Chapter 15
The drive to Portland took five hours, but it felt both longer and shorter than that.
Quinn spent the first hour staring out the window, her father’s letter clutched in her hand, reading and re-reading his words until she had them memorized. Make him pay, Quinn. For all of us.
Dax didn’t push her to talk. Just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near hers on the console—close enough to touch if she needed it.
Around the two-hour mark, he finally broke the silence.
“Tell me about him,” Dax said quietly. “Your father. What was he like?”
Quinn turned to look at him, surprised. “You want to know about my dad?”
“Yeah. I’ve been chasing his ghost through these files for weeks. I’d like to know who he actually was. Beyond the investigation.”
Quinn was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When had anyone last asked her about her father as a person, not just as a murder victim or a crusading journalist?
“He was...stubborn,” she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Gran used to say I got it from him. When he believed in something, he wouldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t back down, even when it would have been easier. Safer.”
“Sounds familiar,” Dax said, glancing at her with a hint of a smile.
She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip before continuing.
“He loved words. Loved the power of truth. He used to say that sunlight was the best disinfectant. That exposing corruption to the light was the only way to kill it.” Quinn’s throat tightened.
“He believed people deserved to know the truth, even when the truth was ugly.”
“That’s why he became a journalist.”
“Yeah. He could have done anything. He was smart enough for law school, medical school, whatever. But he wanted to write. Wanted to tell stories that mattered.” Quinn looked down at the letter.
“Gran said he was working on the Wheeler investigation for almost two years before he died. Two years of collecting evidence, interviewing witnesses, building the case.”
“And Wheeler killed him for it.”
“Made it look like an accident. Brake failure on a mountain road.” Quinn’s voice hardened. “But it wasn’t an accident. Clara confirmed it. Wheeler had him killed.”
Dax’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. “We’re going to prove it. The video, the evidence. We’re going to make sure Wheeler pays for what he did.”
“I know.” Quinn squeezed back. “That’s what keeps me going. Knowing that Dad left me the tools to finish this. He knew I’d come looking. Knew I’d be stubborn enough to see it through.”
“He knew you’d be brave enough.”
Quinn wasn’t sure about that. She didn’t feel brave. She felt terrified and grief-stricken and so tired she could barely think straight. But she was still moving forward. Still fighting.
Maybe that was what bravery looked like.
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the landscape rolling past—forests giving way to farmland, small towns appearing and disappearing.
“What about you?” Quinn asked eventually. “You said you lost someone in Afghanistan. O’Brien?”
Dax’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t shut down. “Yeah. Charlie O’Brien. My best friend. We enlisted together, deployed together. He...” Dax’s voice roughened. “IED. I was twenty feet away when it went off. Close enough to hear him calling for me. Not close enough to save him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I tried. Got to him, tried to stop the bleeding, but there was too much damage. He died in my arms.” Dax’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I promised his family I’d keep him safe. And I failed.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Logically, I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that everyone I get close to ends up dead or hurt. O’Brien. My partner on the force who took a bullet meant for me. My—” He stopped abruptly.
Quinn looked at him, at the hard lines of his face, deepened by the scowl he wore. “Your what?”
Dax was quiet for a long moment. Then, “I was engaged once. Three years ago. Leesa. She was a social worker, wanted to save the world one kid at a time. Smart, beautiful, kind. Everything good.”
Quinn felt an unexpected twist in her chest. “What happened?”
“Wheeler happened.” Dax’s voice was flat, emotionless.
The kind of tone that meant he was barely holding it together.
“She was investigating a group home that was connected to one of Wheeler’s properties.
Found evidence of abuse, neglect. Was going to testify.
And then—” His breath caught. “Car accident. Driver ran a red light, T-boned her. Died on impact.”
“Oh my God. Dax—”
“Wheeler’s driver. We could never prove it, but I knew. Same way I knew about your father, about Thomas Crane, about all the others.” His voice was raw now. “She died because she was going to expose him. Died because she was close to me. Because I couldn’t protect her.”
Quinn’s heart broke for him. “That’s why you pushed me away. After we kissed. That’s why you said we shouldn’t.”
