Page 128 of Beneath the Surface

“The detective.” Wheeler stood, looking toward the window. “Still alive. Impressive. My men said he was shot. Bleedingbadly.” He glanced at the one holding her. “How much longer before he passes out from blood loss?”

“Minutes, probably.”

“Good.” Wheeler moved to the window, looking up. “Detective Mercer. I assume that’s you up there. Bleeding out on my property. Trespassing, I might add.”

Silence from above.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Wheeler continued. “You’re going to leave. Walk away. Go find a hospital before you bleed to death. And in return, I’ll make Ms. Barrett’s death quick. Painless. She won’t suffer.”

“Go to hell.” Dax’s voice was weak but defiant.

“Or,” Wheeler said, his voice hardening, “you can stay and watch while my men take their time with her. Your choice, detective.”

Quinn’s stomach turned. She struggled again, harder, but the man pressed her down mercilessly.

“Dax, go!” she shouted. “Get out of here—get help—”

“Not leaving you.” Dax’s voice cracked. “Never leaving you again.”

Wheeler sighed. “How tedious. Very well. Wade, bring her upstairs. Webb, check the perimeter and bring back the detective.”

Wade hauled Quinn to her feet, his grip bruising on her arm. She fought—kicking, biting, clawing—but he just twisted her arm behind her back until she cried out with pain and went still.

“Move,” he growled, pushing her toward the door.

Quinn’s mind raced desperately. Dax was outside, wounded, maybe dying. She was caught. Wheeler was going to kill them both.

Unless—

The gun. Dax’s Glock. Still tucked in her waistband, pressed against the small of her back where Wade hadn’t checked her.

If she could get to it. If she could get her hands free for just one second—

Wade shoved her through the doorway into the corridor. Other men waited there—three of them, all armed, all watching her with flat, cold eyes.

Too many. Even if she got the gun, she couldn’t take them all.

They moved as a group down the corridor, Wade’s grip still iron-tight on her arm, Wheeler walking ahead of them with casual confidence.

Back toward the main room. Toward the stairs. Toward whatever Wheeler had planned.

Quinn tried to think. Tried to find a way out. But her mind kept stuttering, kept circling back to Dax outside, wounded, alone.

Please, she thought.Please let him get away. Let him survive. Let him—

A sound from above. From outside.

A voice, amplified, carrying through the night.

“THIS IS THE BLACKRIDGE POLICE DEPARTMENT. THE BUILDING IS SURROUNDED. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.”

Wheeler stopped dead. His expression flickered—surprise, then fury, then calculation.

“How—” He spun to Wade. “You said no one followed the detective—”

“They didn’t—”

Another voice, also amplified, but Quinn recognized this one immediately.