Page 125 of Beneath the Surface

Her shirt. She could use her shirt.

Quinn pulled off her jacket—realized she was still wearing her pajamas from when they’d grabbed her, just thin cotton pants and a tank top—and yanked the jacket’s inner lining free. The fabric tore with a sound that seemed too loud, but it gave her a long strip of material.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned, then pressed the fabric hard against the entry wound on Dax’s shoulder.

He made a sound—something between a gasp and a scream that he bit off by pressing his fist against his mouth. His whole body went rigid, every muscle locked tight with agony.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Quinn kept the pressure steady, wrapped the fabric around his shoulder as best she could with shaking hands, tied it off. It wasn’t much. Wasn’t nearly enough. But it might slow the bleeding. Might buy them time.

Might keep him alive.

“Quinn—” Dax’s good hand found hers, his fingers cold and weak. “If they—if Wheeler—”

“Don’t.” Quinn’s voice was fierce. “Don’t you dare say goodbye. We’re getting out of this.”

“Be realistic—” He coughed, winced. “I’m shot. You’re still drugged—”

“I’m not drugged anymore.” And it was true. The adrenaline had burned through whatever they’d injected her with, leaving her wired and sharp and terrifyingly clear-headed. “And you’re not dying. I won’t let you.”

Despite everything, Dax’s mouth quirked in something almost like a smile. “Stubborn.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” His eyes found hers in the darkness. “I love you. Should have—should have said it better. Should have shown you better. Instead of—”

“Locking me in a cabin?” Quinn’s laugh was shaky. “Yeah. That could have gone better.”

“I was afraid.” Dax’s voice was getting quieter, weaker. His eyes drifting closed in a way that terrified her. “So afraid of losing you. Like everyone else. And I drove you right into danger by—by trying to—”

“Shh.” Quinn pressed her fingers to his lips. “We’ll talk about it later. When we’re not being hunted by a murderer. Deal?”

He opened his eyes again, and there was a spark of defiance that gave her hope. “Deal.”

Footsteps in the corridor outside. Getting closer.

Quinn’s hand went to the Glock tucked in her waistband—Dax’s gun, still warm from firing, still holding however many bullets he had left. Three? Four? She had no idea. Had never fired a gun in her life except at a range once for a story about gun violence.

But she’d pull the trigger if she had to. Would kill to protect Dax. Would do whatever it took.

The footsteps paused outside their doorway.

Quinn held her breath, her hand tight on the gun, her body positioned between Dax and the door. If someone came through, she’d have maybe one second to react. One chance to shoot first.

Her finger found the trigger. The metal was cold against her skin.

The footsteps moved on. Continued down the corridor. Fading.

Quinn let out a shaky breath, her whole body trembling with released tension.

“That was close,” she whispered.

“Too close.” Dax tried to sit up straighter, grimaced. “We can’t—can’t stay here. They’ll search every room. Find us eventually.”

He was right. This was just a temporary hiding spot. Wheeler had multiple men. They’d clear the basement methodically, room by room, until—

Quinn’s mind raced.Think. Think like an investigative journalist.What would she do if she were researching this place? Where would the exits be? The vulnerabilities?

Old auto body shop. Which meant there had to be other ways out besides the delivery entrance Dax had used. Loading docks. Emergency exits. Service entrances.