Chapter 10
Dax woke at five in the morning to find Quinn already awake.
She sat at the kitchen table with his laptop, dressed and ready to go, her face illuminated by the blue glow of the screen.
Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face—she had a habit of tucking them behind her ear when she was concentrating, a nervous gesture he’d noticed over the past few weeks.
She wore jeans and a dark-blue sweater that made her amber eyes look almost golden in the pre-dawn light.
She looked up when she heard him move, her fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Morning.”
Her voice was cool. Professional. Nothing like the warmth she’d shown him last night before they’d separated so awkwardly after that hug.
“You’re up early.” His voice was rough with sleep.
“Couldn’t sleep.” She turned the laptop so he could see, the screen rotating smoothly. “I’ve been mapping out the route to Seattle. Bank hours, security procedures, parking options. We should go in prepared.”
“You didn’t have to do all that.” Dax moved toward the coffeemaker, needing the ritual to ground himself. His body protested the early hour—muscles stiff, eyes gritty. He’d been up until two reviewing case files and trying not to think about how close he’d come to kissing Quinn Barrett yesterday.
“I know. But I wanted to be useful.” Quinn pulled up another tab, her mouse clicking with more force than necessary. “Since I’m apparently just a civilian who needs protecting, I figured the least I could do was basic research.”
There it was. The edge in her voice. The barely concealed hurt.
Dax’s jaw tightened with frustration. He deserved that. Last night after that hug, when she’d looked at him with hope in her eyes and he’d frozen up and let the moment pass, he’d seen the flash of hurt before she fled to the bedroom.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“It’s fine.” Quinn’s tone said it was anything but fine. “Coffee’s ready. I made it strong.”
He looked at the coffeemaker, only then noticing the pot was half full and hot, leaving him nothing to do.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
Dax went ahead and poured two cups, the liquid steaming as it hit the ceramic.
He brought one to Quinn, set it beside her laptop without comment.
“Thanks.” She didn’t look at him.
Dax sat across from her, the chair scraping slightly. Quinn flinched at the sound. She was more on edge than she was letting on.
“Are you nervous?” he asked. “About Seattle?”
“About walking into a bank where Wheeler might have eyes? About potentially exposing ourselves?” Quinn finally met his gaze, her amber eyes defiant. “No, Detective. I’m not nervous. I’m terrified. But I’m doing it anyway because somebody has to.”
Detective. Not Dax. She was angry.
“We’ll be smart about it,” he said, wrapping his hands around his mug to keep from reaching for her. “Scout the area first. Make sure we’re not walking into a trap.”
“And if Wheeler’s people are already watching the bank?”
“Then we adapt.” He took a sip of coffee, bitter heat spreading through his chest. The caffeine hit his system, sharpening his focus. “I’ve run operations in hostile territory before. A bank in downtown Seattle isn’t the most dangerous thing I’ve done.”
Quinn studied him over her mug, her gaze searching. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—curiosity, concern, something warmer. Then she looked away, that wall slamming back into place.
“I need to call and check on Gran.” She stood abruptly, her chair scraping back. Walked past him to grab her phone from the counter, close enough that he caught her scent—floral shampoo and coffee and something uniquely her that made his chest tight.
Dax watched her go, his hands tightening on his mug until his knuckles went white.
You’re an idiot, Mercer. That’s what you are.
He wanted her. Had been fighting it for weeks, but last night when she’d thrown her arms around him, when she’d pressed against him with complete trust, he’d almost given in.
Almost kissed her. Almost said to hell with professional ethics and Captain Holloway’s warnings and the fact that everyone he cared about ended up hurt.
But he’d pulled back. Made himself step away. Because Quinn deserved better than a damaged man who woke up screaming from nightmares. Better than someone who flinched at loud noises and couldn’t go to fireworks shows because the explosions reminded him of IEDs.
Better than him.
But knowing that didn’t make it easier to maintain distance. Didn’t stop him from noticing every detail about her. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. The way her nose crinkled when she was frustrated. The way she bit her lower lip when she was thinking.
Dax grabbed his go-bag from the closet and checked his supplies, his hands moving automatically through the familiar routine. Extra ammunition. First-aid kit. Zip ties. Flashlight. The weight of each item was familiar, reassuring. This he understood. Tactical preparation. Threat assessment.
