Beneath the Surface (9 page)

CHAPTER

10

A
sher left after supper for an evening ride to scout the property, giving Quinn the place to herself for a little while. She was taking advantage of the solitude and sitting on the back porch, sipping a vodka lemon iced tea and admiring the view of the Colorado Rocky Mountains.

The darkening sky was lit by pink- and orange-hued clouds, the mountain peaks silhouetted against the setting sun. It really was beautiful here. And so peaceful . . . She could almost forget the rest of the world existed—almost. It was easy to see why Asher loved this place.
She
could love this place. It was everything the city wasn’t—quiet, spacious. The earth felt alive here in a way she couldn’t describe. It was like the air was a living element that infused the soul with each drawn breath.

If she survived this nightmare, someday she would find a place like this to call home. New York had stopped being that for her when Spencer left her. And now, after what happened to Emily, she didn’t think she could ever go back. Too many painful memories . . .

For the first time since she could remember, she finally felt safe. Perhaps it was the vodka warming her stomach and lulling her into a false sense of security. She didn’t know, didn’t really care. She just needed to shut it off for a while—the thoughts, the fears, the images that would flash through her mind without warning, sending a surge of adrenaline flooding her veins and panic clawing up her throat at random points throughout the day.

A soft nicker drew Quinn’s attention to the barn. She tipped back her glass and drained the contents. The ice cubes clinked together as she set it down on the table and rose. She’d never been up close and personal with a horse before, but she had just enough liquid courage in her to head down to the barn and go check it out. Halfway across the yard the call came out again.

She slid the large barn door open and felt for the light switch, clicking it on before stepping inside. Quinn walked past the first stall and found it empty. She stepped in a bit farther and almost collided with a large black head inches from her face. “Oh!” she gasped, reaching up to press her hand over her pounding heart. “You scared me.” Holy crap, this horse was huge. “Is that you making all the racket in here?”

The horse snorted, blowing a fine mist all over her cheek. He threw his head up and down like he understood what she was saying. Cute. Quinn laughed and took a step back, wiping her palm down her cheek and onto her pants. This was the horse Asher had been working earlier that morning.

“Did you get left behind again?” she cooed, raising her hand and letting the horse sniff her palm like one might do to a stray dog. Funny, he hadn’t looked that large from the window or standing beside Asher, but up close, this animal towered over her. He was the most beautiful, magnificent thing she’d ever seen. His dark eyes watched her with curious intelligence. His ears tipped forward, nostrils flaring slightly as he smelled her.

He must have decided she was okay, because a moment later he dropped his nose into her hand and wiggled his lips. The heat of his breath and the soft rub of his leathery nose made her smile. “Are you looking for a treat?”

Quinn glanced around the barn, looking for something she could give the horse. She spotted a sack in the corner and a grabbed a handful of grain. She carried it over and opened her hand, taking care to keep her fingers out of the way. He cleaned off her offering in one nibble.

“You want some more?”

The horse threw its head up and down.

She made another trip over to the sack and came back with more grain. This time as he munched the oats, she reached up with her free hand and gently ran it down the length of his nose. He stood there, letting her pet him a moment, and then his head bobbed again, as if prompting her to go get him another snack.

Quinn smiled, a glimmer of joy entering her heart that she hadn’t felt in longer than she could remember. Who would have thought one could get such joy just being around an animal? She read studies about the therapeutic effects of owning a pet, especially for people suffering from PTSD, but she’d never had any pets herself. Not that she hadn’t desperately wanted one when she was growing up. But in the building where she’d lived in New York, they hadn’t been allowed.

Quinn made another grain trip and raised her hand to give the sweet animal another treat.

“You’re going to spoil him.”

She startled and jumped back, dropping her hand. The grain spilled on the ground, scattering at her feet as Asher entered the barn and led the other horse in behind him. They stopped at the first stall and he unclipped the reins before gently sliding the bit from the animal’s mouth.

“I’m not spoiling him. I felt bad for him,” she explained, running her hand down the horse’s neck. “He was left in here all alone. Why did you lock him up?”

“He’s limping on his front right leg. If I left him in the pasture he’d race the fence and I don’t want him making the strain worse.”

“Is he going to be all right?” She stood on her tiptoes, reaching up to pet the tuft of his mane between his ears.

“He’ll be fine in a few days.” Asher made a hand gesture to the horse before turning his attention back to the one he’d just brought in. The one she was petting immediately dropped his head so she could reach him easier.

“Did you just do that?”

Asher flipped the stirrup over the seat and began unfastening the saddle. “Do what?”

“Tell him to lower his head?”

“Yeah . . . He’s tall. It makes bridling him easier.”

