CHAPTER 17
The funeral was small. Just Quinn, Nathan, Dax, and a handful of Dorothy Barrett’s friends—women her grandmother had played bridge with, volunteered at the library with, shared coffee and gossip with for decades.
Quinn stood at the graveside in a black dress she’d borrowed from Nathan’s girlfriend, watching as they lowered her grandmother into the ground beside her father. The headstones were matching gray granite, simple and elegant.
David Thomas Barrett Beloved Son, Father, Truth-Seeker
Dorothy Anne Barrett Beloved Mother, Grandmother, Keeper of Faith
Quinn had chosen the epitaphs carefully. Truth-seeker for her father. Keeper of faith for her grandmother—because she’d kept faith that someday, someone would finish what David had started.
And Quinn would. She’d made that promise at the graveside, her hand pressed against the cool granite.
I’ll finish it, Dad. Gran. I promise.
Dax stood beside her throughout, his presence solid and grounding. When the service ended and people began to drift away, his hand found the small of her back.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Quinn looked at the two graves—her entire family, gone now—and felt the weight of it settle into her bones.
“No,” she said honestly. “But I will be. After we put Wheeler away.”
***
Two days later, Quinn sat in DA Clarissa Sanders’ office with Dax, Nathan, and Clara Mendez, watching as the DA reviewed the USB drive’s contents on her laptop.
Clara hadn’t wanted to come to Blackridge.
Had barely agreed to leave Spokane at all, even with the promise of federal protection.
She sat now in the chair beside Quinn, her hands twisted together in her lap, eyes darting toward the door every few seconds as if she expected Wheeler to burst through it.
“It’s okay,” Quinn said softly, reaching over to touch Clara’s arm. The older woman flinched. “We’re safe here. Wheeler doesn’t even know you’re in town.”
“You don’t know that.” Clara’s voice was thin with fear. “He has people everywhere. Eyes everywhere. That’s how he found out I was going to testify before. That’s why I had to run.”
“That was eleven years ago,” Nathan said from his position by the door. “He’s not as powerful as he was. And you have federal protection now. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
Clara didn’t look convinced.
DA Sanders looked up from the laptop, her expression carefully controlled but her eyes bright with the kind of intensity prosecutors got when they thought they had a winning case.
Clarissa Sanders was in her early fifties, with steel-gray hair she wore in a practical bob and sharp features that made her look perpetually skeptical. She’d been DA for six years, had a conviction rate over 90%, and didn’t tolerate bullshit from anyone—cops, criminals, or politicians.
Quinn liked her immediately.
“This is...extensive,” Sanders said, gesturing to the screen. “Your father documented everything. Financial records, property transfers, witness testimony. And these videos—” She shook her head. “How many people did he interview?”
“Thirty-seven,” Quinn said. “People Wheeler victimized, threatened, or whose loved ones died under suspicious circumstances.”
“Including Leesa Fine.” Sanders’ eyes flicked to Dax. “Your fiancée, Detective Mercer?”
Dax’s jaw tightened. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. She was brave to come forward.
” Sanders turned back to the screen. “And this testimony from Clara—” She looked at the frightened woman across from her.
“Ms. Mendez, you’re willing to testify that James Wheeler ordered the beating of George Preston?
That you witnessed his men assault Mr. Preston and heard them threaten him on Wheeler’s orders? ”
Clara’s hands twisted harder in her lap.
“Yes. I was working late, cleaning the offices at Wheeler Development. I heard shouting in the parking garage. Saw two of Wheeler’s men—his security people—beating Mr. Preston.
They said, ‘Mr. Wheeler wants his money’ and ‘You should’ve kept your mouth shut.
’ George collapsed. I tried to help but he died before the ambulance came. ”
“And you’re certain these men worked for Wheeler?”
“I’d seen them before. They were always around Wheeler’s properties, handling his ‘problems.’” Clara’s voice shook. “After George died, Wheeler’s people came to me. Said if I talked to police about what I saw, my children would have an ‘accident.’ That’s when I ran. Changed my name. Disappeared.”
“Federal witness protection,” Sanders said firmly. “New identities, new location, full security detail until Wheeler is convicted and sentenced. You’ll be untouchable.”
Clara didn’t look like she believed anyone could be untouchable from James Wheeler, but she nodded.
Sanders closed the laptop and leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled under her chin.
“Here’s what I can do with this evidence.
I can bring charges for fraud, conspiracy, bribery, multiple counts of negligent homicide in the fire deaths, and potentially second-degree murder in Thomas Crane’s death.
