Chapter 14
Quinn dropped to her knees beside the bed, reaching for her grandmother’s hand. Those thin fingers were cool to the touch, the skin papery and translucent, but they squeezed back with surprising strength.
“Gran.” Quinn’s voice broke. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I was gone so long.”
Her grandmother’s eyes fluttered open. Those gray-blue eyes were cloudy with pain and exhaustion, but they focused on Quinn’s face with unmistakable recognition.
“Quinny.” The nickname was barely a whisper. “You came back.”
“Of course I came back.” Quinn pressed her grandmother’s hand to her cheek, tears streaming freely. “I’ll always come back to you.”
“Clara?” Her grandmother’s breath rattled.
Quinn nodded quickly. “We found her. She’s safe. And she’s going to testify against Wheeler. We have everything we need now, Gran. Everything.”
Something shifted in her grandmother’s expression—relief, maybe, or release. Her eyes drifted closed again.
“Gran?” Panic spiked through Quinn’s chest.
“Still here.” A faint smile touched the corners of her grandmother’s mouth. “Just tired.”
“I know. I know you’re tired.” Quinn stroked her grandmother’s silver hair, the way Gran used to stroke hers when she was small and frightened. “You can rest now. You did it. You told me the truth. You helped me find the evidence. You can rest.”
“Not yet.” Her grandmother’s eyes opened again, sharper this time. “Need to...make sure you’re okay first.”
“I’m fine. I promise,” she said automatically.
“That detective.” Her grandmother’s gaze shifted toward the doorway where Dax stood just out of sight. “Bring him in.”
Quinn’s heart skipped. “Gran, you need to rest—”
“Bring him in, Quinn.” There was steel in that weak voice that refused to be ignored. “I want to meet the man who’s been protecting my granddaughter.”
Quinn glanced over her shoulder at the doorway. Dax stood in the hall, his face carefully neutral but his eyes worried. She gestured him forward.
He entered slowly, almost reluctantly, and stopped at the foot of the bed. “Ma’am.”
Quinn’s grandmother studied him with those sharp eyes, taking in everything—his height, his bearing, the protective way he positioned himself even now. The intensity of his gaze when he looked at Quinn.
“You’re the one,” she said finally.
Dax blinked. “Ma’am?”
“The one protecting my granddaughter. Fighting for justice for my son.” Her grandmother’s voice was stronger now, fueled by something Quinn recognized—the last reserves of a woman who’d spent her life fighting. “Are you doing it because it’s your job? Or because of her?”
Quinn felt her face heat. “Gran—”
“Both,” Dax said quietly, honestly, catching her by surprise. Quinn looked at him, but his eyes met her grandmother’s instead, unflinching. “It started as the job. But Quinn...she makes it impossible not to care. Not to fight. She’s the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
Her grandmother was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “You’ll keep her safe?”
“With my life.”
“Even when she’s stubborn and reckless and runs headfirst into danger?”
Despite everything, Quinn heard the hint of humor in her grandmother’s voice. Dax’s mouth quirked.
“Especially then.”
Her grandmother nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision. “My son would have liked you. David had good instincts about people. And he would have trusted you with his daughter.”
Dax’s throat worked. “I’m honored, ma’am. I wish I could have met him.”
“You’re meeting him through Quinn. She’s so much like him.” Her grandmother’s hand tightened on Quinn’s. “Stubborn. Brilliant. Determined to save the world one truth at a time.”
“Gran...” Quinn’s voice was thick with tears.
“I’m proud of you, Quinny. So proud.” Her grandmother’s eyes drifted between Quinn and Dax. “Don’t let fear keep you from living. From loving. Life’s too short for that.”
Quinn felt Dax’s gaze on her, but she couldn’t look at him. Not right now. Not with her grandmother lying here, giving what felt too much like a final blessing.
“You should rest now,” Quinn said instead, adjusting the blankets. “We’ll be right here if you need anything.”
“Good.” Her grandmother’s eyes closed. “That’s good.”
Within moments, her breathing had deepened into sleep.
Quinn stayed kneeling there, holding her grandmother’s hand, until Dax gently touched her shoulder.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let her sleep. You need rest too.”
“I can’t leave her.”
“You don’t have to. But you can’t kneel on this floor all night either.” He glanced around the room. “There’s a chair. You can sleep there, stay close.”
Nathan appeared in the doorway. “I can take first watch. You two should eat something. When’s the last time either of you ate?”
Quinn tried to remember and couldn’t. Breakfast? Maybe?
