Chapter 14 #2
The words hung between them.
“Dax—”
“I know.” He let his hands drop, stepping back, and she felt the letdown instantly, like the floor was threatening to drop out from under her. “I know this isn’t the time. I know you’re dealing with your grandmother and your father’s case and—”
“No.” Quinn caught his wrist, desperate to hold onto him. “Don’t. Don’t pull away.”
He froze, his eyes searching hers.
“I need...” She didn’t know how to finish. What did she need? Comfort? Connection? Something to feel good in the midst of all this pain?
She needed him.
Quinn closed the distance between them. Dax’s breath caught as she reached up, her hand sliding into his hair.
“Quinn.” Her name was a warning. A question.
She answered by pulling him down to her.
The kiss was soft at first—tentative, testing. But then Dax made a sound low in his throat and pulled her closer, and the kiss deepened into something desperate and real and perfect.
Quinn felt it everywhere—the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his arms, the solid wall of his chest against hers. She felt safe. Protected.
Wanted.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Dax rested his forehead against hers.
“We shouldn’t,” he said, but his arms didn’t release her.
“Probably not,” Quinn agreed. But she didn’t move either.
They stood there, wrapped around each other, while the files and evidence covered the table and her grandmother slept down the hall and the weight of everything they still had to do pressed down on them.
But for this moment—just this moment—Quinn let herself have this. Have him.
A throat cleared from the doorway.
They sprang apart to find Nathan standing there, eyebrows raised, trying not to smirk.
“Gran’s still sleeping,” he said, his tone careful, neutral. “Thought I’d check if you two needed anything.” His eyes flicked to the evidence spread across the table. “Find anything useful?”
Quinn dipped her head and wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself. She held up the letter with shaking hands. “My dad...he left another message. Another location.”
Nathan crossed to the table, his expression shifting to something serious as he read over her shoulder.
“Portland,” Dax said, showing him the key. “Second safe deposit box. Box number 2847. Her father documented everything. Including video testimony from whistleblowers who were too afraid to come forward.”
Nathan whistled low. “Video testimony? That could seal the case.”
“We need to get it,” Quinn said immediately.
“Portland’s five hours away,” Dax pointed out. “Round trip, we’re looking at a full day, minimum.”
Quinn looked toward the hallway, toward her grandmother’s room. “I can’t leave Gran.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Nathan said firmly. “You two go get that evidence. Your grandma would want you to finish this.”
“But what if—” Quinn couldn’t say it. What if her grandmother died while she was gone?
Nathan’s expression softened. “She’s stable right now. Her breathing’s better than it was a few hours ago. And Quinn...she waited this long to tell you the truth. She’ll wait a little longer to make sure you finish the job.”
Quinn wasn’t so sure. But the letter in her hand, her father’s words. Make him pay, Quinn. For all of us.
She knew from the bottom of her heart that she had to finish this. Had to get that video. Had to see this through.
“Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll go tomorrow morning. First thing.”
***
That night, Quinn dozed fitfully in the chair beside her grandmother’s bed. Every time Gran’s breathing changed, Quinn jolted awake, terrified. But each time, her grandmother was still there. Still breathing. Still hanging on.
Dax had taken the other chair, refusing to leave even though Quinn had insisted he should get real sleep in an actual bed.
“I’m not leaving you,” he’d said simply. And that was that.
Somewhere around three in the morning, Quinn woke to find Dax watching her in the dim light from the hallway.
“Can’t sleep?” she whispered.
“Just making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” A lie, but what else could she say?
Dax reached across the space between their chairs, his hand finding hers. Their fingers laced together, and Quinn held on like he was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting under her feet.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For staying. For helping. For...everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Yes, I do.” Quinn squeezed his hand. “You could have walked away a dozen times. But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t.” Dax’s thumb stroked over her knuckles. “Even if I wanted to—and I don’t—I couldn’t walk away from you, Quinn.”
Something warm unfurled in her chest. Something that felt dangerously like hope.
She wanted to say more. Wanted to ask what this was between them, what it meant, what happened after they caught Wheeler and the case was over. But her grandmother’s breathing hitched, and both of them froze, listening.
After a minute, it steadied again.
Quinn exhaled slowly.
“Try to sleep,” Dax said quietly. “I’ll keep watch.”
“You need sleep too.”
“I’ll sleep when you do.”
Quinn wanted to argue, but she was so tired. Bone-deep exhausted. And knowing Dax was there, that she wasn’t alone...
She closed her eyes and let herself drift.
***
Morning came too soon.
Quinn woke to find her grandmother awake, those blue eyes clearer than they’d been in days.
“Gran.” Quinn sat up quickly. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Her grandmother’s voice was stronger. “More myself.”
It was true—some color had returned to her cheeks, and when she squeezed Quinn’s hand, there was real strength there.
“You’re rallying,” Quinn said, relief flooding through her.
“Mmm. Stubborn old woman.” Her grandmother’s smile was faint but real. “Nathan told me about Portland. About your father’s video.”
“I can stay. I don’t have to—”
“Go.” Her grandmother cut her off gently. “Finish this. Your father needs you to finish this.”
“But—”
“I’ll still be here when you get back. I promise.” Her grandmother’s eyes found Dax, who’d just appeared in the doorway with coffee. “You’ll protect her?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said without hesitation.
“Good.” Her grandmother settled back against the pillows. “Then go. Both of you. Get that video. End Wheeler once and for all.”
Quinn leaned down and kissed her grandmother’s forehead. “I love you, Gran.”
“I love you too, Quinn. So very much.” Her grandmother’s hand touched Quinn’s cheek. “Your father would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”
Tears pricked Quinn’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “I’ll be home tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
***
An hour later, Quinn and Dax were in his truck, heading west toward Portland. The sun was just rising, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
Quinn stared out the window, her father’s letter folded in her pocket, the key to box #2847 clutched in her hand.
“She seems better,” Dax said, breaking the silence.
“Yeah.” Quinn wanted to believe it. Wanted to think her grandmother would be there when they got back, that she’d rally and recover and have more time.
But she’d seen enough death to know—sometimes people rallied right before the end. One last burst of clarity and strength before they slipped away.
Please, Quinn prayed to whatever god might be listening. Please let her hang on just a little longer. Just until I get back.
Dax’s hand found hers across the console, and Quinn held on tight.
Five hours to Portland. Five hours back. They’d retrieve the video, get home, and show her grandmother that they were going to win. That David Mercer’s death wouldn’t be in vain.
That justice was finally coming for Russell Wheeler.
Quinn closed her eyes and tried to believe it.
Behind them, Blackridge faded into the distance.
Ahead, the road stretched on toward Portland and the truth her father had died protecting.
And in the house they’d just left, Dorothy Barrett lay in her bed, smiled faintly, and whispered to the empty room, “I kept my promise, David. She knows the truth now. She’s going to finish it.”
Then she closed her eyes and let herself rest, knowing her granddaughter would be home soon.
Knowing she just had to hold on a little longer.
Just a little longer.