Beneath the Surface (21 page)

As he headed toward the house, the alarm on his cell began to beep. Someone was pulling up the driveway. “Get to the house,” he told Quinn, shooting a glance at her over his shoulder. She was still several paces behind him. At the sound of a vehicle pulling up, he quickened his steps to intercept it but he was too late. As the KJTC News 8 van came to a stop, the side door slid open, and out poured a reporter and cameraman.

“Asher . . . ?”

He could hear the mixture of fear and apprehension in Quinn’s voice as she came up behind him. “It’s all right, Quinn. Go in the house.”

She looked reluctant to leave him, and that moment of hesitation was all it took for her opportunity to escape to slip by.

Fuuuck . . .

CHAPTER

25

A
sher stepped in front of Quinn and reached back, pressing his hand to the small of her back, pulling her in close behind him, and shielding her from the woman charging them like a bull seeing red. She recognized the woman from what little news she’d been able to watch. Danielle Rogers was a lead reporter for the local KJTC News 8 station. At first Quinn thought they were here for her. Had her story gotten out? How had they found her? Quinn’s heart shot into her throat as a rush of panic squeezed tightly. She crowded closer to Asher, hiding behind him as he put himself between her and the news crew.

“Mr. Tate, Mr. Tate . . .” the woman called out. Two cameramen flanked her and Quinn was pretty sure she was going to have a panic attack right then and there.

It took her a moment to realize it was Asher the ravenous vultures were after—not her. But the relief she felt was a momentary blip because then the questions started flying at him.

“Mr. Tate, what’s your reaction to the jury’s decision to give Peterson life without parole?”

“No comment,” he told her, continuing toward the house, but the woman and a cameraman followed him, walking backwards to block his way, the microphone vacillating between the reporter and being shoved in Asher’s face.

“Did you know Peterson had been under psychological care since being discharged from the army?”

“No comment.”

“What’s your company’s screening process for hiring ex-military officers?”

“No comment.”

“Do you feel at all responsible for the Nisour Square massacre? Do you think your testimony at Peterson’s trial could have affected the outcome?”

“No goddamn comment,” he growled.

She kept firing the questions at him faster than he could answer them, not that he seemed to have any intention of doing so. All he kept saying was “no comment.” But there was only so much he could do. Quinn knew he was pissed—could feel his anger reverberating off him as he kept moving them toward the house, keeping a tight hold on her.

She wished she could help him, but this reporter was tenacious. Not at all like the gentle, composed, mild-mannered woman that she appeared to be on TV. And then she saw Quinn, and the questions turned personal. This woman was hungry for a story and obviously had no intention of leaving until she got one.

“Who’s the woman with you?” Giving up on getting any information from Asher, she turned her attention to Quinn. “What’s your name?” she asked, shoving the mic at her. “Are you romantically involved with Mr. Tate? Does it bother you that he is debatably responsible for the murder of seventeen Iraqi civilians and officers?”

Asher snapped. He shoved past the news crew, giving Quinn an unimpeded shot up the stairs to the back door, and released her with a brisk command. “Go!”

She raced for the door as he turned on the reporter.

“That woman has nothing to do with this. Now get off my goddamn property!”

Quinn wasn’t through the door thirty seconds before Asher charged in behind her, whipping it shut so hard she was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. Outside, she could hear disgruntled murmurings, and the muffled slamming of the van doors. Neither of them spoke as the engine started and slowly began to fade into silence. If that was the kind of shit he’d had to deal with the past few months, no wonder he’d gone into seclusion. Was this a glimpse of what her life would be like when she released her story? Perhaps she had no idea what she was getting herself into. Asher was right. This wasn’t going to be as simple as pressing the send button.

“Well, if your assassin didn’t know where you were before, he’s sure as hell going to know by six o’clock tonight. Fuck!” He jacked his hands through his hair and restlessly paced the kitchen.

“You think they’ll show my picture?”

He stopped and looked at her. “Quinn, the cameras were rolling every second we were out there. It won’t take them long to figure out who you are, not with the face recognition technology they have. Go start printing out whatever articles you haven’t been able to get through yet, and gather all your notes. Pack whatever you want to bring with you because we probably won’t be coming back.”

Ever?
She wanted to ask but refrained from voicing the question. This was just temporary, anyway, she reminded herself. As much as she loved it here, this wasn’t her home. And she’d been prepared to leave it all behind this morning. But she hadn’t wanted to go then either, and it was easier to make tough decisions when you were doing it to protect someone you cared about. The thought of leaving and never coming back intensified the dull ache in her chest.

