Beneath the Surface (4 page)

He wasn’t sure if it was a response to her tears or something else, but he quickly quelled the shit by courting her temper. Giving her a mocking bow, he held his arm out for her to take. “Shall we get this over with?”

There was that flash of temper. “My thoughts exactly,” she replied with saccharine sweetness as she looped her arm through his and they descended the steps.

This was safer ground—her anger he could deal with, her snark he understood, but God help them both the day he decided he wanted Quinn Summers . . .

“I’ve gotta get back to the bar. See ya Sunday for the barbecue.” His dad’s voice pulled Asher back from his thoughts. A hand extended from the window, giving him a quick wave as he pulled away.

Asher leapt off the porch and hit the ground at a determined clip. He was halfway to the woman and about to yell for his dad to stop, when she turned around and all the air left his lungs.
Holy shit . . .

“Quinn? What the hell are you doing here?”

She looked up at him, meeting his glare with an impressive amount of bravado he suspected was just for show and notching her chin in that stubborn defiance that grated on his nerves like hellfire.

“I need your help.”

And fuck him if just for a moment that woman’s bottom lip didn’t quiver.

Okay . . . so she’d been hoping for a slightly warmer reception. It seemed their last meeting had stuck with him just about as fondly as it had her. For the millionth time, Quinn found herself asking what in the hell was she doing. If she’d thought this was a bad idea before, she only needed to look at the man glowering at her with a mix of
You’re fucking kidding me
and
Get your ass back in that truck and go back to wherever you came from
.

Only problem was, she had nowhere to go. Bottom line, Asher was her only option. She’d had two days of traveling to come up with a better idea. None had surfaced, and believe her, it wasn’t for lack of trying. She had no contingency plan, and if he refused to help her, there was a good chance that whoever was trying to kill her would succeed.

So Quinn found herself doing the one thing she vowed never to do in front of Asher Tate—she cried. And it was humiliating. Not because she was using the age-old ploy of female manipulation to get to him, because truthfully, she was desperate enough right now to do it. No, she was humiliated because her tears were real. After seeing her roommate murdered, running for her life, and nearly forty-eight hours of traveling across the country with little to no sleep, she was just plain exhausted. And now, seeing Asher standing there looking so strong, so safe, that steely resolve she prided herself on just crumbled.

She held his stare until her vision swam. He said nothing to her confession as he stood there watching her with that unreadable expression on his too-handsome face. When a tear slipped down her cheek, she quickly swiped it away and notched her chin a little higher. Maybe he was a sucker for a crying woman, because after another moment of hesitation, Asher muttered a curse that sounded a lot like
fuck me
and closed the distance between them.

“Come here . . .” He pulled her into his arms, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, Quinn finally felt safe. It made no sense because this was the last man she ever imagined taking comfort from. Yet here she was, pressed against a wall of hard muscle as he held her close.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had his arms around her. They’d danced together at her sister’s wedding, walked together arm in arm down the aisle . . . Perhaps that was why she was allowing the close contact now from a man who was, by all rights, a stranger, and one she professed to despise, at that. Each shuddering breath pulled his scent deeper into her lungs. He smelled of the outdoors, clean and fresh, with just a hint of masculine spice. His touch was comforting—more than she wanted to admit. And for just a moment, she allowed herself to melt against him.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Quinn?”

His low, husky voice resonated in his chest, rumbling against her ear. But it was his words she took offense to. Was he implying she was somehow to blame for this? She stiffened in his arms and he must have felt the tension ripple through her because he let her go and took a very wise step back. That was when she noticed the other man standing on the porch, drinking a beer and watching them with interest. His legs were crossed at the ankle, one shoulder leaning casually against a log support beam.

Asher must have seen her attention diverting to the man behind him. Stepping to the side, he made a hasty introduction as he escorted her up to the house. “Quinn, this is Jayce Rivers, a friend of mine. We served in the Special Forces together. Jayce, this is Quinn Summers—”

“The shrew from the wedding,” Jayce finished for him, shooting her a wolfish grin.

“
Not
what I was going to say,” Asher growled, his pointed glare warning his friend to behave. “But thanks, asshole.”

