Page 26 of Beneath the Surface

Either way, she was committed now.

Mercer pulled out of the driveway and headed away from downtown Blackridge, his eyes constantly checking the mirrors. “Your phone,” he said. “Give it to me.”

Instantly, she recoiled inside. “What? Why?”

“Because Wheeler can track it. I’m turning it off and removing the battery.”

Quinn handed it over reluctantly, the device feeling like a lifeline she was surrendering. Mercer did exactly what he said—powered it down, popped out the battery with practiced ease, and tossed both pieces in the glove compartment.

“How am I supposed to—”

“You’re not. No contact with anyone except through my phone, and only when absolutely necessary.” He glanced at her, those dark eyes unreadable in the dim light from the dashboard. “I told you. Very little freedom.”

Quinn sank back in her seat and watched Blackridge disappear behind them, the familiar streets giving way to darkness and unfamiliar roads.

She’d wanted to investigate. Wanted to expose Wheeler. Wanted justice.

Now she was in hiding, cut off from the world, dependent on a man who barely tolerated her.

But at least she was alive.

And as long as she stayed that way, she could keep fighting.

Wheeler might have killed her father. Might have killed Thomas Crane.

But he hadn’t won yet.

And Quinn Barrett didn’t give up.

Even when she probably should.

Chapter 6

Dax’s cabin was exactly what you’d expect from a former Army bomb specialist who preferred solitude: isolated, secure, and designed for survival.

He pulled up the long gravel driveway, rocks crunching under the tires, and killed the engine. Beside him, Quinn stared at the structure with what looked like a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

“This is it,” Dax said needlessly.

The cabin sat in a clearing surrounded by dense pine forest. Single story, logs weathered to a silvery gray, metal roof that could withstand heavy snow. No neighbors within two miles. Cell service was spotty at best. Internet came from a satellite dish mounted on the roof.

Perfect.

“It’s very...” Quinn searched for a word. “Isolated.”

“That’s the point.” Dax got out and grabbed her bag from the back. “Come on. I’ll show you around before I head back to check on your grandmother.”

He led her up the wooden steps to the front door. Three locks—deadbolt, chain, and a reinforced strike plate he’d installed himself. The door was solid core, not the hollow crap most people had. Someone would need a battering ram to get through it.

Inside, the cabin was sparse but functional. Open floor plan with kitchen, living area, and dining space all in one room. Wood stove in the corner for heat. Couch that had seen better days. Table with two chairs. Everything clean but well-worn.

“Bedroom’s through there.” Dax pointed to a door on the right, his hand dropping back to his side. “Bathroom’s next to it. You’ll take the bedroom. I’ll sleep out here on the couch.”

Quinn looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”

“You’re not kicking me out. I’m offering. Besides, I sleep better out here anyway.” That was true. The couch let him see the front door and windows, gave him clear sight lines to every entry point. Old habits from deployment—never sleep where you can’t see the exits. His body wouldn’t let him relax any other way.

“Where’s your bedroom then?”