Page 113 of Beneath the Surface
“That’s an order.”
Dax hung up and started the truck.
847 Industrial Avenue. Former auto body shop. Perfect place to hold someone. Isolated, surrounded by closed businesses, no residential neighbors to hear screaming.
Dax’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled out, driving fast but not recklessly now. He needed to arrive with surprise on his side. Needed Wheeler’s people to not know he was coming.
Needed every advantage he could get because he was going in alone, without backup, without a plan beyond finding Quinn and getting her out.
His phone rang again. Not dispatch this time. Captain Holloway.
Dax almost didn’t answer. But ignoring his captain would only make things worse when this was over.
When. Not if.
“Mercer,” Captain Holloway’s voice was tight with barely controlled anger, “Carson just called me. He says you’re about to do something monumentally stupid.”
“With respect, sir, Quinn Barrett has been kidnapped. Every second matters.”
“Which is why we’re mobilizing SWAT. Which is why we’re doing this by the book, with a warrant and a tactical plan and backup.” Holloway’s voice rose. “Not with a suspended detective going cowboy because his girlfriend—”
“I’m not suspended—”
“You are now.” The words hit like a hammer. “As of this moment, you are suspended pending an investigation into your relationship with a witness. Turn in your badge and weapon. Go home. Let the professionals handle this.”
Dax’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. “No.”
“That’s not a request, Detective. That’s an order.”
“Then write me up. Fire me. I don’t care.” Dax’s voice was raw. “But I’m not going home. I’m not standing by while Quinn—” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say the words.
While Quinn died.
Holloway was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, “She left the cabin because you were suffocating her. And now you’re going to get yourself killed trying to save her. You see the pattern here, Mercer?”
The words stung because they were true.
“I see that the woman I love is in the hands of a murderer,” Dax said quietly. “And I see that I’m the reason she’s there. Because I drove her away. Because I was so afraid of losing her that I pushed her right into danger.” His voice cracked. “So yeah, I see the pattern. And I’m going to break it. Even if it kills me.”
“Dax—”
“I have to go, sir. Thank you for everything.”
Dax hung up and turned off his phone with a deliberate press of his thumb, the screen going dark with a soft chirp. The sudden silence in the truck cab was absolute—no more calls, no more voices telling him to stand down, to wait, to follow procedure.
No more anything except the sound of his own ragged breathing and the thunder of his pulse in his ears.
Just him and the road and the desperate need to get to Quinn before it was too late.
Before Wheeler hurt her. Before Wheeler killed her. Before Dax lost the only person left in this world who made him want to keep living.
The warehouse district was dark and empty at this time of night—a graveyard of commerce, silent and still. Closed businesses squatted behind chain-link fences, their windows dark or broken, graffiti tagging the walls in violent splashes of color that looked black in the sodium-yellow streetlights. Those lights flickered or didn’t work at all, creating pockets of shadow deep enough to hide anything.
The perfect place for Wheeler to hide his crimes.
Dax’s hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his shoulders so tight they ached. Every muscle in his body was coiled spring-tight, ready to explode into action. His jaw hurt from clenching. His chest hurt from the way his heart was trying to pound its way through his ribs.
He forced himself to breathe. In through his nose, slow and controlled. Out through his mouth. The way they’d taught him in the service. The way he’d learned to manage combat stress, to function when everything inside him was screaming.
