Page 51 of Beneath the Surface

“So people like that don’t just vanish completely. They need new identities, new social security numbers, new birth certificates for the kids. That kind of thing doesn’t come cheap, and it requires connections.” Quinn’s mind raced, her words coming faster. “My father was helping her. What if he arranged for her to get new documents? What if he kept records of where she went?”

Dax’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working. “The files we have don’t show anything like that.”

“The files we have. But what if there are more files? Hidden somewhere?” Quinn pulled out her phone—Dax’s phone, actually, that he let her use for emergency calls, the case worn from his grip. “My grandmother might know. My fathermight have told her something. Stored documents with her. Something.”

“It’s late. She’s probably sleeping.” But his tone said he was considering it.

“Agent Torres said she’s having good days and bad days. If today’s a good day—” Quinn was already dialing, her fingers moving quickly across the screen. “I have to try.”

The phone rang three times before Agent Torres answered, her voice professional and crisp. “This is Torres.”

“It’s Quinn Barrett. Is my grandmother awake?” Quinn’s heart pounded, her free hand gripping the counter.

“She is, actually. Having a pretty good evening. Want to talk to her?”

“Please.” Quinn’s throat tightened.

There was rustling, footsteps, then her grandmother’s weak but alert voice. “Quinn? Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Gran. Safe. I promise.” Quinn’s throat tightened at the sound of that beloved voice, tears pricking her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. But aren’t I always?” A soft laugh, thin but genuine. “The nurses here are wonderful. That FBI agent—Torres—she’s been reading to me. Mystery novels. Your father loved those.”

“He did.” Quinn took a breath, steadying herself. “Gran, I need to ask you something about Dad. About his investigation.”

“The one that got him killed.” Her voice went quieter, sadder.

“Yes. He was helping a woman named Clara Mendez. She was going to testify about Wheeler’s crimes, but she disappeared right before Dad died. Do you know anything about that? Did Dad mention her? Or say anything about helping her hide?”

Her grandmother was quiet for a long moment. Quinn could hear her breathing, labored but steady. “He didn’t tell me much. Said it was safer that way. But I remember—” She paused, thinking, the silence stretching. “There was a weekend trip.About a month before he died. Said he was going to Seattle for work. But when he came back, he seemed relieved. Like he’d accomplished something important.”

Quinn’s pulse quickened, her grip tightening on the phone. “Did he say what?”

“No. But he gave me something. A key. Said to keep it safe and not tell anyone about it.”

“A key? To what?”

“A safe deposit box. Bank of the Northwest, downtown Seattle branch. Box number 247.” Her grandmother’s voice grew weaker. “I still have the key. In my jewelry box. The one with the blue velvet lining.”

Quinn’s mind raced. A safe deposit box. In Seattle. That her father had set up right before he died.

“Gran, you’re amazing. Thank you.”

“You think there’s something in there? Something that can help?”

“I think Dad might have kept backup copies of his evidence. Or information about Clara. Or—I don’t know. But it’s worth checking.”

“Then check it. Finish what he started, sweetheart. Make sure he didn’t die for nothing.”

“I will. I promise.” Quinn blinked back tears. “I love you, Gran.”

“I love you too. Be safe.”

The call ended, the soft beep loud in the quiet cabin. Quinn looked at Dax, who’d been listening to the whole conversation, his arms crossed, his expression intent.

“Seattle,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Three hours away.”

“We have to go. If there’s evidence in that box—” Quinn’s pulse quickened, adrenaline already flooding her system.