Page 129 of Beneath the Surface

Captain Holloway.

“JAMES WHEELER, WE HAVE A WARRANT FOR YOUR ARREST. CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MURDER. KIDNAPPING. WITNESS INTIMIDATION. COME OUT NOW OR WE’RE COMING IN.”

Wheeler’s face went cold and hard. “They have nothing. No evidence. No witnesses who’ll testify—”

“They have me,” Quinn said, finding her voice. “My father’s files. Clara Mendez. The video testimony. All of it.”

Wheeler’s eyes snapped to her, something dangerous flickering there.

“Then you’re of no use to me.”

He pulled a weapon from inside his suit jacket—a small pistol, expensive and deadly—and pointed it directly at Quinn’s head.

Time seemed to slow.

Quinn saw Wheeler’s finger tighten on the trigger. Saw the cold certainty in his eyes. Knew she was about to die.

And then the window behind him exploded inward.

Dax came through in a shower of glass and splintered wood, his good arm wrapped in his jacket to protect from the shards, his body slamming into Wheeler with the full force of a man who had nothing left to lose.

Both men went down hard, the gun skittering away across the floor.

“Run!” Dax shouted at Quinn. “Go!”

But Wade still had her arm. Was raising his weapon, pointing it at Dax’s back—

Quinn grabbed the Glock from her waistband, twisted in Wade’s grip, and fired.

She’d never shot anyone before. Had never even considered it. But there was no hesitation. No doubt.

The bullet took Wade in the chest. He dropped like a stone, his grip on her arm going slack.

The other men were reaching for their weapons—

The basement door crashed open. SWAT poured in—black-clad officers with rifles and shields and flashlights cutting through the darkness.

“DOWN! GET DOWN! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”

Everything descended into chaos—shouting, orders, men dropping weapons and hitting the floor.

Quinn stumbled toward Dax and Wheeler, still grappling on the ground, and saw blood—so much blood—couldn’t tell whose—

She raised her weapon, trying to get a clear shot at Wheeler, but they were too tangled together—

Then Dax’s hand found Wheeler’s throat. Squeezed. His face was contorted with rage and pain and something primal.

“You killed Leesa. You killed her father,” Dax ground out, his voice barely human. “You tried to kill her. You—”

“Dax!” Quinn dropped to her knees beside them. “Dax, stop—he’s not worth it—”

Dax’s eyes met hers. Wild. Lost. On the edge of something dark and irreversible.

“Please,” Quinn whispered, her hand on his arm. “Please don’t. Don’t give him this. Don’t become—” She couldn’t finish.

For a long moment, Dax didn’t move. His hand stayed tight on Wheeler’s throat, Wheeler’s face going purple, his eyes bulging.

Then—slowly—Dax’s grip loosened. Released.