His friend smirked and raised his half-empty beer as if to say
No problem
, then resumed downing the drink.

“Quinn is Nikko Del Toro’s sister-in-law.”

Now that got his attention. The man stopped chugging and gave a cough, clearing his throat. “Oh, shit . . .” He stood with a little more attention and held out his hand as she approached the steps. “My apologies, Quinn. It’s nice to meet you.”

So this guy knew she was from the wedding, but Asher had failed to mention her other than to call her names. Nice. She wanted to tell Jayce where he could shove his apology—insincere jackass—but considering why she was here, she thought better of making enemies of Asher’s friends. Painting on a smile, not unlike the one she’d worn with Asher at the wedding, she climbed the steps and begrudgingly placed her hand in his.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” His hand folded around hers, his grip firmer than she was expecting.

“All right, Casanova. It’s time for you to hit the road,” Asher interjected, climbing the steps behind her.

Jayce released her hand, and Quinn didn’t miss how Asher put himself between her and his friend. The sense of relief she felt at his protectiveness drove home the revelation that although she may not like this man, she could trust him to protect her. And right now, that was exactly what she needed . . . someone to keep her safe.

CHAPTER

4

S
he watched Asher from the kitchen table as he poured her a glass of iced tea. He set it down in front of her, and she politely thanked him as he took the opposite seat. Before sitting down, he reached behind his back and pulled a gun from his waistband, depositing it in the center of the table.

She startled at the weapon, not used to seeing firearms lying out in the open or handled so casually.

“Relax, I’m not going to shoot you, Quinn.”

Well, that was reassuring. Fixing her with his stare, he waited, probably expecting her to say something, but the words were stuck in her throat. She was surprised to see this side of him—serious and all business. Where was the carefree, flirtatious rogue she’d met at Vi’s wedding? If she didn’t know better, she’d swear they weren’t the same man at all and Asher Tate had an evil twin.

“Why are you here?” he pressed at her silence.

Okay, so there wasn’t going to be any easing into this. No “
Hey, how have you been?”

“Oh, you know, just trying not to get killed. How about you?”

She ran her palms down the thighs of her jeans, drying her sweaty hands. It would have been nice if Asher’s father would have at least given the guy a heads-up that she was coming. Why wouldn’t he have said anything? He’d seemed quick to dump her and run.

God help her, where should she start?

“Are you going to make me repeat myself? Given how we parted the last time I saw you, I hardly think you’re here to take me up on that fucking I offered you.”

Yep, same asshole . . . 
And for a fleeting moment, she was embarrassed to admit the thought actually crossed her mind to let him believe she’d done just that. It would sure as hell be easier than telling him the truth. She may have had no other choice than to trust him with her life, but that didn’t mean she trusted him with her secrets. Could she swallow her hatred for the man long enough to hide out here as his whore? Probably not . . .

She just needed enough time to discover the connection between the US and the Children’s Global Resource Network. Once she connected all the dots and got the proof she was waiting for, she’d tell the world about the atrocities she’d discovered while doing her human-interest story in Haiti.

No one would find her here, tucked away in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. She’d been careful and was sure she hadn’t been followed. There was no one to connect her to Asher, so she should be safe . . . right? At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

“Five minutes, Quinn. That’s how long you have to explain to me what you’re doing here or I’m loading your ass into my truck and dropping you off at the closest bus station.”

The tension radiating from him and the look on his face told her he wasn’t messing around. All right, if he wanted to cut to the chase, then so be it. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

Asher studied her a moment. Why didn’t he look nearly as surprised as she thought he should?

“Aside from the obvious reasons, why do you think someone is trying to kill you, Quinn?”

Asshole!
Did he think this was some kind of joke? She didn’t appreciate his tone or his condescending attitude. “Because whoever is trying to kill me just murdered my roommate,” she snapped.

Now that got his attention. Where were the smartass jokes now, funny guy? His brows drew tight, and damn, was that a flicker of concern she saw in his eyes? Couldn’t be . . .

“How do you know it was you they were after? Perhaps your roommate had a tiff with a jealous boyfriend that ended badly. It happens . . .”