David Barrett’s death is going to be harder—it’s been ten years, the physical evidence is gone—but with this testimony and the pattern of behavior, we might be able to build a case. ”
“What about Leesa Fine?” Dax’s voice was tight, controlled. “Her death?”
“Same issue. It was officially ruled an accident. We’d need new evidence, a witness who can directly tie Wheeler to ordering the hit.” Sanders looked at Clara. “Did you ever hear Wheeler talk about Ms. Fine’s death?”
Clara shook her head. “I was already gone by then.”
Quinn saw the muscle in Dax’s jaw jump, but he said nothing.
“Well,” Sanders continued, “what we have is more than enough to arrest Wheeler and hold him for trial. The financial crimes alone carry significant prison time. And if we can get one of his associates to flip—someone who actually carried out the murders—we can add those charges too.”
Quinn leaned forward. “How soon can you move?”
“I’ll present to the judge this afternoon. Get an arrest warrant issued by end of day. Wheeler will be in custody by tonight.” Sanders stood, extending her hand. “Ms. Barrett, your father would be proud of what you’ve accomplished here. This is good work.”
Quinn shook her hand, feeling a flutter of hope in her chest. Tonight. Wheeler would be arrested tonight.
“What happens after he’s arrested?” Clara asked, her voice small.
“Arraignment within forty-eight hours. He’ll be formally charged, enter a plea—almost certainly not guilty. Then we’ll set a trial date.” Sanders looked at Clara kindly. “You’ll be safe throughout this process, Ms. Mendez. I promise you that.”
Clara nodded, but Quinn could see she was trembling.
***
They left the DA’s office and headed to a safe house the FBI had arranged for Clara and her children—a nondescript ranch house in a quiet suburban neighborhood, with two agents assigned to watch her around the clock.
Agent Torres had been brought in to coordinate Clara’s protection and met them at the door. “Ms. Mendez,” Torres said, her voice warm. “We have your room ready. Your children will be brought here tomorrow once we’ve secured their transport from Spokane.”
“They’re okay?” Clara asked immediately. “No one’s approached them?”
“They’re fine. Safe. We have agents with them right now.” Torres gestured inside. “Come on. Let me show you around.”
As Clara disappeared into the house with Torres, Nathan turned to Quinn and Dax.
“I’m going to coordinate with Torres and the protection detail, make sure everything’s secure here,” he said. “You two going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” Quinn managed a smile. “Thank you, Nathan. For everything. For staying with Gran, for helping with the funeral, for—”
“You’re practically family, Quinn.” Nathan exchanged a quick look with Dax before pulling her into a hug. “You don’t have to thank me.”
After he left, Quinn and Dax stood beside his truck in the quiet suburban street. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
“It’s really happening,” Quinn said, almost unable to believe it. “Wheeler’s going to be arrested.”
“Yeah.” But Dax didn’t sound happy about it. He sounded tense.
Quinn looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. This is good. This is what we wanted.”
“Dax.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just keep thinking about all the ways this could go sideways. Wheeler’s rich. He has connections. Good lawyers. He might make bail.”
“For murder charges?”
“For fraud charges, maybe. The murder charges are going to be hard to make stick without a cooperating witness who can place him at the scene or on the phone ordering the hits.” Dax’s jaw was tight. “And if he makes bail—”
“He’ll come after Clara.”
“And you.” Dax turned to face her fully. “You’re the one who brought all this evidence together. You’re the one who wrote the articles exposing him. If Wheeler gets out, even temporarily, you’re a target.”
Quinn felt a chill despite the warm evening air. She hadn’t really thought about that. Had been so focused on building the case, on justice for her father and grandmother, that she hadn’t considered what would happen if Wheeler was released.
“The DA said he’d could be arrested as early as tonight,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as Dax. “And arraigned within forty-eight hours. Even if he makes bail, that gives us time to—”
“To what? Hide? Run?” Dax’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I don’t want you anywhere near this once Wheeler knows you’re the one who brought him down.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Careful isn’t enough.” His voice was harsh now, edged with fear. “Quinn, this man has killed at least a dozen people that we know of. Probably more. He’s not going to just accept being arrested. He’s going to lash out. And when he does—”
“Then I’ll deal with it.” Quinn reached for his hand, uncurling his fist so she could lace her fingers through his. “We’ll deal with it. Together.”
Dax looked at their joined hands, then up at her face. “I can’t lose you.”