Beneath the Surface (30 page)

CHAPTER

39

T
he moment Asher’s plane touched down at Reagan National Airport, he turned his cell on and fired off a text message to Quinn.

Just landed. How is everything there?

At his insistence, the Feds had gotten her an untraceable cell because he didn’t want to be out of contact with her. It was hard enough leaving her as it was. His flight out wasn’t until 5:00 p.m. and he wouldn’t touch down in Denver until nine. Barring any delays, the soonest he could get back to Quinn was ten o’clock tonight.

Perhaps it was just being away from her after being her sole protector, but leaving the job to someone else, even if it was two federal agents and his brother, didn’t sit well with him. What-ifs ran rampant through his mind. If he didn’t find a way to shut this shit down, he was going to make himself crazy. His cell buzzed and his pulse quickened, anxious for her response. Fuck, he had it bad for this woman.

Doing fine here. Uneventful morning. Miss you . . .

Miss you too. Be back tonight. What’s going on there?

Agent Kellen is outside doing a property sweep. Agent Meadows has been on the phone with Langley a lot this morning. They think they can salvage the photos. *fingers crossed* Your brother made me breakfast. He burned the toast, but don’t tell him I told you. ;)

He knew what Quinn was doing—trying to lighten his mood and put him at ease. Unfortunately, the only thing that was going to do that was having her safe and back in his arms again, but he could play along. She didn’t need to know what it was costing him to do this.

Your secret’s safe with me. Just keep him away from the grill.

He couldn’t possibly dread this meeting more. The Feds had been helpful in cutting through the red tape and getting him an appointment with the bastard he never wanted to set eyes on again.

LOL! Will do. What time is your meeting?

Two.

The plane rolled to a stop and the seat belt light went off. Passengers stood and began flooding the aisle, grabbing their luggage from the overhead compartments.

Hope everything goes well.

That would be nice, but he knew it wouldn’t.

Thanks. I’ll call you later. Stay safe.

I will. You too. I love you. :)

The weight on his shoulders lightened and his heart swelled inside his chest as he read those three words. He couldn’t wait until this was over and they could finally focus on their future instead of trying to survive their past.

Love you too.

A loud, obnoxious buzz sounded as the metal lock disengaged and the guard opened the door. Asher stepped in the room, gave the guard a head nod as he walked by, and approached the man sitting at the table. His ankles were cuffed to a metal ring anchored in the cement floor. Suited in orange, the prisoner leaned forward in his chair, head down, wrists shackled. He’d yet to acknowledge Asher’s presence. Not a good sign—for either one of them. This wasn’t going to end well.

Seeing this bastard again dredged up the past like it was yesterday. Gunfire echoed somewhere in the recesses of Asher’s mind, the distant shout of his voice ringing in his ears.
Stand down!
The coppery tang of blood mixed with the sulfuric bite of gunpowder stung his nostrils and anger flooded his veins all over again.

The man’s head snapped up, eyes locking with Asher. His cold hard stare carried none of the regret Asher had hoped to see.

“Little late to testify, ain’t it? The trial ended days ago. I’d say it was nice to see ya, but fuck you.”

Asher pulled the empty chair away from the table and sat across from Rolland Peterson. “I didn’t come here to talk about the trial.”

“Then why the fuck are you here? Because it sure as hell isn’t to talk about the weather.”

“I’m here because you wouldn’t take my call.”

“That’s because I wanted to give you the chance to apologize to me in person.”

“Are you fucking serious?” This guy was out of his goddamn mind if he thought Asher was going to apologize to him. And he had to bite his tongue to keep from telling the bastard exactly that. He had no interest in dancing around the subject anymore. The sooner he got what he came here for, the sooner he could get the hell out of there. “I want to talk about Eagle Ops.” Not a flicker of surprise registered on Peterson’s face, but the smug satisfaction tugging his top lip sent a chill of unease racing down Asher’s spine.

“What about it?”

“You’ve worked for them in the past. Who’s the point of contact?”

“Why do you want to know? You looking for work?”

“Maybe . . .”

He huffed a derisive snort. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Well, you pretty much single-handedly fucked my career when you started a shoot-out in Nisour, so the way I see it, you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you shit!” He slammed his fists on the metal table. Asher didn’t flinch, but it was much more difficult to hold back the smile threatening to curl his lips. Peterson was a time bomb. Rattle his cage hard enough, and Asher had no doubt he’d get the answers he was looking for.

“I saved your fucking life! And this is how you thank me? You sanctimonious bastard! Every one of you would have been dead if it wasn’t for me.”

Peterson really believed that. It wasn’t true, but in this man’s grandiose world it was. Asher shook his head with the first embers of pity sparking inside him. “Have you taken any jobs with EO working for the Children’s Global Resource Network?”

The grin that crossed Peterson’s face was nothing but pure evil. “Sorry, I don’t talk about my other missions, and I sure as hell ain’t discussing them with you. Who are you working for, Tate?”

“No one.” It was true.

“Then what the fuck do you give a shit about the CGRN for?”

Holding on to a thread of hope that the man still had a shred of humanity alive somewhere inside his black soul, Asher took a chance and told him the truth. “Kids are disappearing, man—talk to me. Give me a name and I’ll see what I can do about getting your sentence reduced. I’ll talk to whomever your lawyer wants. I’ll testify at your appeal.”