“See?” Nathan crossed to her, gently pulling her to her feet. “Go. I’ll sit with Gran. If anything changes, I’ll get you immediately.”
Quinn looked at her grandmother’s peaceful face, the steady rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing easier now. The crisis seemed to have passed.
“Okay,” Quinn relented. “But just for a little while.”
***
The dining room table was covered with files and documents—everything they’d retrieved from the Seattle safe deposit box, everything Clara had provided, years of her father’s meticulous investigation into Wheeler’s crimes.
Quinn stared at it all, feeling overwhelmed. So much evidence. So much proof. And yet Wheeler was still out there, still free, still dangerous.
“Here.” Dax set a sandwich in front of her—something Nathan had made from whatever was in the fridge. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” The thought of food didn’t even register. She felt…blank.
“Eat anyway.”
She flashed him a glare that held no weight, then she picked up the sandwich, took a bite mechanically. It tasted like nothing. Or maybe everything just tasted like grief and exhaustion.
Dax sat down across from her with his own food, but he wasn’t eating either. He was studying the documents, his detective’s brain working even now.
“We should organize this,” he said. “Build a timeline. Make sure we have everything in order for the DA.”
Quinn nodded. Work. She could focus on work. Work was easier than thinking about her grandmother in that bed, breathing those labored breaths, slipping away bit by bit.
They worked in silence for a while, sorting documents by date, by type, by relevance. Financial records here. Property deeds there. Photographs of Wheeler with various city officials, clearly taken from surveillance.
Her father had been thorough. Obsessive, even. Every detail documented, every connection mapped.
“He knew,” Quinn said softly. “He knew how dangerous Wheeler was. And he investigated anyway.”
“Because it was the right thing to do.” Dax looked up from a stack of bank statements. “Same reason you’re doing this now.”
“He died for it.”
“He would do it again. You know that.” Dax’s voice was gentle but firm. “Some things are worth the risk.”
Quinn wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. Because he was right. Her father had believed that truth mattered. That justice mattered. That exposing corruption and protecting the innocent was worth any personal cost.
She believed it too.
“Wait.” Dax was staring at something—a small envelope tucked inside a folder of financial records. “What’s this?”
He pulled it out carefully. The envelope was sealed, yellowed with age. On the front, her father’s handwriting. For Quinn—When you’re ready to know everything.
Quinn’s breath caught. “That’s...that’s Dad’s handwriting.”
Dax handed it to her carefully, as if it might shatter.
Her hands shook as she opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper and something small and metallic—another key.
Quinn unfolded the paper, her father’s familiar script swimming before her eyes.
Quinn,
If you’re reading this, then you’ve already found the first cache of evidence. You’ve seen the financial records, the property deeds, the photographs. You know what Wheeler is.
But there’s more.
I couldn’t risk keeping everything in one place. If Wheeler’s people found the safe deposit box, I needed insurance. I needed to make sure the whole truth survived.
There’s a second box. First National Bank, Portland. Box #2847. This key will open it.
Inside, you’ll find video testimony. Not just mine—others too. People who were too afraid to come forward while Wheeler had power, but who trusted me to protect their stories.
This is the heart of it, Quinn. The proof that will end him.
I’m sorry I’m not there to help you through this. I’m sorry you have to be the one to finish what I started. But I know you can do it. You’re stronger than you know. Braver than you believe.
Make him pay, Quinn. For all of us.
I love you.
—Dad
Quinn’s tears fell onto the paper, smudging the ink. She tried to speak and couldn’t. Just held the letter, this last message from her father, and sobbed.
Dax was around the table in an instant, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t have the strength to pull away or the care that she was still upset with him. She buried her face in his chest and let herself break.
“He knew,” she gasped between sobs. “He knew he might die. And he still...he still left me this. Left me a way to finish it.”
“Because he trusted you.” Dax’s hand stroked her hair. “He knew you’d be strong enough.”
“I’m not strong enough. I can’t do this without—” She couldn’t finish. Without Gran. Without her father. Without anyone from her family left to help her carry this burden. She couldn’t—
“You’re not alone.” Dax pulled back just enough to cup her face, making her look at him. “You have Nathan. You have me. You’re not doing this alone, Quinn.”
His eyes were so intense, so sincere. Quinn felt something shift in her chest—a crack in the walls she’d been building around her heart since this all began.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “Really? It can’t just be the job. Your career is on the line. Wheeler’s threatened you. Why stay?”
Dax’s jaw worked. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he said softly, his thumbs stroking her jaw, “Because I can’t walk away from you.”