“I know because I’m not supposed to be back in the country for two more weeks. And when I found her, there were a dozen red roses sitting on my kitchen table with my name on them.” She grabbed the note card from her purse and slapped it down on the table, sliding it toward him. “I think he got into the building by posing as a florist.”

When Asher read the note his face lost all softness, and he didn’t have a lot there to begin with.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why would someone want to kill you?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him, especially not without him agreeing to help her first. The last person she’d gone to with the truth had tried to have her killed. Putting on her best poker face, she looked him square in the eye. “I can’t tell you.”

He met her stare and raised his brow. “Can’t or won’t?”

She upped the ante. “Both.”

All chips in. “Who’s trying to kill you, Quinn?”

“I don’t know . . .” Truthfully, she really didn’t.

He called her bluff. “Bullshit.” Asher crossed his arms over his chest, putting those impressive muscles on display. “You expect me to believe that you have no clue who’s trying to kill you, and you don’t know why. I’m not a fucking idiot, Quinn, and I gotta be honest, you’re not making a very compelling case for yourself.”

She exhaled a defeated sigh, unsure how much she should say right now. “I know, but I’m asking for your help anyway, Asher. All I can tell you is that it has to do with a story I was working on in Haiti for the CGRN.”

His brow rose in question and she clarified, “Children’s Global Resource Network. Something happened when I was over there and I did a little digging and discovered something I shouldn’t have. Just keep me safe until I can finish this story and get the evidence I need to go public. If I’m going to die, then I at least want it to be for something I believe in.”

“Spoken like a true soldier . . .”

Was that grudging respect she heard in his voice? It couldn’t possibly be, yet there was a note of curiosity in his eyes she hadn’t seen earlier. But she didn’t want him thinking she was someone she wasn’t. She was no soldier, no hero. In the face of danger, she’d run—halfway across the country even, leaving her poor roommate behind. Common sense told her there was nothing else she could have done for Emily after calling 911. But the thought that Emily’s death was her fault broke her heart and riddled her with so much guilt it felt like she could hardly breathe.

“I’m not brave, Asher. I’m scared out of my freaking mind.”

He studied her until she felt her cheeks begin to heat. She wished she knew what he was thinking. She hated this vulnerability, the feeling that everything around her was spinning out of control and she was helpless to stop it. This wasn’t her—at someone else’s mercy, constantly afraid and looking over her shoulder, wondering if every stranger’s eyes were those of her assassin.

“You said you weren’t due back in the States for a couple more weeks. Who knows you’re home?”

He was going to keep pressing until he got the answers he was looking for. Was it fair to pull him into the middle of this without full disclosure? Would the truth make him more or less likely to help her? She couldn’t know, but she got the feeling that unless she took a step of good faith, he wasn’t going to budge. “Besides Nikko and Violet, just the attorney general’s office in Washington, DC.”

Asher muttered a ripe curse and scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Yeah, he was thinking the same thing she was.

“No one else?”

She shook her head.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded. “Forty-eight hours after I went to them with my story, I came home to Manhattan and found Emily dead. I don’t know how long she’d been there—a while. That note card was waiting for me. I don’t know who I can trust and I have no idea how deep this goes.”

“Why did it take you so long to get home from DC?”

“My flight was delayed because of weather. Otherwise I would have been there.”

“Holy hell, Quinn, you’re in a lot of shit. And I’m no bodyguard. I’m a fucking mercenary, for chrissake.”

“Is there a difference?”

He stared at her, bold and unapologetic, when he said, “Yeah, I get paid to kill people.”

Was he serious? Quinn studied the man, trying to decide what the hell she was supposed to say to that. It wasn’t like she had a lot of options here. Asher was her plans A, B, and C. She’d heard it said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and if that was true, then this man was in trouble.

“Isn’t that . . . illegal?”

He chuffed a masculine grunt. “I suppose that depends on who you’re doing the killing for.”

Setting her shoulders and notching her chin stubbornly, because there was no way she was taking no for an answer, she said with a hell of a lot more confidence than she felt, “Well . . . now I’ll be paying you to keep me alive.”