The horse lowered his head even more, resting his forehead against her chest when she began to scratch his ears. Asher glanced her way, then did a double take before shaking his head and lifting the saddle and blankets off the chocolate-colored one. He stepped out of sight and returned a moment later with a brush.

“What?” she asked him, scratching her nails down the horse’s neck.

“Nothing . . .” He began brushing his horse with long brisk strokes, working his way around the animal with swift efficiency. “Jack doesn’t like many people, is all. He likes you.”

“Well, at least someone around here does.” The caustic remark was out of her mouth before she could call it back.

Asher stopped midbrush. His head snapped up and his eyes collided with hers. Seconds ticked by, each one growing more interminably uncomfortable than the last. Finally he spoke, his voice edged with frustration.

“I never said I didn’t like you, Quinn.”

And then the brushing resumed—this time with a lot more vigor than before. What was that supposed to mean?
I never said I didn’t like you.
He sure as shit did. Whatever . . . she wasn’t about to stand here and argue with him about it. With a final pat, she stepped back and placed a kiss on Jack’s nose before turning and heading out of the barn. She didn’t even spare Asher a parting glance as she walked out, but she sure as hell felt his eyes on her.

That woman just kissed his horse.

Asher stared at her in shock as she walked past him in typical Quinn fashion—chin notched in that stubborn lift that set his teeth on edge, violet eyes fixed straight ahead. The glimpse of her tenderness toward Jack hit him in the gut like a sucker punch. His chest tightened uncomfortably, leaving him a little breathless. Just when he thought he’d figured Quinn out, she went and did something completely unexpected.

But then again, did he really know her well enough to make that kind of assumption? The more time he spent with her, the more he was beginning to suspect there was a lot more to Quinn Summers than what met the eye. If she only knew the significance of what she’d just done, would she still have done it? First of all, you kiss a man’s horse, you might as well be planting those lips on him. And secondly, Jack didn’t let anyone touch him but Asher—ever. And here the beast was, practically drooling all over that woman.

“What the hell was that?” he grouched to the stallion as he opened Marley’s stall and ushered the gelding inside.

Jack nickered a response.

“Yeah, I know she’s pretty. Those are the ones you’ve gotta watch out for. She’ll wrap you around her little finger, I’m tellin’ ya.” He closed the stall door and set the lock, not sure who that warning was meant for—him or the horse. Both would do well to heed the advice.

He headed to the back of the barn and grabbed a square bale. He dropped it between the stalls, then cut the twine with his pocketknife and stuffed a few flakes in each feeder. “She’s gonna break your heart, boy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Jack nodded his head, his common response to whatever Asher said. With those parting words, Asher slid the barn door closed and latched it. As he walked up to the house, his gaze was drawn to the loft that was lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Quinn was standing there by the dresser, her back to him. She was wearing nothing but a pair of white lace panties, the cheeky cut only covering half her ass.

Lord, have mercy . . .

First thing tomorrow morning, he needed to get some curtains on those damn windows.

CHAPTER

11

B
ang, bang, bang!

Quinn looked up from the article she’d been reading on Asher’s laptop to the ceiling above her. What in the hell was he doing up there? She’d set up camp at the kitchen table, needing some room to spread out. Notes were scattered around her as she searched for the CGRN/US government connection. So far nothing was flagging. She’d been racking her brain, but she couldn’t remember the name of the military team that had escorted them into Meille. It was in her notes somewhere, but they were all on the SD card with the photos. It was frustrating, but she had to believe if she kept looking, something was bound to show up. Right now, she was chasing a bunch of dead ends and it was making her irritable.

Bang, bang, bang!

Exhaling an annoyed sigh, she shoved her chair back and headed up the stairs to investigate the racket. Quinn rounded the corner and stepped into the bedroom to find Asher nailing a bracket above the window. His arms were stretched above his head as he pounded nail after nail with impressive precision.

“What are you doing?”

“Hanging up curtains,” he answered past the nails held between his lips.

“Why?”

He shot her a
Really?
arched brow glance and then resumed hammering.

What was that supposed to mean? And then the answer sent an icy chill invading her veins. Her pulse quickened with the rush of dread that was never very far away from the surface. She stepped closer to the glass and looked out to the woods surrounding them. For the first time, she saw all this rustic beauty from a killer’s perspective. No longer were the woods a place of peace and serenity. He could be anywhere and they’d never even know it. “You think he’s out there, don’t you? He’s watching me . . . That’s why you’re hanging up curtains.”

“I don’t know if he’s out there, Quinn. I haven’t seen any sign of anyone in the woods yet, but you gave
me
a hell of a show last night.”

What? Embarrassment usurped her anxiety. “You were spying on me?” she accused, her tone sharp with indignation.

That earned her an annoyed scowl. He grabbed the end of a sheet and hooked it over the bracket, then stretched it across the first window before moving to the next one. “I wasn’t ‘spying’ on you. If I was, do you think I’d be hanging up curtains?”

