Beneath the Surface (23 page)

Her heart felt like a jackhammer inside her chest. She stepped around the side of the bed to put more distance between them. “Asher, I . . . I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“You’re damn right, you shouldn’t have,” he growled, stopping near the foot of the bed. “It’s bad enough you lied about it. You tell someone you love them, at least have the fucking courtesy to say it in English.”

Before she could respond, his gaze dropped to her chest and something flashed in his eyes—shock, terror, rage . . . ?

“Quinn, get down!”

Asher dove for her. His chest slammed into hers so hard, the air whooshed from her lungs as the ping of breaking glass sounded off to the left and a
thunk
echoed in the log wall behind her. Both sounded before she hit the ground, and pain exploded through her body. If Asher’s hand weren’t cradling the back of her head, she probably would have been knocked unconscious. The weight of his body knocked the wind out of her. She felt like she’d been hit with a ton of bricks. It took her longer to realize what was happening than it did him. With his body still covering hers, Asher reached above them, into the top drawer of his nightstand. And that’s when she saw it, the red beam cutting through the bedroom.

Holy shit, someone just shot at me . . .

Even as the sound of gunfire rang out two more times, her mind still refused to believe it. Asher cursed. When he yanked his arm back, he had a gun in his hand. He raised it up over the mattress just far enough to fire off two shots, one at the ceiling light, and the other into the lamp across the bed. Glass shattered and the room suddenly went black. The red beam swept the room again, this time more slowly. She couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t sure if it was panic or Asher’s weight crushing her, but air refused to enter her lungs.

Asher shifted above her. His hand slid to the side of her face and she had to choke back a frightened sob. “Are you all right?” he demanded. “Were you hit?”

She shook her head but then realized he wouldn’t be able to see her respond. “No,” she rasped, forcing what little air she had out of her lungs. “I’m okay. What about you?”

“I’m good.”

She saw the red beam sweeping above them again and swallowed back a cry of terror. They were trapped in here behind the bed.

“Quinn, when I tell you to go, I want you to run for the bathroom and get into the shower. The bullets won’t be able to penetrate both sets of logs. You’ll be safe in there.”

He shifted above her and she grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his biceps. “What about you?” she cried. God, this wasn’t happening. Not again. She couldn’t lose him again . . .

“I’m going to find this fucker and kill him.”

His weight left her and Quinn pressed her hand over her mouth to hold back her broken sob. She could hear the closet door open and then close. The red beam was across the room, but getting closer to the closet by the second. He opened the French doors leading out onto the deck and the light swung left. A hail of bullets rang out, slamming into the wall above her. Quinn’s scream was muffled by her hand.

“You all right?” Asher called across the room.

“Yes . . .” She could barely get the one word out past her trembling lips.

“Get ready to run, Quinn. On my go.”

As soon as the red light swept over her again, Asher yelled, “Now!”

Quinn jumped to her feet and it sounded like she’d stepped into the middle of a war zone. Automatic gunfire erupted in the bedroom. It was deafening—disorienting. Quinn forced one foot in front of the other and ran for the bathroom, relying on memory to get her there because she couldn’t see anything but blackness. The moment her foot hit the tile, she slammed the door shut behind her and ducked into the shower. And there she sat. On the floor, knees hugged tight to her chest, as she prayed to God He’d spare Asher’s life one more time.

CHAPTER

28

W
hen that red light centered on Quinn’s chest, Asher’s life literally flashed before his eyes, because if something happened to this woman, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Time momentarily stopped, and so did his heart, before racing at a tempo that made his head spin. Acting on pure instinct, he’d dove for her as the bullet whizzed past them, slamming into the log wall. It’d come so close to hitting her, he’d felt the breeze against his back.

And this was exactly the reason why he kept guns stashed all over his house. You never knew when you were going to fall under attack. Needing to even the playing field, he’d retrieved his .45 from the nightstand and shot the lights. After making sure Quinn was all right, he timed the sweep of the red light scope and raced for the closet, grabbing his AR-15.

Rage burned through his veins like liquid fire as he beat feet to the glass doors and swung them open. The movement sent that red beam his way as an explosion of bullets tore through the bedroom. Quinn’s muffled scream gutted him.

“You all right?” he called in the darkness, wishing to God he could see for himself.

“Yes.”

She didn’t sound all right. Not by a long shot. “Get ready to run, Quinn. On my go.” He fixed his eyes on the beam shining out from the woods and flipped his modified AR to full auto. Aiming into the woods at the red light, he yelled, “Now!” and pulled the trigger, sending a hailstorm of bullets into the trees.

