Page 78 of Beneath the Surface

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.

Chapter 15

The drive to Portland took five hours, but it felt both longer and shorter than that.

Quinn spent the first hour staring out the window, her father’s letter clutched in her hand, reading and re-reading his words until she had them memorized.Make him pay, Quinn. For all of us.

Dax didn’t push her to talk. Just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near hers on the console—close enough to touch if she needed it.

Around the two-hour mark, he finally broke the silence.

“Tell me about him,” Dax said quietly. “Your father. What was he like?”

Quinn turned to look at him, surprised. “You want to know about my dad?”

“Yeah. I’ve been chasing his ghost through these files for weeks. I’d like to know who he actually was. Beyond the investigation.”

Quinn was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When had anyone last asked her about her father as a person, not just as a murder victim or a crusading journalist?

“He was...stubborn,” she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Gran used to say I got it from him. When he believed in something, he wouldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t back down, even when it would have been easier. Safer.”

“Sounds familiar,” Dax said, glancing at her with a hint of a smile.

She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip before continuing. “He loved words. Loved the power of truth. He used to say that sunlight was the best disinfectant. That exposing corruption to the light was the only way to kill it.” Quinn’s throat tightened. “He believed people deserved to know the truth, even when the truth was ugly.”

“That’s why he became a journalist.”

“Yeah. He could have done anything. He was smart enough for law school, medical school, whatever. But he wanted to write. Wanted to tell stories that mattered.” Quinn looked down at the letter. “Gran said he was working on the Wheeler investigation for almost two years before he died. Two years of collecting evidence, interviewing witnesses, building the case.”

“And Wheeler killed him for it.”

“Made it look like an accident. Brake failure on a mountain road.” Quinn’s voice hardened. “But it wasn’t an accident. Clara confirmed it. Wheeler had him killed.”

Dax’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. “We’re going to prove it. The video, the evidence. We’re going to make sure Wheeler pays for what he did.”

“I know.” Quinn squeezed back. “That’s what keeps me going. Knowing that Dad left me the tools to finish this. He knew I’d come looking. Knew I’d be stubborn enough to see it through.”

“He knew you’d be brave enough.”

Quinn wasn’t sure about that. She didn’t feel brave. She felt terrified and grief-stricken and so tired she could barely think straight. But she was still moving forward. Still fighting.

Maybe that was what bravery looked like.