Page 80 of Beneath the Surface

“I think I love you,” he said. “I’m terrified of it, but…yeah, I think I love you.”

“I love you too.” Quinn’s eyes filled with tears now, surprised it how good it felt to hear those words and how easy it had been to say them back. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to finish this and we’re going to be okay.”

She didn’t know if she believed it. But she needed to. Needed to believe that love didn’t have to end in loss. That fighting for justice didn’t have to mean dying for it.

That she and Dax could actually have a future together.

Dax kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek, then pulled back and put the truck in gear. “Let’s go get that video. Let’s end this son of a bitch once and for all.”

Quinn settled back in her seat, Dax’s hand finding hers again while she found her breath.

Three more hours to Portland.

Three more hours to her father’s final message.

Three more hours until everything changed.

***

First National Bank of Portland was a stately old building downtown, all marble columns and brass fixtures. The kind ofplace that had been there for a hundred years and would be there for a hundred more.

Despite having already done something like this before, this time felt like more was riding on it, and Quinn’s hands shook as they approached the front desk.

“We need to access a safe deposit box,” Dax said, taking the lead and showing his badge. “Detective Dax Mercer, Blackridge PD. This is Quinn Barrett.”

The bank manager, a woman in her fifties with sharp eyes and a kind smile, nodded. “Box number and key?”

“2847.” Quinn held up the key. “It was my father’s. David Barrett. He...he passed away a few years ago.”

The manager’s expression softened. “I’m sorry for your loss. Do you have documentation proving you’re the authorized party?”

Quinn pulled out her father’s letter, her hands trembling. “He left this for me. With the key.”

The manager read it carefully, then nodded. “That should be sufficient. If you’ll follow me?”

She led them through a heavy door and down a flight of stairs to the vault. Rows upon rows of safe deposit boxes lined the walls, each one holding someone’s secrets, someone’s treasures.

The manager located box 2847, used Quinn’s key and her own master key to open it, and pulled out a long metal box.

“You can use one of the private rooms,” she said, gesturing to a small room off to the side. “Take all the time you need.”

Quinn carried the box like it was made of glass. Dax followed her into the private room and closed the door behind them.

For a long moment, Quinn just stared at the box.

“You okay?” Dax asked gently.

“This is it. The last thing my father left me. The last...” Her voice broke. “Once I open this, there’s nothing else. No more messages. No more pieces of him.”

Dax put his hand on her shoulder. “He’ll always be with you, Quinn. This box, these messages—they’re just proof of what you already know. That he loved you. That he believed in you. That he trusted you to finish what he started.”

Quinn took a shaky breath and opened the box.

Inside was a USB drive, a stack of folders, and an envelope with her name on it.

She opened the envelope first. Inside was another letter, shorter this time:

Quinn,