Page 46 of Beneath the Surface

Even if that hope was stupid and impossible and everything he’d sworn he’d never let himself feel again. Even if it made him vulnerable in ways he hadn’t been since Afghanistan.

Chapter 9

Quinn had been living in Dax’s cabin for three days, and she was starting to understand why he preferred isolation.

It was peaceful here. No traffic noise. No sirens. No constant buzz of city life that she’d gotten so used to in Portland. Just wind through the pines, the occasional bird call, and the crackling of the wood stove when evening came.

It should have been boring. Should have driven her stir-crazy.

Instead, she found herself settling into a rhythm. Wake up when Dax made coffee—the man was an early riser, up by six every morning without an alarm. Work on research while he checked in with the station or followed up on leads. Break for lunch, usually something simple that Dax threw together with military efficiency. More work in the afternoon. Dinner. Then evenings spent reviewing evidence or just sitting in comfortable silence.

It was domestic in a way Quinn hadn’t expected. And stranger still, she kind of liked it.

Right now, she was curled up on the couch with her laptop—well, Dax’s laptop that had become hers by default—going through property records. Dax sat at the kitchen table, his phone pressed to his ear, talking to someone about subpoenas.

Quinn tried not to stare at him. Failed.

He was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that were all muscle and scar tissue. His jaw was tight with concentration as he argued with whoever was on the other end of the line. His hair was slightly messy because he’d been running his hands through it in frustration.

He looked good. Annoyingly good for someone who lived in the middle of nowhere and probably owned a total of five shirts.

“That’s not good enough,” Dax said into the phone, his voice hard. “We have probable cause. The financial records are relevant to an active investigation. I don’t care if Wheeler’s attorney is throwing a fit. Do your job and get me that subpoena.”

Quinn bit back a smile. Dax didn’t mince words. Ever. It was refreshing, actually. In her world, everyone talked in circles, hedged their statements, covered their asses. Dax just said what he meant.

Even when what he meant was blunt to the point of rudeness.

He ended the call and set his phone down with slightly more force than necessary.

“Problem?” Quinn asked.

“Wheeler’s attorney is blocking every subpoena. Claims we’re harassing his client without cause.” Dax stood and moved to the coffee pot. “We have cause. We have a bomb, death threats, and a pattern of suspicious deaths. But apparently that’s not enough.”

Her shoulders rose and fell. “Money talks.”

“Yeah, well. Justice should talk louder.” He poured himself more coffee—his fourth cup of the day. Quinn was starting to think the man ran on caffeine and stubbornness.

“Want me to see if I can access the records through other means?” Quinn offered. “I have subscriptions to financial databases through theTribune. Might be able to find what we need without a subpoena.”

Dax turned, leaning against the counter. “That legal?”

“Completely. Public records, just organized better.” She patted the couch beside her. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

He hesitated. Dax always hesitated before getting too close. Like he was measuring the distance, calculating the risk.

But eventually he sat down. Not right next to her, but near enough that Quinn could feel the warmth radiating off him.

She pulled up one of her databases and started searching. “See, this pulls from county records, SEC filings, business registrations. All public information, just aggregated and searchable.”

Dax leaned in to see the screen. “How much does this cost?”

“TheTribunepays for it. Expensive, but worth it for investigative work.” Quinn typed Wheeler’s name. “And look, here’s his personal financial disclosure from when he served on the planning commission five years ago.”

“He had to disclose his assets?”

“Public officials do. Even volunteer positions like commission members.” Quinn clicked through the document. “He listed ownership in Wheeler Development, the car dealership, and three other LLCs. But look at the valuation.”

Dax’s eyes narrowed. “He claimed the development company was worth two hundred thousand.”