Good point . . . In truth, she was surprised he was doing this. The Asher she knew didn’t seem like the kind of guy not to take advantage of a prime opportunity for a peep show. Then again, how well did she really know him? Obviously not very, because she would have thought her privacy would have been Asher’s last priority. Yet here he was, pounding away.

“Well, thank you,” she conceded, turning to head back downstairs. “I should be getting back to work.”

“How’s it coming along?” he asked over the banging
.

She could understand him better now that his mouth wasn’t full of nails. The roped muscle of his arms flexed as he swung the hammer. Her gaze dropped to the flash of tan skin exposed at his waist. Her glimpse of hard abs sent a flicker of heat budding in her core. His dark-washed distressed jeans hung low on his hips, giving her a teasing flash of an Abercrombie & Fitch waistband. Hmm . . . He seemed more like a Hanes guy to her. Not that she’d spent a lot of time imagining what kind of underwear Asher wore, because that was just creepy and . . . yes, pathetic. Oh for chrissake, she shouldn’t be thinking about his underwear at all. She had a story to focus on. She did not need this distraction. But a distraction he was—and a big one.

“Not very well . . .” she confessed when she realized she hadn’t answered him yet. “I’ve got pages of conspiracy theories and nothing to support them. I have no idea why Mark Madison would want to cover up a human-trafficking operation halfway around the world.”

“Maybe you’re looking at it wrong. Hand me that sheet over there, will you?”

She walked over to the bed and grabbed it. “Did you make the bed?” This was the second day in a row she’d come upstairs to find it wrinkle-free. Sadly, this bed was becoming a metaphor for their lives—he liked his orderly and neat, and she was messing it up.

“Sorry, it’s a habit.” He held out his hand for the sheet and she gave it to him.

“What did you mean by maybe I’m looking at it wrong?”

He shook out the sheet and turned back to the window. “Maybe you’re internalizing this too much because of how personal it has become for you. It could be affecting your objectivity. You’re looking at this on a micro rather than a macro level. One thing I’ve learned, being in the military, is that the buck rarely stops where you think it does and everyone is a pawn.”

She looked at him, studying the man hanging her makeshift curtains while giving his comment careful consideration. Was he always this insightful? She’d known he was intelligent. That had never been a question. You didn’t get put in charge of your own Special Forces recon unit or own a private security agency by being an idiot. Maybe he was right. She
was
looking at this personally. She’d been doing all this research on the attorney general, trying to find his connection to the CGRN. She needed to broaden the cast of her net and see what it dragged in.

He must have felt her staring at him because after he got the sheet hung, he glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. “Or not . . . It’s just a thought.”

He walked out, leaving her standing there, no doubt looking as dumbfounded as she felt.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?”

Anything that involved Asher not sitting in a nine-hundred-square-foot house with this woman was a good idea. Keeping his distance from Quinn was proving harder than he’d ever expected. After hanging her makeshift curtains, he’d gone outside to work on the modifications for Jayce’s AR, but his mind just wasn’t into it.

All fucking day it was meditating on a slender, bare back and white lace panties. Some shit you just couldn’t unsee . . . His mind wouldn’t stop imagining that tiny waist he’d bet money he could fit his hands around and the flare of those feminine hips. Quinn had the kind of ass a man’s fingers itched to curl into as he lifted her up and pinned her against the wall. She was right under his roof and he couldn’t fucking touch her.

He’d talked a big talk with his
I can’t be your friend
speech, and he’d meant every damn word. Problem was, friend or not, he wanted her, and there weren’t enough curtains he could hang or cold showers he could take to change that. And worse yet, he was discovering he actually liked her. He liked her sharp tongue, her quick wit, and her courageous spirit. She fought for what she believed in—no matter the cost. And fuck him if he didn’t admire the hell out of her for it.

She stoked his temper as much as his lust. But after what he’d been through these past few months, it was just nice to feel something other than guilt and self-loathing for a change. Quinn stirred something inside him that went soul deep. He didn’t want to give it consideration or let it get a foothold, because as much as he tried to tell himself that this was just lust, that she was just a job, he knew if he gave himself even an inch of leeway, he’d consume her with the ravenous hunger of a forest fire that would burn them both to the ground.

He was under no delusion that she wanted anything from him other than the security his presence provided. She had walls that would rival his own, making him wonder if any man had ever scaled them. Would the reward be worth the effort? Something told him it would be. Was there a bastard in her past responsible for putting them there? If yes, he wanted to meet that fucker so he could throat punch him.

Her knack for running cold was impressive, and he had zero doubt his rebuke of her olive branch yesterday would come with some hefty consequences. But he’d known it would. In fact, he’d been banking on her ire because he wasn’t so sure he trusted himself not to say “fuck it” and take them down a road where neither one of them should be headed.

