Beneath the Surface (5 page)

Even so, as foul tempered and prickly as he knew she could be, he couldn’t send her away. She had no place to go and doing so would undoubtedly be sending her to her death. He’d made enough mistakes in his life. He didn’t need to add this woman’s death to the toll.

Exhaling an exhausted sigh, he dragged his fingers through his hair and fixed her with a hard stare. Neither of them said anything for the longest time, and then finally, he broke. “If I’m going to do this, I want full disclosure, Quinn. I need to know what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.”

She nodded her agreement, not seeming surprised by his request, but looked relieved when he didn’t push for any more details, though that conversation would be coming soon enough.

“I only have one bedroom. It’s the loft.” He canted his head to the left, indicating the stairs. “You can stay there and I’ll take the couch.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll stay on the couch.”

It was too late for that, and was she really going to start this off by bucking him already? “You’ll stay upstairs. I prefer you out from underfoot.”

Something flashed in her eyes—hurt maybe?—but he couldn’t tell for sure because her gaze broke away and shifted to the floor before he could interpret the emotion. She nodded, saying nothing. He continued on, refusing to worry about offending her. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“The living room is behind you and the bathroom is down the hall. There’s another one upstairs. This place doesn’t have a lot of room, but it’s safe—for now.” That got her eyes back on him. “The house is wired with a military-grade security system. I’ll teach you how to use it and give you a passcode. Always keep it armed. The property covers one hundred and fifty acres. The main perimeter around the house is secure. I’ll take you through it tomorrow, show you where to go, where not to go.”

“Do you think they’re going to find me?”

“Yes. How long it takes will depend on how good he is and how well you’ve covered your tracks.”

“I bought a train ticket to San Diego and I exited when we stopped in Denver.”

“Any idea how long it’s going to take you to get your story together and go public with this?”

She shook her head. “I won’t know until I start digging and hopefully find what I’m looking for. And I need my SD card. That’s where all my photos are. I don’t suppose you have a secure phone and Internet access with an impenetrable firewall I could use?”

“I do.”

Her top lip twitched, but didn’t quite make it to a smile. “Thank you for helping me.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you” were just about the last words he expected to ever hear coming out of Quinn’s mouth, and it made him uncomfortable as hell to hear them. He didn’t want her gratitude. In truth, he didn’t want anything to do with her. His initial assessment of the woman had been spot-fucking-on. Quinn Summers was a spitfire and he couldn’t shake the feeling he was going to get burned.

“You can thank me if you make it through this alive,” he grumbled, rising from the chair and walking out of the kitchen.

CHAPTER

5

Q
uinn followed Asher up the stairs after getting a tour of the main level and stopped behind him when they reached the loft. The log home was rustic, quaint, and, surprisingly, a lot cleaner than she’d expected a bachelor pad to be—especially his bedroom. Braided rugs covered areas of the hardwood floor, giving the place a homey feel. A king-size bed sat in the center of the room with a plain navy blue comforter adorning a wrinkle-free mattress with tight, mitered corners. Was that the military in him coming out? She was tempted to walk over and see if she could bounce a quarter on the bed.

This glimpse into Asher’s private life didn’t reconcile with the flagrant playboy she knew him to be. By his home, it would appear that Asher was a man who liked order and structure—not at all like the guy she’d met at her sister’s wedding, who got shit-faced and whored it up with a different woman every night.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was expecting, maybe some clothes strewn on the floor, left wherever they’d fallen the night before as he’d hastily ripped them off to get naked with whoever struck his fancy for the evening. She took a step forward, looking around the large room.

“What’s the matter, Quinn? Not what you were expecting?”

“I have to be honest, I was preparing myself for condom wrappers scattered all over the floor and panties hanging from the ceiling fan.”

Asher chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He looked toward the open beam rafters, up to the ceiling fan set on a lazy spin. “You’d have to be one hell of a shot to snag a pair all the way up there.” Dropping his gaze back on her, he added, “I ain’t sayin’ I’m not up to the challenge, but uh . . .”

“Don’t even think about it,” she snapped, brushing past him. “Tell me, are you always such a pig? I’m just asking so I don’t get my hopes up that you actually have a chivalrous bone in your body.”

His brow arched and he crossed his arms over his chest in that stubborn pose he seemed to like so much. “I think it’s pretty chivalrous of me to be saving your ass.”

Okay, that took the wind out of her sails a little bit. Quinn’s rebuke abruptly died on her lips. He was right. It was. And she needed to remember that. She winced at the guilty pinch in her chest. What was it about this man that sparked her temper so fiercely? Admittedly, she was attracted to him—who wouldn’t be?—but it annoyed the hell of out her because the last thing she wanted was to find herself drawn to this incorrigible ass.