“Ha, you say that like you think your word means shit to me now. It’s your fault I’m in this goddamn place. If you just would have come when Jayce asked you to—”

Asher slammed his fist on the table and shot to his feet, sending the chair skidding back behind him. “You’re in this goddamn place because you pulled the trigger after I gave you a direct order to stand down! Tell me who else is working for EO! Who’s their point of contact?” He was done playing games with this asshole.

A smirk curled Peterson’s top lip and Asher’s fist tightened. It took all his restraint not to reach across the table and choke the life out of him right here and now.

“When are you going to learn you can’t save the world, Tate? Haven’t you figured that out by now? They’re just some kids on a shit-hole piece of land nobody gives a fuck about. One less mouth to feed—”

Asher launched across the table and grabbed the collar of Peterson’s orange jumpsuit. “You goddamn piece of shit! You were trafficking kids right under the nose of the CGRN! Who else is doing it?”

“I’m not saying another motherfucking word until you talk to those Feds you’re working with and get me an immunity deal.”

With a contemptuous shove, he sent Peterson slamming back in his chair. The guard remained where he was, giving Asher the freedom to let this play out—on whose order, he wondered. He straightened and dragged his hand through his hair. How did Peterson know he was working with the FBI? Dammit, getting his answers was going to take too long. Even if the Feds would agree to bargain for a reduced sentence, he doubted Peterson was going to talk—not if it meant implicating himself.

“Why did you insist I come here if you had no intention of helping?”

“Oh, I’m helping. You just arrogantly assumed that person would be you. By the way, I hear she’s a sweet piece of ass . . .”

Asher froze. His eyes shot to Peterson’s. Icy fingers of dread slipped down his spine. “Who’s that?”

“Your girlfriend. How does it feel to know that at this very moment, while you’re wasting your time here with me, there’s a killer right outside her door? And there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

Was this a trap? An orchestrated ploy to get him away from Quinn? Or just another one of this bastard’s sick mind games?

“Quinn Summers, isn’t it? That’s a beautiful name . . . reminds me of sunshine and butterflies.”

Fuck! Asher shot to his feet with a snarled curse and bolted for the door. Peterson’s laughter was a chilling taunt that would haunt him forever if anything happened to her.

“You’re too late . . .” he called in farewell.

God, he prayed Peterson was wrong.

“Gin.” Quinn laid her cards on the end table between herself and Jaxson, and gave him a triumphant grin. “What’d I stick you with? Is it enough to go out?”

“Beginner’s luck,” he grumbled, laying his hand down and showing her two queens and a five.

Quinn laughed, grateful for the distraction Jax offered her. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy that sat around playing cards. He was much too stoic, too intense to kick back and while away the day playing games. But Quinn had been a nervous wreck ever since Asher had left that morning.

Jax, bless his heart, was doing his best to keep her distracted without making her feel like a prisoner. He’d even offered to play gin with her. When she told him she didn’t know how to play, he’d suggested that learning a new game might help take her mind off Asher for a little while.

She didn’t point out that sitting across from an identical replica of the man she was hopelessly in love with, and worried sick about, would make that an impossible task. Quinn was desperate for the chance to think about anything other than Asher being halfway across the country, meeting with someone who had ties to an organization that had more than likely sent someone to kill her, and was involved in human trafficking.

Quinn gathered the cards and began shuffling them. “So . . . do you have a girlfriend?”

Jaxson’s blank stare gave nothing away. “I said I’d play cards with you, not talk about my love life. Deal the cards, Quinn.”

“Come on, Jax. Don’t be so broody. You said you’d help distract me from worrying about your brother, so talk to me. You’re always so quiet, even at the barbecue. Tell me about yourself.”

He watched her a moment, but hell if she could figure out what was going on inside his head. He was harder to read than Asher, and that was saying something. Just when she didn’t think he was going to answer her, he said, “I’m not seeing anyone. I was, and it didn’t work out. Dating a homicide detective might sound fun and exciting—until you actually do it. Most women can’t stand being in second place to a job, and I married mine a long time ago.”

Wow, that was more transparency than she was expecting.

“Now deal the cards.”

Quinn finished shuffling the deck and started dealing the cards.
One, one . . . two, two . . . three, three . . . 
She could feel Jax watching her—studying her. Her brow rose, a silent
What?

“Are you really in love with my brother?”

“I am. Why do you sound so surprised by that?”
Four, four . . . five, five . . .

“He isn’t an easy man to love. He’s got some sharp edges.”

She stopped dealing and met his stare. “Don’t we all?” What was he getting at? Did he know something about Asher he wasn’t telling her? In the time she’d spent with Jax, she’d quickly figured out that no conversation with him was ever just that. He had a cop’s mind—suspicious—always thinking, always trying to figure everything out. She suspected that jaded side of him came from the horrific deeds he’d witnessed over his years on the force. It would take the right woman, a special woman, to soften that out of him.

She resumed dealing.
Six, six . . . seven, seven . . .

Pop! The muffled sound carried upstairs and Quinn froze. Her eyes locked on Jax, who was already reaching for his gun.