Page 30 of Beneath the Surface

“Good.” Dax trusted Harper’s judgment. If she’d sent these two, they were solid. The best.

“Harper also said you’d want to check the journalist’s car. It’s still in the driveway.” Torres’s gaze shifted to the vehicle, her expression neutral but alert.

Dax walked over to Quinn’s car—a sensible sedan, a few years old, nothing fancy, the kind of car a journalist would drive. Practical. He crouched down, his knees protesting slightly, and looked underneath. The asphalt was rough under his boots, small stones pressing through the soles.

There. Attached to the undercarriage, barely visible in the shadows. A small package wrapped in duct tape, the silver catching what little light reached it.

Dax’s blood went cold. His stomach dropped like he’d missed a step. He knew that shape. Knew what it meant. Had seen it too many times in Afghanistan.

Bomb.

He stood up slowly, every movement deliberate and controlled, his mind already running through procedures. His hands stayed steady through pure force of will. “Torres, get everyone inside. Now. Don’t argue, just move.”

To her credit, Torres didn’t hesitate. She was inside in seconds, probably alerting her partner.

Dax circled the car, examining it from every angle without touching anything. The device was small—maybe two pounds of explosive, based on the size. Probably homemade, but professional quality. Attached with magnets to the metal undercarriage. His heart hammered against his ribs, but his breathing stayed even. Years of training keeping him calm.

It would have detonated when Quinn started the car. The blast would have been contained mostly underneath, channeled upward through the driver’s seat. She would have died instantly.

Wheeler hadn’t been bluffing. He really was trying to kill her.

Dax pulled out his phone and called the bomb squad. Blackridge didn’t have one—they were too small. But the county did, based out of the sheriff’s office twenty miles away.

“This is Detective Dax Mercer, Blackridge PD. I’ve got an IED attached to a civilian vehicle. Need a squad here ASAP.”

The dispatcher took the address and promised someone would be there within thirty minutes.

Dax stayed by the car, keeping watch. His hands were steady. His breathing calm. This wasn’t his first time dealing with explosives. Probably wouldn’t be his last.

But the cold fury building in his chest—that was new. Or maybe not new. Maybe just dormant for a while, waiting for the right trigger.

Wheeler had tried to kill Quinn. Would have succeeded if Dax hadn’t insisted on checking the car.

This was attempted murder. No more speculation or theory. Evidence of Wheeler’s intent.

Good. Evidence was what they needed to build a case.

The bomb squad arrived in twenty-five minutes—three techs in full protective gear, their heavy suits making them look otherworldly in the fading daylight. Dax briefed them on what he’d found, pointing to the undercarriage without getting close. They set up a perimeter, orange cones and caution tape transforming the quiet residential street into a crime scene.

Dax watched from a safe distance, his arms crossed over his chest, as they carefully examined the device. The lead tech crouched low, a camera flashing repeatedly. Ran diagnostics with equipment Dax couldn’t name. Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably thirty minutes, they disarmed it. The tension in Dax’s shoulders eased as they placed it in a containment vessel with careful, deliberate movements.

“Simple but effective design,” the lead tech told Dax, pulling off his helmet. Sweat darkened his hair. “Would have killed the driver, maybe passengers too. Triggered by the ignition system—start the car, complete the circuit, boom.”

“How sophisticated?” Dax’s jaw tightened.

“Mid-range. Not amateur hour, but not military grade either. Someone with training could build this. Or someone followingonline instructions carefully.” The tech wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Can you trace components?”

“We’ll try. But most of this stuff is commercially available. Wire, explosives, magnets—you can buy it all at different stores and nobody would think twice.” He shrugged, apologetic.

Dax nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. He’d expected as much. Wheeler was careful.

“I need the device and all your documentation. It’s evidence in an attempted murder investigation.”

“You got it. We’ll send everything to your office.” The tech gestured to his team, already packing up their equipment.

After the bomb squad left, their van rumbling away down the street, Dax went back inside. Agent Torres met him at the door, her expression sharp and questioning.