Page 45 of Beneath the Surface

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“I’m still employed. Barely.” Dax locked the door behind him, each deadbolt clicking into place. “What are you working on?”

“Cross-referencing property sales with business registrations. I think I found another shell company Wheeler’s using. And—” She held up a document, waving it slightly. “I found an article from theBlackridge Gazette. From twelve years ago. About a business dispute between Wheeler and his former partner.”

“Former partner?” Dax moved closer, his interest caught.

“Guy named Robert Stein. They had a falling out over money. Stein sued Wheeler for fraud. Case was settled out of court.” Quinn’s eyes gleamed with the excitement of discovery, her whole face animated. “But here’s the interesting part. Six months after the settlement, Stein died. Fell off a hiking trail. Ruled accidental.”

Dax took the article and read it, his eyes scanning quickly. Another suspicious death. Another convenient accident. His jaw clenched.

“How many people has Wheeler killed?” Quinn asked quietly, her voice going soft.

“I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.” Dax set the article down carefully on the cluttered coffee table. “Good work, Barrett.”

“Quinn.”

“What?” He looked up.

“My name is Quinn. You keep calling me Barrett.” She stood up and moved closer, papers rustling as she stepped around them.

“It’s your last name.”

“It’s also what you call people you’re interrogating.” She stopped a few feet away, her arms crossing. “We’re partners on this. At least, I’d like to think we are. Partners use first names.”

Dax looked at her. Really looked at her. At the determination in her expression, the set of her jaw. At the intelligence in her eyes, bright and sharp. At the way she refused to back down even when she should, her chin lifted slightly.

She was right. They were partners. Whether he’d intended it or not.

“Okay,” he said, the word coming out rougher than intended. “Quinn.”

She smiled, and it transformed her whole face. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Quinn laughed, a genuine, warm sound that filled the cabin, bright and unreserved. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

“I bet you have.” She returned to the couch and her research, settling back into the cushions. “Now come look at this. I think I found where Wheeler keeps his real financial records.”

Dax joined her, sitting close enough to see the laptop screen, the couch dipping beneath his weight. Close enough to smell her shampoo—something floral and light, maybe lavender.

He tried not to notice. Failed completely.

This was dangerous territory. Getting close to a witness. Noticing things like her smile and her laugh and the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating, her teeth worrying at the same spot.

Captain Holloway’s warning echoed in his mind, loud and clear.Personal involvement compromises investigations.

But as Dax looked at the research Quinn had done—pages of notes in her neat handwriting, color-coded tabs, connections drawn between seemingly unrelated facts—at the connections she’d made, at the way her mind worked to solve the puzzle like a detective herself, he realized it was too late for warnings.

He was already involved. Personally. Completely.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Except solve this case. Bring Wheeler down. Keep Quinn safe.

And hope that when it was all over, she’d want to stick around Blackridge.