Page 7 of Beneath the Surface

“And what’s thePortland Tribune’sinterest in a suicide in Blackridge, Washington?”

Something flickered across her face. Pain, maybe. Or anger. “Thomas Crane was murdered. Just like my father was murdered. And I’m going to prove it.”

The words hit Dax like a physical blow. Not because they shocked him—he’d suspected murder too. But because of the conviction in her voice. The absolute certainty.

This woman wasn’t just a journalist looking for a story. This was personal.

“Your father,” he repeated slowly.

“David Barrett. He died ten years ago. Car accident, they said. But it wasn’t an accident. He was investigating real estate fraud. I think Thomas Crane was going to expose it. And now they’re both dead.” Her eyes burned with intensity. “So no, Detective, I’m not going to delete my photos. I’m not going to walk away. I’m going to find out who killed them.”

Dax’s mind raced. David Barrett. The name was vaguely familiar. He’d only been with Blackridge PD for five years—before that, he’d been deployed overseas. But he could look it up. Check the old case files.

If this woman was right—if there was a connection between her father’s death and Crane’s—then this was much bigger than a single suspicious suicide.

But that didn’t mean he wanted or needed a journalist in his way.

“Listen,” he said, forcing his voice to stay level, “I understand you want answers. But you need to leave this to the police.”

“The police didn’t investigate my father’s death. Why should I trust them to investigate this one?”

“Because it’s our job.”

“Your job.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Your medical examiner already ruled this suicide. Your captain already wants the case closed. Where exactly is the investigation happening?”

Dax’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. She was right. That was the worst part. She was absolutely right.

But he still couldn’t have a civilian journalist running around contaminating evidence and interfering with his work.

“Go home, Ms. Barrett. Let me do my job.”

“Are you investigating this as a murder?”

The honest answer was yes. But if he admitted that, she’d never leave. She’d follow every lead, get in his way, probably get herself killed if there really was a murderer involved.

“The investigation is ongoing,” he said carefully.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.” He took another step toward her, using his full height advantage. “Now delete those photos and go home. Before I find a reason to arrest you.”

She held her ground. Dax had to give her credit for that. Most people backed down when he turned on the intimidation. But Quinn Barrett just gripped her camera tighter and stared right back at him.

“You can’t arrest me for standing on public property.”

“I can arrest you for interfering with an investigation. For harassing a law enforcement officer. For about a dozen other things if I put my mind to it.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Don’t test me.”

Finally, something in his tone must have gotten through. She took a step back.

“Fine. I’ll leave.” But her expression said this wasn’t over. “But I’m not going to stop investigating. My father deserves justice. Thomas Crane deserves justice. And if the Blackridge Police Department won’t provide it, I will.”

She turned and walked away, her camera still clutched in her hands. Dax watched her go, noting the set of her shoulders. Stubborn. Determined.

Trouble.

He pulled out his phone and called Carson.

“Mercer,” Carson answered. “Please tell me you’re on your way back.”