Once Asher was sure he’d given Quinn enough time to escape to the bathroom, he let his finger off the trigger and stepped back. Pressing his shoulder and hip against the wall, he waited for return fire, but there was only silence.

Could he have gotten lucky and hit that fucker? Or was this a trap to lure him into the woods? It didn’t really matter. Either way, he was going out there. This was going to end—right fucking now. Tracking and vetting out Taliban insurgents was his specialty. He wouldn’t have any trouble hunting this bastard down.

“Quinn, I’m going outside,” he yelled through the door. “Stay right there until I come get you.” He didn’t wait for her to respond before sliding the strap of his assault rifle over his shoulder and charging down the stairs. He stopped in the kitchen and opened the safe. Slipping on a flak jacket, he pocketed another clip for his .45 and grabbed a pair of night vision optics before heading out the back door and into a world of bright green.

The night vision could be disorienting if one wasn’t used to it. But his Recon Six team did most of their ops at night—this is what he was used to, what he trained for. Asher cut across the yard and into the woods. As he made his way south, he strained to hear over the high-pitched ringing in his ears. His eyes scanned the woods for movement—nothing. As he drew closer to the area he’d shot up a few minutes ago, Asher slowed his steps, doing a visual sweep of the trees. If that fucker was still out here, that’s where he’d be. In the trees . . . waiting to ambush him. A twig snapped up ahead, maybe twenty yards, but the woods were too thick to see through. Shouldering his weapon, ready to fire, he advanced with cautious steps. A few paces later, Asher spotted a black blotch on the ground at the bottom of a large oak. Squatting down, he swiped his fingers through the moisture and rubbed them together. Blood. Perfect, now he had a trail to follow.

His pulse slowed and his breaths steadied as he drew the crisp night air deep into his lungs. He searched the woods for movement and spotted something just ahead. There . . . to the south. Someone was running toward the road. His unequal gait slowed his progress, giving Asher time to raise his AR, flip it to semi-auto, and fire off a few rounds. The trees were an unfortunate obstacle. The figure stumbled as he was hit, then returned fire. Asher ducked behind a tree as bullets whizzed past him, plunking into trees around him.

When the gunfire stopped, Asher took off after him. The bastard was on a hobbled run. Weaving in and out of trees, he raced through the woods. Up ahead, the man broke into the clearing and a moment later Asher heard the slam of a car door and the roar of an engine. Tires squealed on the asphalt as Asher ran toward the road. He cleared the trees just in time to see taillights flashing a taunting farewell as the car braked, fishtailing as it took the sharp corner, disappearing into the night.

“Fuck!”

Time stopped for Quinn as she sat on the cold tile floor, staring into darkness. Her ears still rang from the gunfire. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard, her chest hurt. She could hardly breathe past the terror choking her. She’d almost been shot . . . And this very moment, Asher was out there with a killer.

Gunfire erupted again and she jumped. This time she didn’t even try to hold back her startled cry. Minutes felt like hours as she waited for Asher to return. Where was he? Why was it taking so long? What if he was injured? He could be lying out there wounded, or dead in the woods for all she knew. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could sit here, yet what other choice did she have? It was pitch black outside. She could hardly go running out into the night. Maybe if she could find a flashlight . . .

Quinn got to her feet, too panicked by what-ifs to heed Asher’s warning to wait for him here. Her knees nearly buckled, she was shaking so badly. Stretching out her hand, she felt in the darkness for something to hold on to and took a hesitant step. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the sliding glass door and she braced herself against it. Her heart was pounding so fast, a wave of dizziness washed over her.

She made her way toward the door and once she orientated herself by locating the knob, Quinn ran her hand over the logs to find the light switch. She clicked it on and opened the bathroom door. The ambient glow shone into the bedroom, allowing just enough light to see the way to the stairs. Fear for Asher dwarfed her fear for her own safety. Her self-preservation instincts were running at an all-time low as she rushed down the stairs, images of Asher lying wounded in the woods flooding her mind. The weight attached to her left ankle was a comforting reminder that she wasn’t defenseless.

Rounding the stairwell, she headed for the kitchen to find a flashlight. Quinn began opening and closing cupboards and drawers. Nothing. There had to be one somewhere—maybe under the sink? She opened the doors and squatted down to begin her search when the door beside her opened and slammed closed. She spun around, meeting Asher’s glare.

“What are you doing down here? I told you to wait upstairs.”

Relief flooded through her. She didn’t care that he looked as pissed off as a grizzly bear. Quinn shot to her feet and rushed him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank God you’re all right. I heard gunshots. And you were gone so long. I thought . . .” She couldn’t say it. Her thoughts were too terrible to put voice to.