He pulled up to The Rabbit Hole and parked around back to save space up front for the paying patrons. The place wasn’t big and parking was limited, but it was always busy. His father ran a good business, and the locals were a loyal lot.

“It shouldn’t take me too long to look at this cooler. It’s not holding temp and probably just needs a charge. I’m not comfortable leaving you alone at the house when I’m this far away. Besides, you’ve been glued to that computer all day. It’ll do you some good to get away from it for a little while—clear your head.”

“It’s easier said than done.”

He cast her a quick glance and could tell she wasn’t happy he’d dragged her away from her research. “I know . . .” And he did. “Nothing about this is easy.” He knew exactly what it felt like to blame yourself for someone’s death. He knew what it was like to be haunted by the what-ifs. But if Quinn didn’t find a way to balance this out, to take her mind off it, even just for a little while, it was going to destroy her from the inside out.

“We can get supper while we’re here. I promise it’ll be better than anything I can cook at home. The Rabbit Hole’s got the best broasted chicken around. We’ll order some to go.”

That seemed to sway her and she nodded her acquiescence. He cut the engine and climbed out, heading to the rear to grab his tool bag from the bed of the truck. She still hadn’t gotten out by the time he closed the tailgate. Heading around to her side, he opened the door. “Come on . . .”

She climbed out and followed him up to the building. He opened the door for her then followed her in. The contrast of brightness outside to the dark hall rendered him momentarily blind. He didn’t realize she’d turned around to wait for him until he ran into her.

She connected solidly with his chest and let out a surprised yelp. Her breasts crushed against his ribs, sending a jolt of heat arrowing straight into his cock. She stumbled back and he slipped his arms around her waist to steady her, pulling her closer. Her hands flew up and she planted her palms against his chest, for balance or to push him away, he wasn’t sure. But if she was smart, she’d do the latter, because he was having a hard time forcing his arms to let her go.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness.

“I’m fine. You know, for a Black Ops specialist, you’re not very stealthy.”

He chuckled. “Black Ops, huh? You make me sound like an Xbox One character. I’m not even going to ask you what my name would be.”

She laughed now. That beautiful cadence bubbled up and nailed him with a kill shot right through the heart. Quinn Summers didn’t laugh often, but when she did, he swore to God it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. And he found himself wanting to hear it again.

“How about Private Jackass?”

“Really? You’re demoting me to a private? You can at least call me Gunnery Sergeant Jackass.”

Her laughter rang out again, and it was then that he realized he was still holding her. How long before she realized it too? Damn, she felt good . . .

“All right, I’ll give you rank, but you know that just means you’re an even bigger jackass, right?”

His own throaty laugh resonated in the hall. “I suppose it does.”

“I thought I heard voices back here.”

A light clicked on overhead, and just like that the moment was gone—wiped away with the flick of a switch. Quinn tensed against him and dropped her gaze, a blush quickly staining her cheeks. Was she embarrassed she’d let her guard down and allowed her sense of humor to show? Or was she afraid he might discover she wasn’t such a shrew after all? Maybe she was embarrassed to be caught standing here in his arms? He glanced over the top of her head to his dad, who was giving Asher a knowing grin. It was obvious what the old man was thinking—or hoping he saw, anyway.

Sorry to disappoint him, but despite how things looked, or how much he may wish things could be different, Quinn was off-limits. Before he could let her go, she pushed against his chest and stepped out of his arms.

“Hey, Pop. I got your message about the cooler not holding temp. Thought I’d take a look while we got some supper ordered up.”

“Absolutely. You want the usual?”

“That’d be great.”

“I’ll just add it to your tab.”

His dad waved them forward and gave Quinn a teasing wink. She returned his smile and Asher refused to let himself wonder what it would be like to be the recipient of that unguarded brilliance. Had she smiled at him like that in the dark?

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Tate.”

“Please, call me Robert.” Then to Asher he said, “Well, you know where the cooler is, so I’ll leave you to it and go put in for two specials. Should be ready in about a half hour or so.”

“Thanks, Pops.” Asher led Quinn down the hall and dropped off his tool bag in the supply room where they kept the cooler. “You want to sit at the bar? You can have a drink while you wait. I’m sure Pops would love to keep you company.”

She shrugged. “That’s all right. I think I’ll stay here with you.”

Definitely not the answer he was expecting to hear. Why would she want to be in here with him? Was she afraid to sit at the bar? She’d be safe with his dad. Rather than make a big deal of it, he got to work checking the charge on the unit while Quinn found a spot to sit on one of the boxes. He could feel her eyes on him. The sensation was almost as tactile as her touch in the hall had been, and his body’s response was just as swift.