She nodded and turned to head upstairs before he could see the tears already burning her eyes. She’d never been a crier, but these last twenty-four hours had put her on an emotional roller coaster and she was wishing like hell she could get off. This issue with the media was a complication neither of them needed right now.

Asher rounded the table and caught her wrist before she could leave. Just the feeling of his strong, sure grip was enough to push her over the edge. What would she do without him? What would happen to them when this was over? Both were questions she shouldn’t be thinking about right now. They had more important things to be concerned with, like staying alive, yet she couldn’t stop the questions from invading her mind.

“Hey.” He stopped her, tugging her back around to face him.

She wiped away a tear before it could fall and met his stare with what she hoped were dry eyes.

“I know this hasn’t been easy on you, but we’re going to get through this.
You’re
going to get through this. You’re a strong woman, Quinn, and braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Maybe she shouldn’t be doing this—she was probably only making an impossible situation worse—but she slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. When his arms came around her and squeezed, she soaked in his strength like a dry sponge tossed into the ocean. “You make me brave. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d survive,” he told her. “Because that’s what you need to do. This is bigger than you or me. The world needs to know what’s happening to those children over there. You have the power to stop it, and I have no doubt that you will.”

He couldn’t believe they were still alive. Tate’s truck was lying at the bottom of a mountain for fuck’s sake. He’d been so sure Tate and Summers were in it. How in the hell had they walked away from that unscathed? He’d planned so carefully, strategized and waited—biding his time for the perfect moment. They never should have survived. Right now he should be in Turks with a Mai Tai in his hand and his cock in some whore’s mouth. Instead, he was holed up in a tree with a stick up his goddamn ass.

And now things had just gotten even more problematic because there was a fucking news van in Tate’s driveway. This wasn’t good, not at all. They didn’t stay long but that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t take but a moment to undo all his hard work. He watched the media van pull out and head south. Training his scope on the license plate number, he committed it to memory.

That reporter had seen Quinn. No goddamn way they hadn’t caught her on tape. If they discovered who she was, this could all blow up in his face by the evening news. Fuck, the last thing he needed was the police figuring out where she was and compromising his mission.

He’d hoped to have this over and done with before the conclusion of the Peterson trial, and he would have too, if last night had gone according to plan. But that was the thing about staging an accident—it wasn’t as easy as pulling a trigger. There were some variables that were just out of his control.

Unfortunately, with as much press as Peterson’s trial was getting, this was probably just the beginning of the barrage of media that would no doubt be knocking at Tate’s door. His window of opportunity to kill Quinn was quickly closing, and this Channel 8 bitch was one more complication he didn’t need right now.

After slipping the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, he descended the tree he’d been sitting in all afternoon. He made his way to his car and, after depositing his gun in the backseat, climbed inside and pulled out to follow the news van.

CHAPTER

26

Q
uinn, come in here, you’ve gotta see this . . .”

Oh, no.
The knot of dread tightened in her gut. Whatever Asher was calling her away for couldn’t he good. She’d just finished hitting print on one of the last articles she wanted to read. It was about the CGRN’s expansion into territories of Haiti that had higher civil unrest. Hopefully this article would make mention of the US or military support, because she knew the CGRN wasn’t going in there alone. Once she got her notes and discovered the name of that security team, she could start cross-referencing them and hopefully begin connecting the dots. Perhaps the link to Attorney General Mark Madison was the military team instead of the CGRN. That would certainly explain why her research hadn’t yielded any results so far.

The printer sucked a page into the feeder and began its monotonous left-to-right grind. One would think that as high-tech and sophisticated as Asher’s computer, software, and security were, he would at least own a laser jet. For crying out loud, at this rate she was going to be at this half the night.

Sliding her chair back from the kitchen table, she stood and stretched, rubbing at the low ache in her back as she headed into the living room where Asher had on the six o’clock evening news. When she entered and saw the TV, she abruptly stopped, staring at the photos of the news crew who’d been there earlier. The pictures changed to a live scene of a news van lying at the base of a ravine, looking like a crushed milk carton. Quinn caught the last few lines of the news announcement: “The accident is still under investigation. The cause of the crash is unknown at this time.”

“Asher . . . that’s the news crew that was at the house earlier today.”

“I know . . .” His attention was fixed on the screen.

“They’re dead.”

“Yep.”

She came around the couch and stood beside Asher, sharing her time between watching him and the TV, though she wasn’t sure what she was hoping to see from him. His expression, as usual, gave nothing away, but his eyes . . . That was where the truth could be found, and it chilled her to her core. “You don’t think it was an accident, do you?”