“I don’t want your money, Quinn.”

That surprised her. Was it possible she’d misjudged him? Could it be that there was more to Asher Tate than a sexy smile and a hard-on? Before she could think on it long enough to give the idea any serious consideration, he gave her a roguish grin and said, “Of course, gratuity is always welcome.”

Pig.
Was she really this desperate? Was she really going to put her life in the hands of this egomaniacal jerk? Sadly, yes, yes she was . . .

What the fuck was he thinking? Was he actually considering helping this woman? Letting her stay here? He’d never lived with a woman before. Hell, he’d never spent any length of time with one before. Well, time that wasn’t horizontal, anyway. Spending the last fourteen years with a team of men in the Middle East had not made him a very good candidate for Bachelor of the Year, that’s for sure. Of all the women he knew, and there were a lot of them, this was the last one he’d ever wanted to see again. The idea of sharing four walls with her was a less-than-appealing proposition.

He didn’t give a shit about Quinn Summers. So then why did the thought of someone trying to kill her sit so ill with him? Maybe it was the desperation and fear in her eyes, but something about her stirred his protective instincts to life. Something churned deep inside him, unsettling his soul. What could this woman possibly have discovered that would put her on the government’s hit list? Something serious enough that they’d send someone to hunt her down. But who wanted her dead, and why?

Problem was, if he started making queries, he would more than likely get the answers he wanted, but it would also paint a big target on both their backs. The longer she could hide out here undiscovered, the better. No question, whoever was hunting her would eventually find her. No sense in bringing that to fruition any sooner.

“Who sent you here, Quinn? How did you find my dad?” He was sure he already knew the answer to that and it would undoubtedly seal his fate to this cantankerous woman.

“Nikko.”

Fuck . . .

“He wanted to help me himself, but after what happened to Emily, my roommate, I couldn’t risk putting my sister’s family in danger.”

No, no she couldn’t. Nor could he turn this woman away, no matter how much he might be tempted to do just that. The moment he’d met Quinn, he knew she was going to be nothing but trouble. Only he hadn’t expected that trouble to come knocking on his door four months later.

“I’ve already put her at risk as it is. Before I left Haiti I gave my SD card to someone I trusted and had them mail it to Violet, just in case something happened to me and I didn’t make it home. It’s a good thing I did, because my luggage disappeared. I had to check my bag at the Haitian airport. It was either lost or stolen, and my camera and laptop were in there. All my photos and CGRN interviews are on the SD card. I regret getting Vi involved at all. I just . . . I just never thought this would happen. I thought once I got back to the States that I’d be safe.”

“Why didn’t you upload the card before you left?”

“I couldn’t. There wasn’t any Internet access. I was afraid someone would discover what I knew and I didn’t want to risk getting caught with the SD card.”

“What’s your plan, Quinn?”

“Besides not getting killed?” Her laugh held no humor. “I’m going to find out what the US government has to do with all this and why they would want to keep me from telling this story. Then I’m going to the press. I can only hope that once the truth comes out, it will be my protection. No good would come from killing me after the fact.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but if you’re right and the government did hire someone to kill you, going public with this story isn’t going to stop him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it wouldn’t stop me.”

She visibly paled and looked like she was about to be sick. Shit . . . Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but goddammit, pussyfooting around wasn’t his style. He was used to dealing with men—Marines—and they were direct, blunt, and to the point. They didn’t waste words dancing around the truth. Besides, he didn’t want her going into this with any false expectations. If the government indeed hired someone to kill her, she was in serious danger. And nothing short of taking out that assassin and exposing the truth before they could hire someone else to take his place would stop them.

Ah, hell . . . was he really going to do this? The woman had obviously been through a great trauma. She looked exhausted, but more than fatigue marred her beautiful eyes—eyes that were such an odd shade of blue they looked violet—it was the desperation he saw there that got to him. She obviously had no one else to turn to, otherwise she wouldn’t be sitting in his kitchen right now. This woman liked him about as much as he cared for her. He could only imagine the pride she must have had to swallow to come here and ask him for help.