Page 18 of Beneath the Surface

Fair question. Dax had given her no reason to trust him. He’d kicked her out of a crime scene, dismissed her theory, and told her to go home. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble rasp against his palm, the exhaustion pulling at him.

“You don’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But it’s the best option you’ve got. Unless you want to end up like your father.”

The silence on the other end was heavy, loaded. He could hear her breathing—quick, shallow breaths like she was trying to keep herself together. Could hear the moment she made her decision, the way her breath steadied, resolved.

“I want updates,” Quinn finally said, and her voice was different now—controlled, determined. “If you’re investigating, I want to know what you find.”

“This isn’t a collaboration.” Dax shifted in his seat, his back straightening. “I’m not keeping a civilian in the loop on an active investigation.”

“Then I’ll investigate on my own.”

“Damn it, Barrett—” His hand hit the steering wheel again, softer this time but no less frustrated. The dull thud echoed in the cab.

“Those are my terms. Either we work together, or I do this alone.” Her voice was steel now, no tremor, no uncertainty. “Your choice, Detective.”

Dax wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her she couldn’t dictate terms. Wanted to arrest her for obstruction just to keep her safe and out of his way.

But he knew that tone. Knew that determination. She was going to investigate whether he liked it or not.

At least if he kept her close, he could try to protect her.

“Fine,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “But you follow my rules. No going off on your own. No confronting suspects. No doing anything without clearing it with me first.”

“Deal.”

“I mean it, Barrett. This isn’t a game. One wrong move and you’re dead.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Because your father understood too, and it didn’t save him.”

The words were harsh, but they needed to be said. Quinn needed to understand what she was walking into.

“I understand,” she repeated quietly, and he could hear something shift in her voice—resolve hardening into something unbreakable. “But I’m not backing down.”

Of course she wasn’t. Dax recognized that stubborn streak because he had the same one. It’s what made him a good detective. It’s also what got him in trouble. He leaned his head back against the headrest, staring up at the roof of his truck.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“At my grandmother’s house. Why?”

“Stay there. Don’t go anywhere, don’t talk to anyone about this investigation.” He straightened, already putting the truck in drive, his hand moving to the gear shift. “I’m going to do some more digging, then I’ll come by tonight. We’ll go over what your father found and figure out our next steps.”

“Our next steps?”

“You want to be involved? Then you follow my lead. This is my investigation. You’re a consultant. That’s it.”

“A consultant who’s providing all the evidence.”

“A consultant who’s going to get herself killed if she doesn’t listen to the professional.” Dax pulled out of the parking lot, his eyes checking the rearview mirror out of habit. “I’ll be there around eight. Have coffee ready. It’s going to be a long night.”

He hung up before she could argue, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat with more force than necessary.

Dax sat in the parking lot for another moment, watching the dealership. Through the office window, he could see Wheeler on the phone again. Probably calling his lawyer. Or maybe his next victim.

This case was going to be complicated. Wheeler was careful, had covered his tracks well. Building a case against him would take time, patience, and a lot of evidence gathering.

And now Dax had Quinn Barrett to worry about. A civilian journalist with more courage than sense, determined to investigate a murderer.