Besides, just because she felt physical desire for Asher Tate didn’t mean she liked him, and even though she may be indebted to him, it didn’t mean she’d whore herself out to the man—even if the thought had very briefly crossed her mind.

Quinn’s biggest problem was that she lacked a filter between her brain and her mouth. Whatever she was thinking just seemed to come spilling out, consequences be damned. She’d been like that ever since she was a little kid. One would think that over the years, she’d grow out of it. Guess not . . .

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she conceded. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful—”

“For chrissake, Quinn, that’s not what I meant. I don’t expect you to fuck me for letting you stay here. What kind of a douche bag do you think I am?”

She wasn’t sure she should answer that. Her mouth had gotten her into enough trouble for one night. “It’s getting late and I’m really tired. Would it be all right if I took a bath?”

When he didn’t answer her right away, she glanced back to find him staring at her—scowling actually—those colorful eyes boring into her with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably. She ignored the fluttering in her stomach and the quickening of her pulse. She was just hungry, and it was hot in here. And she was a dirty liar because that man was too damn gorgeous for his own good—or maybe her own good.

That he could incite this response in her after everything she’d been through these last few days warned Quinn she needed to be careful around this man because Asher Tate was far more dangerous than she’d thought, but for a whole other set of reasons.

After taking a deep breath, his exhale was long and drawn out.
He
was the one who sounded exhausted. “The bathroom’s behind you.” He indicated the door with a nod.

“Umm . . . I don’t have any clothes, other than what I’m wearing.” God help her, she hated to ask, but what other option did she have? She’d been in these clothes for the last two days and the thought of putting them back on was not appealing.

“T-shirts are in my top dresser drawer, far left. Help yourself.” He turned and walked out before she could thank him. The fading sound of footsteps drew her to the balcony in the hall. Her hand rested on the railing as she watched him leave.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. “Something else you needed, Quinn?” It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it that warned her she’d exhausted his patience.

Taking a step back from the rail, she shook her head. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but thought better of pushing her luck. He was the first to break eye contact and turn away, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t hear and was fairly certain she didn’t want to either.

She headed back toward the bedroom, closed the door behind her, and crossed the room to sit on the side of his bed. It was softer than it looked. For a moment, she considered lying back and just going to sleep. But she was also wearing two days of travel on her and the lure of a long, hot bath was more enticing than rest.

Commanding her reluctant muscles to move, she rose and dragged her ass over to the dresser. She opened the top drawer and grabbed a T-shirt. When she entered the bathroom and saw the whirlpool tub in the corner, she almost cried tears of joy. It was a luxury she hadn’t expected to find.

Closing the door behind her, she quickly shed her clothes and headed for the tub. The tile floor was cool against her feet, sending a chill of goose bumps prickling over her flesh. Stopping at the shower, she grabbed the shampoo and body wash and set them on the tile rim before turning on the bathwater.

She retrieved a towel and then paused as she passed the sink, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Oh heavens, was she a mess. Her hair was wild and unruly, and the pieces coming loose from the braid she’d put it in had given her a hair halo. Dark circles rimmed her eyes from lack of sleep. She was pale, her face drawn and washed out. Good grief. Had she really been concerned about Asher hitting on her? She doubted he was into necrophilia, so no worries there.

What she wouldn’t give to brush her teeth, or to shave her legs . . . Quinn hesitated only a moment before opening the medicine cabinet, the temptation to feel clean and refreshed more alluring than her concern for Asher’s privacy. Who knows, maybe she’d get lucky and find a spare toothbrush still in the package. Disappointingly, no such luck. But there was a razor, spare blades, and a bottle of shaving cream.

Oh, and a box of Magnum condoms—Ultra Thin—XL. Quinn picked it up and gave it a shake, the foil wrappers scratching against the inside of the box. It felt light . . . She was tempted to peek inside for a quick count but told herself it didn’t matter. It was none of her business who or how many women Asher Tate slept with. The image of catching him in that compromising position with the coat-check girl returned, and so did her ire.

With a caustic snort, she set the box back on the shelf and grabbed his razor, a fresh blade, and the shaving cream. She set the supplies on the side of the tub, turned off the water, and pressed the button to start up the jets. The water surged to life, bubbling and swirling as she climbed into the hot, steamy bath. Quinn’s breath left her lungs in a soft, throaty moan as she leaned back against the tub and closed her eyes.