Asher set his rifle down and wrapped his arm around her, holding her tight. “You thought you were going to rescue me?” Emotion roughened his voice. “Fuck, Quinn. You can’t keep doing stuff like this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Me? Asher, you ran off into the woods, chasing a killer.”

He exhaled a breath that sounded a lot like frustration and tried to release her, but she wasn’t ready to let him go yet. She clung on tighter.

“Quinn, look at me.”

Asher reached up and untangled her arms from around his neck, then tipped her head up to meet his stare.

“
I
am a killer. I am just like him.” Asher pointed out the window toward the woods.

She shook her head in denial. How could he say that? “You’re nothing like that monster.”

“Yes, I am. The only difference is I’m
your
monster.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because I don’t want you believing I’m something that I’m not. I don’t
ever
want you putting yourself at risk for me again. Do you understand me? I’m telling you this because I have done a lot of horrible things in my life, and I don’t want you falling for an illusion. And I sure as hell don’t want you dying for one.”

Quinn was speechless. She watched in numb silence as he moved past her and headed for the pantry cupboard. Is that really what he thought? That he was no better than the man who’d almost shot her tonight? That he could even think something that was so far from the truth gave her a glimpse at the demons Asher must live with, and it made her heart ache.

She knew there wasn’t anything she could say to convince him otherwise, and wondered if he would have even told her this much if it wasn’t for her German confession. She hadn’t intended to tell him she was falling for him, in English or any other language. It just sort of slipped out. His reaction hadn’t been what she’d expected—at all. And then everything had gone to hell after that, so she had no clue where things stood with them now. She feared she’d changed the dynamics of their relationship, and not necessarily for the better.

Asher pulled the door open, and she realized it was no cupboard at all. He spun through the lock combination and opened the safe. She was surprised to see the cache of weapons, though she wasn’t sure why. Asher had guns stowed all over the house; it only made sense he’d have a gun safe. But this wasn’t just a gun safe. She didn’t recognize half of the weapons she was looking at, but knew there was no way this stuff was legal.

He put the rifle away, returned the handgun, and pulled the clip from his pocket before removing his vest. It wasn’t until he reached up to hang it on the hook that she noticed the crimson stain running down his side.

“You’re bleeding!”

Asher lifted his arm a little higher and tipped his head to look down at his side. A three-inch gash cut through the flesh covering his ribs. He didn’t seem nearly as alarmed as she was. Her observation was confirmed when he shrugged and said, “It’s just a scratch. It’ll be fine.”

Dismissing the wound, he relocked the safe and closed the door. His negligence pinged Quinn’s temper and her feet were in motion before she realized they were moving. “It’s not ‘fine,’” she snapped, taking hold of his arm and guiding him over to the chair. “And your ‘scratch’ looks like it needs about ten stitches.” She tugged him to sit and he complied with an exasperated huff.

Her emotions were running high and she wasn’t in any mood for his macho bullshit, though she suspected this was no show of masculine prowess. Asher really didn’t care he’d been shot, and he seemed to think her doting attention was unwarranted. Well, too damn bad. If he insisted on running through the woods like Rambo, he was going to have to put up with her mother-henning him a little bit.

“Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Under the sink in the bathroom.”

She could hear the annoyance in his voice and wasn’t sure if it was residual from finding her downstairs instead of where he’d told her to wait, or if he really didn’t want her messing with his injury. Either way, she ignored the attitude and left to retrieve the kit. He was wrong. He was nothing like the man who’d tried to kill her, and she so badly wanted to make him see that. Though she knew words wouldn’t convince him, Quinn was determined to prove it to him. Maybe Asher’s dad was right and he needed her more than she realized.

As she disappeared down the hall, Asher exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. With the immediate threat to Quinn temporarily neutralized—because with the size of that blood trail, there was no chance in hell that bastard was coming back tonight—it was as if the pause button had been lifted and the rocket of emotions that had sent him flying up those stairs after her were back with a vengeance. The last thing he’d expected her to say was that she was afraid she was falling in love with him, “afraid” being the key word here, because she
should
be afraid—very afraid. Despite his feelings for Quinn, her reciprocation of those emotions was not in his action plan, and that put this equation on a whole other mathematical level he wasn’t sure he could solve.

Just because he had feelings for the woman, it didn’t mean he was any good for her. She’d already had her heart broken once; he’d be damned if he was going to be the bastard that did it a second time. And yet, even as his mind told him all the reasons this was a terrible idea, his heart was doing a happy dance. He wanted her. He wanted her love, her affection, even if he didn’t deserve it. She made him want to be a better man, and wasn’t that the hallmark of a good woman? According to his dad, it was. As Asher sat there bleeding down his side and soaking the waistband of his jeans, he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit because all he could think about was taking Quinn upstairs and making her his.