Page 25 of Beneath the Surface

“That detective—he’s going to keep you safe?”

Quinn thought about Mercer’s intensity. His obvious competence. The way he’d immediately taken control of the situation. “Yes. I think he will.”

“Good.” Gran squeezed her hand with surprising strength. “Then go. Do what you need to do. I’ll be fine here.”

“Detective Mercer is arranging for someone to stay with you. Around the clock. Nurse and security.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Quinn had no idea how she’d pay for it, but she’d figure something out. Sell her car if she had to. Take out loans. Whatever it took.

“Be safe, sweetheart. And get justice for your father.”

Quinn kissed her grandmother’s forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and talcum powder. “I will. I promise.”

When she returned to the living room, Mercer was finishing up a phone call, his voice low and clipped. “Good. Yeah, send them over. Thanks, Harper.”

He hung up and looked at Quinn, those dark eyes assessing. “FBI’s sending two agents. One’s a nurse practitioner. They’ll stay here, take care of your grandmother, and make sure no one bothers her.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re about to spend the next few days in a secure location with very little freedom and me as your only company.” His expression was grim. “You’ll probably hate me by the end of it.”

“I already kind of hate you for being right about the article.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Fair.”

Quinn grabbed her bag, the weight of it settling against her shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“My cabin. It’s outside town, isolated, secure. No one will find you there.”

“Your cabin? Like, where you live?”

“Got a problem with that?”

“I just—I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing. You’re accepting protective custody from a detective investigating threats against your life.” Mercer took her bag from her shoulder, the sudden absence of weight making her feel oddly lighter. “And besides, my cabin is set up for security. Remote location, cameras, clear sight lines. Learned a few things in Afghanistan about defensive positions.”

Right. Afghanistan. Where his friends had died.

Quinn followed him to his truck, looking back at her grandmother’s house one last time. The home where she’d grown up. Where she’d felt safe.

Not anymore.

Mercer loaded her bag in the back with a quick toss and opened the passenger door. “Get in. We’re leaving through the back roads. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Just in case Wheeler has someone watching the house.” He started the truck, the engine rumbling to life. “Buckle up.”

Quinn did, the seatbelt clicking into place as her heart hammered against her ribs. This was really happening. She was going into hiding. With a grumpy detective who’d made it clear he thought she was reckless and annoying.

For some reason, the thought didn’t scare her as much as it should have.

Maybe because Mercer, for all his gruffness, made her feel safe. Protected. Like he’d actually keep his word about not letting anything happen to her.

Or maybe she was just desperate and scared and willing to trust anyone who seemed competent.