This was the first time in four months she’d had a real bath. It was funny the things one took for granted living in a first-world country—things like running water, flushing toilets, or toilets at all . . . Her travels as a freelance journalist had taken her to some remote areas in the world, but the conditions in Haiti had been some of the worst. Water was a scarce, precious commodity there and she almost felt guilty surrounding herself in what many people would labor tirelessly for. How many homes would have drinking water for days in what she was bathing in right now?

Her thoughts began to drift to Meille and the family that had been so gracious as to take her in and share their home with her. Sweet, precious Aileen . . . Her chest tightened with grief every time she thought of the girl. Quinn’s heart broke for her, her family, and the countless other girls—missing. She may not be able to bring them back, but she could sure as hell tell the world what was happening over there.

Tears pricked her eyelids and she forced the memory from her mind, only to have it replaced with images of Emily. She couldn’t even contact her roommate’s family to tell them how sorry she was. How had a simple publicity piece for the CGRN turned into such a nightmare? She was so sure she would have found an ally in the US government. Instead, she was running for her life. But why? What part of this story was she missing?

Was the killer, even now, watching her? Waiting for his chance to strike? No, he couldn’t have found her. Not yet, anyway. She’d been careful to do exactly as Nikko had instructed. But Asher had no qualms about making sure she knew it was only a matter of time. He was coming, and when he found her she could only pray that Asher would be able to keep her safe.

Taking a breath, she slipped below the water’s surface to cleanse the gruesome scene from her eyes, but nothing could wash away the horrific images. Holding her breath until her lungs burned, she let the jets blast against her face, swirling her long hair into a mercurial tangle around her. Her need for oxygen forced her from her oasis and she pushed up, breaking through the surface.

Quinn took her time bathing, trying to relax and allow the turbulent water to beat against her tired, aching muscles. Once she began to prune and the water turned tepid, she shut off the jets, drained the tub, and reached for the towel she’d draped over the tile ledge. After she dried off, she twisted her hair up into the towel and pulled on Asher’s T-shirt. It smelled like him—fresh and outdoorsy.

The shirt dwarfed her. She’d known he was large, but this was ridiculous. The V-neck settled deep between her cleavage, and the hemline hung midthigh. “USMC” was emblazoned over her abdomen. The white cotton shirt was soft and thin from wear—like one of those boyfriend tees girls would buy and wear as a nightshirt. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror as she passed by. Yeah, she probably should have picked a color other than white. Something her nipples wouldn’t show through would be nice. Oh well, she was just going to bed, anyway. She’d figure out her clothing situation in the morning.

As Quinn headed for the bedroom, she pulled the towel from her hair and began drying the ends as she walked out of the bathroom.

“Holy fuck!”

Quinn stumbled to an abrupt halt and shoved her fall of wet hair out of her face. He hadn’t meant to startle her with his outburst, but Asher hadn’t expected her to come walking out yet, and definitely not looking like that. He knew it was rude to stare, but short of poking his eyes out with a stick, there was no help for it. He’d always known Quinn Summers was a beautiful woman, there had never been any question about that, but he wasn’t prepared to see her standing half-naked in his bedroom, wearing nothing but his T-shirt. There was just something about seeing a gorgeous woman wearing your clothes that was . . . totally fucking sexy. His blood rushed south so fast his head felt light.

The T-shirt she’d picked was one of his favorites. An old white, threadbare, red-lettered USMC shirt he’d gotten back in boot camp. The V exposed a generous amount of her cleavage, and damn, that girl had an amazing rack. Her rosy, pebbled nipples shone through the thin cotton and areas she hadn’t dried very well made the material transparent in various teasing patches.

“Asher? What are you doing up here?”

The accusation in her voice was sharp, sparking his temper, which was exactly what he needed to rein in his desire. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he shot back, fluffing the top sheet with a sharp flick of his wrist. The linen cracked in the air like a whip, drawing her eyes to his bed. “I’m putting fresh sheets on the bed, or did you want to sleep in mine?”

A blush bloomed on her cheeks and quickly stole down her neck. Yeah, she should be embarrassed. Her assuming the worst of him was gonna get old pretty damn fast. He settled the sheet over the bed, lifted the foot of the mattress, and folded in the corners before turning to her. “Listen, Quinn, as much as you may want this to happen,” he glanced up and waved his finger back and forth between the two of them, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not interested. I don’t do shrew.”

She gasped—an eyes-rounded, jaw-dropping gasp, and it was a test of self-control not to laugh at the look on her face. But this woman needed to be knocked off her high horse and he was just the guy to do it. He’d be damned if he was going to let some chick come in here and make him feel like a lecher in his own home. She may be pretty on the outside, but that beauty was only skin deep. He refused to tiptoe around her for the next God knew how long.