“I think that I’m not the only one who didn’t want your face plastered across the evening news, and this was one hell of a way to kill a story.”

“Are you serious? You think the guy who’s after me did this? But why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want any attention being drawn to you. Maybe he figures it’ll raise more questions if you turn up dead later. But I don’t believe in coincidences. For whatever reason, that bastard didn’t want Danielle Rogers running her story.”

“What if it
was
just an accident?”

“You mean like ours was?”

Quinn’s stomach lurched. If Asher was right, then that news crew died because of her. When would this stop? Guilt swamped her; her chest felt like there was a tight band around it preventing her from taking a full breath. She thought of Emily, her friend never far from her mind and always in her heart. Tears pricked her eyes. How many more lives would be stolen by this monster? And then the thought hit her, one she was sure hadn’t been missed by Asher if the tight clench of his jaw was any indication. She might be a little slow on the uptake, but she was getting there.

“If you’re right, then that means he was watching us today. That’s the only way he could have known the news van was here.”

The broadcast flipped to the national segment of the news and Asher shut the TV off, tossing the remote onto the couch. He shifted and gave her the full weight of his stare as she willed herself to breathe . . .

“Yep.”

It was hard hearing him put voice to her fears. But one thing she knew about Asher was that he didn’t sugarcoat anything. And honest to God, his next words were the proof that just about put her over the edge.

“Quinn, I think you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that this could get worse before it gets better. I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you safe. That’s why I’m getting you out of here.”

She nodded numbly, not sure what else to say as fear slowly unfurled inside her. It wasn’t until she learned about the death of that news crew that Quinn realized somewhere deep down, she’d still been holding on to a scrap of hope that those brakes failing had really just been an accident. Asher was right; the accidents were no coincidence. It had only been a week . . . She thought she’d be safe longer than this. How had he found her so quickly? She’d been so careful . . . A blast of adrenaline hit her veins, her whole body humming with it as her mind raced for answers. How would he have known to look for her here? How?

She thought back to the night she came home and found Emily, replaying her steps through her mind. With vivid detail they came rushing back . . . Emily’s ringtone playing on the other side of the door, the wood against Quinn’s palm as she pushed it open . . . Her heart hammering inside her chest, just like it was now, as dread became a living, breathing monster that wrapped its insidious claws around her throat and squeezed until she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to run but her feet moved forward, propelling through the debris scattered all over the floor. Broken glass crunched under her feet, which ground to a halt when she entered the living room. Emily . . . Bile surged up her throat, the bitter burn an all too familiar feeling. She’d stumbled back, slipped on something beneath her boot, her ankle twisted, she fell . . .

Oh my God . . . that’s it!

“Quinn . . . Quinn!”

She wasn’t sure how long Asher had been calling her name. She hadn’t seen him rise from the couch but here he was, standing in front of her, hands gripping her shoulders, concern etched in his otherwise stoically handsome face.

“Quinn, talk to me!”

“I know how he did it. I know how he found me. How could I have missed it? He’s known I was here all along. I ran right into his hands. I have to call Violet!”

She tried to turn to go get his phone, but Asher wasn’t letting her go. “Stop.” His voice was firm but calm. “Tell me what you’re thinking before you make any calls. How did he do it, Quinn? How do you think he found you?”

“The wedding pictures. They were all over the floor. He saw us together in those wedding pictures. And you’re practically famous right now. He’s going to know who you are. Of course I’d go running to you for help. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now. I was so upset when I found Emily that it didn’t even dawn on me. He knows who Violet is, Asher! If we leave and he can’t get to me, he’s going to go after her.”

“Fuck . . .” He let her go and dragged his hand through his hair. “I’ll call Nikko. Let me talk to him first. We need a plan before you tell Violet. I don’t want you to scare her.”

Quinn nodded numbly. Her hand was shaking as she raised it to cover her mouth.

“What about your parents? Where are they?”

“In Rome—they’re in Rome until the end of the month.”

“They should be safe there. It’d take too long for him to find them and then get back here to you. This guy went through a lot of trouble to make that hit yesterday look like an accident. He doesn’t want your death raising any red flags. It’d be taking a big risk to go after anyone connected to you. But that doesn’t mean Violet shouldn’t be careful. He knows he’s running out of time, and desperate people do desperate things.”

“You all right? You’ve been staring at a blank screen for the last five minutes.”

