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.
“Sleeping. Comfortable.” Quinn moved to the sink, filled a glass with water. Her movements were mechanical. “Nathan says maybe a few more days. Maybe less.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? You didn’t make her sick.” Quinn drank the water in three long gulps, her throat working. Set the glass down harder than necessary. “Is there coffee?”
“Just made some.”
“Of course you did.” There was an edge to her voice. Not quite anger. Something sharper. “Always prepared. Always in control. Must be nice.”
Dax poured her a mug, slid it across the counter. Quinn took it without meeting his eyes.
The silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Full of things neither would say.
“I’m going to organize the evidence,” Quinn said finally. “We should know what we have before we meet with the DA.”
“It’s after midnight. You should sleep.”
“I’m not tired.” A lie. The exhaustion was written in every line of her body—slumped shoulders, tight jaw, the way she held herself like she might break. “Besides, someone needs to do it.”
“I can—”
“I need to do this, Dax.” She finally looked at him, and the hurt in her amber eyes made his chest tight. “I need to focus on something I can control. Something that makes sense. Because today—” She broke off, shook her head. “Never mind.”
She grabbed her coffee and the first evidence box and carried them to the dining table. Spread out papers with sharp, precise movements. Not looking at him.
Dax watched her for a moment. Wanted to go to her. Wanted to apologize for being an emotional coward. Wanted to explain that he was terrified of caring about her because everyone he cared about ended up hurt or dead.
But Quinn didn’t want his explanations. She wanted consistency. Honesty. Things he was apparently incapable of giving.
So he did the only thing he could. He grabbed the second evidence box and sat across from her at the table. Not beside her—that felt too presumptuous after today. But close enough to help.
Quinn’s jaw tightened when he sat down. But she didn’t object. Just pushed a stack of bank statements toward him.
“Start with these. Look for patterns. Large transfers, shell companies, anything suspicious.”
“Got it.”
They worked in silence. The only sounds were papers rustling, Quinn’s pen scratching notes, the occasional clink of coffee mugs being set down.
Dax tried to focus on the documents. Tried not to notice how Quinn tucked that loose strand of hair behind her ear every few minutes.
Tried not to watch her bite her lower lip when she was thinking.
Tried not to notice when she shifted in her chair and their knees almost touched under the table before she quickly pulled back.
Failed at all of it.
Every detail about her was branded into his brain. The way she tapped her pen against her notebook when she found something interesting. The slight furrow between her eyebrows when she was concentrating. The soft sigh when she stretched her neck, rolling her shoulders to relieve tension.
“Stop staring at me,” Quinn said without looking up.
Dax’s chest tightened. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. I can feel it.” She finally met his eyes, her expression guarded. “If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, focus on the evidence.”
Dammit, she was right. He sighed. “I’m sorry. About today.”
“Which part? The part where you pulled away in the truck? The part where you told me caring about people is what got my father killed? Or the part where you grabbed me in Seattle and acted like you cared after all?” Her voice was sharp, her anger on a tight leash that he sensed was close to snapping. “Be specific, Detective.”
There was that formality again. That distance.
“All of it.” Dax set down the document he’d been holding. “I’m sorry for all of it. I keep—I’m sending you mixed signals. Pushing you away and then pulling you close. It’s not fair to you.”
“No, it’s not.” Quinn’s hands curled into fists on the table. “I get that you’re damaged. That you’ve lost people. But so have I, Dax. My mother abandoned me. My father was murdered. My grandmother is dying. I understand loss. I understand fear.”
“I know you do.”
“Then stop treating me like I’m fragile.
Stop deciding what’s best for me without asking what I want.
” Her voice rose slightly before she caught herself, glanced toward the hallway where her grandmother slept.
Lowered her tone. “I’m not asking for promises.
I’m not asking for forever. I’m just asking you to be honest about what this is. Whatever this thing is between us.”
Dax’s throat was tight. “I don’t know what it is.”
“Bullshit.” Quinn stood abruptly, her chair scraping. Paced to the window, her arms wrapping around herself. “You know exactly what it is. You’re just too scared to admit it.”
She was right. Of course she was right.
Dax stood too, moved toward her. Stopped himself halfway. Maintaining that careful distance even now. “You deserve better than me.”
“That’s for me to decide.” Quinn turned to face him, and there were tears in her eyes. Angry tears. Frustrated tears. “But I can’t decide anything when you won’t even be honest with me. When you push me away every time we get close.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? Wheeler? You’re already doing that. Or are you trying to protect me from you?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Because newsflash, Dax, pushing me away hurts just as much as whatever you’re afraid of.”
The words hit him like a physical blow. Because she was right. He was hurting her. Had been hurting her all day with his hot-and-cold behavior.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly.
“Then stop.” Quinn wiped her eyes roughly. “Stop pulling away. Stop deciding what I can handle. Just...stop.”
Dax took a step toward her. Then another. Close enough now that he could see the gold flecks in her amber eyes. Close enough to smell that floral shampoo that had been torturing him all day.
Quinn didn’t back away. Just looked up at him, vulnerable and fierce all at once.
“What do you want from me?” His voice was rough.
“The truth. That’s all. Just the truth.” Her hands were shaking slightly. “Do you want this? Whatever this is between us?”
Every instinct screamed at him to lie. To protect them both by maintaining distance. To say no and walk away before he could hurt her worse.
But Quinn deserved the truth.
“Yes.” The word came out barely above a whisper. “Yes, I want this. Want you. Have since you walked into the station with your theory about Wheeler.”
