disturbed, pillow on the floor. We found this—” Carson held up another evidence bag. Inside was a syringe, the needle bent, a small amount of clear liquid still visible in the chamber. “Tossed in the corner. Used. We’re running the liquid for analysis, but I’m guessing sedative. Maybe ketamine or midazolam.”

They’d drugged her. Knocked her out so she couldn’t fight, couldn’t scream, couldn’t escape.

Dax’s vision went red around the edges. His hands clenched into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.

“Dax.” Carson’s voice was careful. “You need to stay calm. Stay focused. Quinn needs you thinking clearly.”