Chapter 8 #3
“Will you? Because from what I’ve heard, you’ve been taking some pretty big risks.
Protecting a civilian. Going after a powerful businessman.
Making enemies.” Holloway leaned forward, his forearms on the desk.
“I need to know you’re in control of this.
That you’re not letting personal feelings cloud your judgment. ”
“My judgment is fine.” Dax’s spine stiffened, his shoulders squaring.
“Is it? Because word around the station is that you’re getting pretty close to Quinn Barrett. That maybe this isn’t just about the case anymore.”
Dax felt heat rise in his face, his jaw clenching. “I’m protecting a witness. Nothing more.”
“Make sure it stays that way. Personal involvement compromises investigations. I don’t need to tell you that.”
He didn’t need to hear the words to know he was referring to Carson and Nora.
Their relationship and how it’d come about had been subject to gossip from the whole department.
It was no surprise there were whispers about him now, but Dax’s personal life was his own.
He didn’t care what anyone had to say, because he knew the truth.
“No, sir. You don’t.” The words came out harder than intended.
Holloway studied him for another long moment, his eyes searching Dax’s face. Then he nodded slowly. “Two weeks. Give me regular updates. And watch your back. If Wheeler’s willing to kill civilians, he won’t hesitate to go after a cop.”
“Noted.” Dax stood, the chair scraping against the floor.
Dax left the office feeling both relieved and frustrated, his shoulders tight with tension. He had two weeks. Fourteen days to build a case solid enough to take down James Wheeler.
It wasn’t enough time. But it would have to be.
Carson caught up with him in the parking lot, falling into step beside him. “How’d it go?”
“I’m not fired. Yet.”
“That’s good?” Carson’s tone was cautious.
“It’s something.” Dax unlocked his truck, the beep loud in the morning air. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Another one? Mercer, I’ve already stuck my neck out for you—”
“I need everything we have on Clara Mendez. DMV records, last known address, employment history. Everything.” Dax pulled open the door, the hinges creaking.
Carson sighed, his breath visible in the cool air. “She’s the witness from Barrett’s files?”
“Yeah. She knew something about Wheeler’s operation. David Barrett was helping her relocate when he died. She disappeared right after.”
“You think she’s still alive?”
“I think if she’s not, that’s one more murder to pin on Wheeler.” Dax started the truck, the engine rumbling to life. “I’m going to find her. One way or another.”
“And if Wheeler finds out you’re looking for her?”
“Then he’ll make another mistake. And I’ll be there to catch it.” Dax’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Carson shook his head, stepping back from the truck. “You’re either the bravest cop I know or the stupidest.”
“Probably both.”
Dax pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward the cabin, his jaw tight. He had work to do. Files to review. Witnesses to track down. A case to build.
But more importantly, he had Quinn to get back to. To make sure she was safe. To make sure she hadn’t tried to escape again.
Not because he was getting personally involved. Just because she was a witness under his protection.
That’s what he told himself anyway.
The drive back felt longer than usual. Dax found himself checking his phone every few minutes, the screen lighting up in his peripheral vision, making sure Quinn hadn’t called. Making sure everything was okay.
She was fine. Of course she was fine. The cabin was secure. No one knew where it was. She was safe.
But the anxiety didn’t ease until he pulled up the driveway and saw the cabin intact, exactly as he’d left it. No signs of disturbance. No broken windows or forced doors. His shoulders finally dropped, tension releasing.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the hinges almost comforting.
Quinn was on the couch, surrounded by papers that covered nearly every surface. Her laptop was open—his laptop, actually, that he’d left for her. She looked up when he entered, pushing hair back from her face, those amber eyes bright with focus.
“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 the Blackridge 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.
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.