Quinn’s breath caught. “Then why—”
“Because everyone I care about gets hurt. My brother. My parents. My team in Afghanistan. They all—” His voice cracked. “I can’t lose someone else. Can’t watch someone else die because of me.”
“You won’t lose me.” Quinn’s hand came up, hesitated, then touched his chest. Right over his heart. He could feel the warmth of her palm through his shirt. “I’m right here.”
“For now. But Wheeler—”
“Wheeler’s going down,” she said fiercely.
“We have the evidence now. Once we get it to the DA, once we build the case…it’s almost over.
” Her hand pressed more firmly against his chest. “And even if it wasn’t, even if it was dangerous, I’d still be here.
Because I care about you, Dax Mercer. Even when you’re being impossible. ”
Dax covered her hand with his. Felt the electricity of the touch, the connection he’d been fighting all day. “I care about you too. That’s the problem.”
“That’s not a problem. That’s—”
The sound of her grandmother coughing interrupted them. Wet, labored coughing that went on too long.
Quinn pulled away immediately, hurrying down the hall. Dax followed, giving her space but needing to know the grandmother was okay.
In the bedroom, Quinn’s grandmother was struggling to breathe, her face pale and drawn. Quinn grabbed tissues, helped her sit up slightly, murmured soothing words.
“I’m okay,” the grandmother wheezed. “Just—needed water.”
Quinn held the cup while she drank, her hands gentle and sure. When the coughing subsided, the old woman lay back against the pillows, exhausted from the effort.
“You should rest, Gran.”
“In a minute.” The grandmother’s eyes found Dax in the doorway. Sharp despite her condition. “You two were fighting.”
“We’re fine, Gran.” Quinn’s voice was too bright. “Everything’s fine.”
“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. I may be dying but I’m not deaf.” She reached for Quinn’s hand. “Life’s too short for pride. Too short for fear. If you care about someone, you tell them. You don’t waste time being scared.”
Quinn’s eyes filled with tears. “I know.”
“Do you? Because from what I just heard, you’re both being idiots.” The grandmother looked at Dax. “You too. Stop pushing her away because you’re afraid. Fear is no way to live.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dax’s throat was tight.
“Good. Now both of you get out. Let an old woman sleep.” But her voice was fond. Tired but fond.
Quinn kissed her grandmother’s forehead. “I love you, Gran.”
“Love you too, baby. Now go. Work it out.”
Back in the hallway, Quinn leaned against the wall, wiping her eyes. “She’s right, you know. We’re both being idiots.”
“Yeah.” Dax stood a careful distance away. Close enough to talk. Far enough to maintain some control. “But I don’t know how not to be.”
“We figure it out. Together.” Quinn looked at him. “If you want to. If you’re willing to try.”
Dax wanted to say yes. Wanted to close the distance and pull her into his arms and promise to try. But fear held him back. Old, familiar fear.
“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.
Something shuttered in Quinn’s expression. The vulnerability disappearing behind walls. “Okay. That’s...that’s honest, at least.”
She pushed past him, headed back to the dining room. Started packing up the evidence with sharp, precise movements.
“I’m going to bed,” she said without looking at him. “We can finish this in the morning.”
“Quinn—”
“Good night, Detective.” Formal. Distant again.
She walked to her room and closed the door. Not quite slamming it, but close.
Dax stood in the empty hallway, hating himself. How did he keep ending up here? Actually, he knew exactly why.
He’d told her the truth. Had admitted he wanted her. But when it came to actually trying—actually taking the risk—he’d choked.
And now she was hurt again. Because of him.
Dax returned to the living room, grabbed a blanket from the closet. Settled on the couch, his tall frame not quite fitting. It was uncomfortable. But it was what he deserved.
He lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about Quinn’s hand on his chest. The warmth of her touch. The way she’d looked at him and asked him to try.
And he’d said no.
Down the hall, he heard her crying. Soft, muffled sounds she was trying to hide.
Every instinct screamed at him to go to her. To apologize. To try, like she’d asked.
But Dax stayed on the couch. Stayed in the safe space where he couldn’t hurt anyone else.
Because that’s what he did. Pushed people away. Kept them safe from him.
Even if it destroyed them both in the process.
Around three in the morning, he finally fell into a fitful sleep. Dreamed of explosions and Quinn’s amber eyes and the feeling of her hand over his heart.
When he woke at six, Quinn was already up. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen. Deliberately loud. Letting him know she was awake.
He found her making coffee, dressed for the day in jeans and a gray sweater. Her hair was pulled back in that ponytail, the loose strands already escaping to frame her face.
She was stunning without even trying.
She didn’t acknowledge him. Just poured herself coffee and leaned against the counter, staring out the window.
“Quinn,” Dax started.
“Don’t.” Her voice was flat. “I don’t want to hear it. We have work to do. Let’s just focus on that.”
Professional distance. Cold shoulders. Exactly what he deserved.
“The DA wants to meet today,” he said quietly. “We need to present the evidence.”
“Fine. What time?”
“Two o’clock.”
“I’ll be ready.” She finished her coffee in three gulps, set the mug in the sink. “I’m going to spend the morning with Gran. You should review the evidence. Make sure we’re prepared.”
She walked past him without making eye contact. Without the accidental brush of shoulders or hands. Maintaining careful, deliberate distance.
And Dax let her go. Because this was what he’d chosen. Safety over connection. Fear over hope.
Even if it was killing him.