No, she wasn’t all right. Nothing about this nightmare was all right. Quinn glanced up from the computer and met Asher’s concerned stare. He was pocketing his cell after hanging up with Nikko. She didn’t appreciate him retreating to the bedroom to make his call. He must have been talking about things he didn’t want her overhearing. It bothered Quinn that he was keeping secrets from her. By the occasional sound of his raised voice, she’d venture a guess that the conversation could have gone better.

“I spoke with Nikko—I missed his call earlier. The SD card arrived today. He agrees we need to be careful. Violet’s clearing her work schedule and he’s taking her and Raven to Kauai for a few weeks until this is all over. Apparently, a friend of his owns a house there. We’re meeting them in Salt Lake City to get the card, and they’re flying out from there.”

Asher came around the table and took a seat beside her, turning her chair to face him. She could tell he had more to say, but seemed to be hesitant or unsure how to proceed. His delay spiked her anxiety. It wasn’t like Asher to be at a loss for words.

“What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

He studied her a little while longer, each second that passed ratcheting her panic higher and higher. “Asher, what is it?”

He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck and exhaled a frustrated sigh. “He wants to take you with him.”

Now the pieces fit into place. Asher wanted her to go and didn’t know how to tell her. The thought of leaving him was like a lead weight settling in her gut. She didn’t want to do it, but in her heart she knew it was the safest thing for him. Yet, now how much more risk would she be putting Nikko and her sister in by leaving with them? She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to make this any more awkward for him.

“And you want me to go . . .” she finished when he didn’t speak.

His brows grew tight in a scowl that made her want to move back. “Fuck no, I don’t want you to go. But I’m afraid you’re going to leave anyway, especially after the way you nearly ran out on me this morning. And Nikko’s being insistent. He thinks I’m being selfish to keep you with me. Hell, who knows, maybe I am. But goddammit, I don’t want to let you go.”

Her heart soared with his confession, and then plummeted just as fast.

“Not yet . . .”

So he
was
planning to let her go. And then he kept talking and her heart just continued to spiral with disappointment. “I started this with you and I intend to see it through.”

So it was his sense of duty that kept him honor-bound to her—not his heart. She should have known better than to expect any declaration of love from him. If she knew what was good for her she
would
go. It sure as hell wasn’t going to be any easier to leave him when this was over. But nothing had changed; she couldn’t put her family at risk by staying with them. Asher was going to be stuck with her. She just wished he wanted to be with her for the same reasons she wanted to be with him.

“I don’t want to go, Asher.”

The look of relief on his face helped convince her she was doing the right thing. He really did want her to stay, and not out of any obligation to Nikko or he wouldn’t have been fighting so hard to keep her with him.

“When are they leaving?”

“In the morning. I have some things to finish buttoning up around here and I want to do some checking on security at the hotel. If it looks good, we might be able to lie low there for a few days. I was thinking if you have Internet access, you might be able to finish your story sooner.”

Lord, she hoped so, and knowing that Violet and Raven were safe was like a giant weight being lifted from her shoulders.

“All right. I’m already packed. I just have a few more articles to print out. I can read them in the car.”

“That’s good. I’ll get supper started while you finish up.”

He stood and Quinn grabbed his hand before he could walk away. Asher stopped and waited for her to speak. “Thank you . . . for everything. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

Something in his eyes softened. They wandered over her face as he reached up and gently brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek. When his thumb slowly traced her plump bottom lip, her heart kicked inside her chest and that familiar spark deep inside lit, the flame fanned by the memories of being in his arms. He looked like he was going to kiss her.

“You’re so beautiful . . .” he whispered, his naturally smooth voice rough with emotion. “It tears me up to think there’s someone out there that wants to hurt you. I promise you, Quinn, someway, somehow, I’ll find a way to end this.”

Her lips parted as her eyes flittered closed, inviting his kiss. When his lips brushed against her cheek chastely, her eyes opened in surprise. Asher took a step back, but she wasn’t sure if it was for his control or hers, because she was about to throw herself at this man—pride be damned.

“I’ll get supper started.” He turned away, heading to his respective corner of the kitchen.

Quinn watched in contemplative silence as she shared her time between printing articles and watching Asher cook for her. He’d refused her offer to help. Instead, he’d made her a lemon iced tea and spiked it with a shot of vodka. It tasted delicious.

Asher must have felt her eyes on him because he glanced at her over his shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet. What are you thinking about?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him. It was nothing deep or profound. After the stress of the day, her mind had chosen a safer topic to meditate on. It was strange she would think of Spencer as such, but all things considered . . . “I was thinking that you’re the first man who has ever cooked for me. First grilled cheese and now this.”