Page 58 of Beneath the Surface

“Detective Mercer? We’re Agent Rodriguez and Agent Kim. Agent Sinclair sent us.”

The relief was immediate. They were extracted to a safe location, given time to catch their breath.

Later, in the FBI vehicle heading back to Blackridge, Quinn sat as far from Dax as the seat would allow. Arms crossed. Staring out the window.

She didn’t speak to him the entire drive home.

Dax didn’t blame her.

He’d pushed her away all day, then grabbed her when convenient. Had maintained professional distance until danger forced proximity.

He was sending every mixed signal possible.

And Quinn Barrett deserved better than his emotional whiplash.

But knowing that didn’t change the fact that holding her hand in that alley, having her pressed against him in the crowd, had felt right in a way nothing had felt right since before Afghanistan.

Which terrified him more than any threat from Wheeler ever could.

Chapter 11

They arrived back in Blackridge just after midnight.

Quinn was out of the FBI vehicle before it fully stopped, her seatbelt snapping back with force. She didn’t look at Dax. Didn’t wait for him. Just grabbed her bag and headed straight for the house, her strides quick and purposeful.

Dax thanked the agents, collected the evidence boxes, and followed at a distance. Giving her space. It’s what she wanted. What she deserved after the emotional whiplash he’d put her through all day.

Inside, Nathan was dozing on the couch with a medical textbook open on his chest. He jerked awake when they entered, immediately alert.

“How’d it go?” His eyes went from Dax to Quinn, noting the tension. The careful distance between them.

“We got the evidence,” Dax said. “Wheeler knows we have it. We were followed.”

Nathan’s expression darkened. “Everyone okay?”

“We’re fine,” Quinn said flatly. Her voice had that brittle quality again. “I’m going to check on Gran.”

She disappeared down the hall without another word.

Nathan raised an eyebrow at Dax. “What happened?”

“Long day.” Dax set down the evidence boxes, his shoulders tight with exhaustion and tension. “How’s the grandmother?”

“Stable. Ate a little dinner. Asked about Quinn around eight.” Nathan gathered his things, clearly reading the room. “I’ll be back in the morning to check vitals.”

After a quick goodbye to the women, Nathan left, and the house fell silent except for the distant murmur of Quinn’s voice from her grandmother’s room. Dax stood in the kitchen, hands braced on the counter, staring at nothing.

He’d screwed this up. Pushed Quinn away all day, then grabbed her when it was convenient. Maintained professional distance until danger forced them together. Mixed signals didn’t even begin to cover it.

The smart thing would be to maintain that distance. Stay professional. Keep his feelings locked down where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

But the feel of Quinn’s hand in his, cold and trembling as they ran through Seattle, wasn’t something he could lock away. The way she’d pressed against him in the crowd, trusting him to keep her safe even though he’d hurt her—that mattered.

Dax rubbed his jaw in frustration then went to make coffee. It was going to be a long night.

Quinn emerged from her grandmother’s room twenty minutes later. Her eyes were red, but she wasn’t crying. Just looked exhausted. Hollowed out.

“How is she?” Dax asked quietly.