“Everyone I love dies, Quinn. Everyone. And I can’t—” His voice cracked. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard, it creaked under the pressure. “I can’t lose you too. I won’t survive it.”
“You’re not going to lose me.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.” Quinn turned in her seat to face him fully. “Dax, look at me.”
He kept his eyes on the road.
“Dax.”
Finally, he glanced at her.
“You didn’t kill those people. Wheeler did. And living in fear, pushing people away—that’s just letting him win in a different way.” Quinn reached over and touched his face, making him look at her. “I’m not Leesa. I’m not O’Brien. I’m here, I’m alive, and I’m choosing this. Choosing you.”
“Quinn—”
“I know it’s scary. I’m scared too. But I’d rather be scared with you than safe and alone.”
Dax pulled the truck over to the side of the road, put it in park, and turned to face her fully.
“I can’t promise nothing will happen to you,” he said roughly. “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to protect you. But I swear to God, Quinn, I will die trying.”
She felt a tingle in her nose, a burning in her eyes. “I’m not asking you to die for me. I’m asking you to live with me. To fight with me. To trust that we’re stronger together than apart.”
Dax stared at her for a long moment. Then he grabbed hold of the back of her neck and pulled her across the console before she could process what was happening and kissed her hard, desperately, like she was oxygen and he’d been drowning.
Quinn kissed him back with everything she had, pouring all her fear and hope and determination into it.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Dax rested his forehead against hers.
“I think I love you,” he said. “I’m terrified of it, but…yeah, I think I love you.”
“I love you too.” Quinn’s eyes filled with tears now, surprised it how good it felt to hear those words and how easy it had been to say them back. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to finish this and we’re going to be okay.”
She didn’t know if she believed it. But she needed to. Needed to believe that love didn’t have to end in loss. That fighting for justice didn’t have to mean dying for it.
That she and Dax could actually have a future together.
Dax kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek, then pulled back and put the truck in gear. “Let’s go get that video. Let’s end this son of a bitch once and for all.”
Quinn settled back in her seat, Dax’s hand finding hers again while she found her breath.
Three more hours to Portland.
Three more hours to her father’s final message.
Three more hours until everything changed.
***
First National Bank of Portland was a stately old building downtown, all marble columns and brass fixtures. The kind of place that had been there for a hundred years and would be there for a hundred more.
Despite having already done something like this before, this time felt like more was riding on it, and Quinn’s hands shook as they approached the front desk.
“We need to access a safe deposit box,” Dax said, taking the lead and showing his badge. “Detective Dax Mercer, Blackridge PD. This is Quinn Barrett.”
The bank manager, a woman in her fifties with sharp eyes and a kind smile, nodded. “Box number and key?”
“2847.” Quinn held up the key. “It was my father’s. David Barrett. He...he passed away a few years ago.”
The manager’s expression softened. “I’m sorry for your loss. Do you have documentation proving you’re the authorized party?”
Quinn pulled out her father’s letter, her hands trembling. “He left this for me. With the key.”
The manager read it carefully, then nodded. “That should be sufficient. If you’ll follow me?”
She led them through a heavy door and down a flight of stairs to the vault. Rows upon rows of safe deposit boxes lined the walls, each one holding someone’s secrets, someone’s treasures.
The manager located box 2847, used Quinn’s key and her own master key to open it, and pulled out a long metal box.
“You can use one of the private rooms,” she said, gesturing to a small room off to the side. “Take all the time you need.”
Quinn carried the box like it was made of glass. Dax followed her into the private room and closed the door behind them.
For a long moment, Quinn just stared at the box.
“You okay?” Dax asked gently.
“This is it. The last thing my father left me. The last...” Her voice broke. “Once I open this, there’s nothing else. No more messages. No more pieces of him.”
Dax put his hand on her shoulder. “He’ll always be with you, Quinn. This box, these messages—they’re just proof of what you already know. That he loved you. That he believed in you. That he trusted you to finish what he started.”
Quinn took a shaky breath and opened the box.
Inside was a USB drive, a stack of folders, and an envelope with her name on it.
She opened the envelope first. Inside was another letter, shorter this time:
Quinn,