Not whatever this thing with Quinn was becoming.
Quinn returned a few minutes later, slipping her phone into her pocket. “I talked to Agent Torres. Gran had a good night. Stable.”
“Good.”
“Are we leaving soon?”
“Yeah. Soon as you’re ready.”
Quinn grabbed her jacket and messenger bag, moving with brisk efficiency. Not quite running away from him, but not exactly lingering either.
The drive to Seattle started in silence. Dax kept one eye on the road and one on the rearview mirror, checking for tails every thirty seconds. Old habit from being deployed. Couldn’t shake it.
Quinn stared out the window, her reflection ghostly in the glass. Her arms were crossed—defensive posture. She was shutting him out.
He deserved it.
After an hour of tense silence, Dax reached over to turn on the radio. Found a classic rock station, volume low. Something to fill the oppressive quiet.
“Tell me about Afghanistan,” Quinn said suddenly, her voice soft.
Dax’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “Why?”
“Because you mentioned it earlier. And because I want to understand.” She shifted in her seat, turning to face him. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I think it would help me understand why you keep everyone at arm’s length.”
The words hung between them. An accusation disguised as curiosity.
Dax drove for another mile before answering, the white lines on the highway blurring past. “I was an EOD specialist. Explosive Ordnance Disposal. Defusing bombs, clearing IEDs.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It was. Every single time.” His jaw clenched. “But someone had to do it. I was good at it. Made hundreds of successful disposals. Saved a lot of lives.”
“But?” Quinn’s voice was gentle.
“But I couldn’t save my team.” The words came out flat. Emotionless. The way he’d trained himself to say them. “We were clearing a road. I had just finished working on a device. There was a second bomb. Hidden. I missed it.”
He could still smell it. Cordite and blood and burning flesh. Could still hear the ringing in his ears, the muffled screams.
“O’Brien was in front of me. Took the blast that should have killed me.” Dax swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Mueller and MacKenzie died in the blast too. All because I missed that second device.”
Quinn’s hand moved toward his on the gear shift. Then she stopped herself, pulled back. Tucked that loose strand of hair behind her ear instead.
The absence of her touch hurt more than it should have.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said quietly.
“Wasn’t it? I was the expert. Supposed to be the one who kept them safe. And I failed.” His voice was rough, raw. “After I came back, I couldn’t...couldn’t connect with people anymore. Because everyone I cared about either left or died or got hurt. Safer to keep people at a distance.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It is.” Dax glanced at her, saw the understanding in her eyes. “But it’s safer. For them and for me.”
Quinn was quiet for a long moment. Then, “Is that what last night was about? When I hugged you?”
Dax’s chest tightened. Of course she’d bring it up. Quinn didn’t do subtle. “I don’t know what you—”
“You froze.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “I threw my arms around you because I was excited, and you went completely rigid. Like you didn’t know what to do with the contact. Then you held me back for maybe ten seconds before everything got awkward and we both just...ran away from each other.”
“It caught me off guard—”
“Bullshit. You’ve been pulling away from me for days. Every time we get close, every time there’s a moment, you shut down.”
Now there was an edge to her voice. Anger breaking through the hurt. “Is it because you’re scared? Because everyone you care about gets hurt?”
“Yes.” The word came out harsher than intended. “That’s exactly why. I’m not good for you, Quinn. I’m damaged and broken and—”
“And what? Incapable of human connection? Incapable of being touched without flinching?” Quinn shook her head, a sharp, frustrated movement. “That’s bullshit, Dax. You’re using your trauma as an excuse to push people away.”
His jaw clenched, and then he snapped, “Maybe I am. But at least they stay alive that way.”
“That’s not living. That’s existing.” Her hands curled into fists in her lap. “You can’t protect yourself from pain by shutting everyone out. You just end up alone. And being alone doesn’t keep you safe. It just means you’re suffering by yourself.”
“Caring gets people killed.” The words were harsh. Defensive. “Your father cared. He tried to do the right thing. And Wheeler murdered him for it.”
Quinn flinched as if he’d slapped her. “Wheeler killed my father. He died because he was brave enough to fight for what was right. You’re using his death as an excuse to be a coward.”
Dax grimaced and stared far down the road. “I’m sorry. That was—” Dax rubbed his jaw, frustrated with himself. “That was out of line.”