Page 89 of Beneath the Surface

She believed him.

And for the first time since her grandmother died, Quinn felt like she could breathe. Like maybe, just maybe, she was going to be okay.

They had each other. They had the evidence. They had a case to build.

And tomorrow, they would start fighting again.

But tonight—tonight they could just be. Two broken people holding each other in the dark, finding comfort and connection in the aftermath of loss.

Finding life in the shadow of death.

Finding love in the midst of grief.

Quinn closed her eyes and let herself drift, safe in Dax’s arms.

Tomorrow would come soon enough.

For now, this was enough.

CHAPTER 17

The funeral was small. Just Quinn, Nathan, Dax, and a handful of Dorothy Barrett’s friends—women her grandmother had played bridge with, volunteered at the library with, shared coffee and gossip with for decades.

Quinn stood at the graveside in a black dress she’d borrowed from Nathan’s girlfriend, watching as they lowered her grandmother into the ground beside her father. The headstones were matching gray granite, simple and elegant.

David Thomas BarrettBeloved Son, Father, Truth-Seeker

Dorothy Anne BarrettBeloved Mother, Grandmother, Keeper of Faith

Quinn had chosen the epitaphs carefully. Truth-seeker for her father. Keeper of faith for her grandmother—because she’d kept faith that someday, someone would finish what David had started.

And Quinn would. She’d made that promise at the graveside, her hand pressed against the cool granite.

I’ll finish it, Dad. Gran. I promise.

Dax stood beside her throughout, his presence solid and grounding. When the service ended and people began to drift away, his hand found the small of her back.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Quinn looked at the two graves—her entire family, gone now—and felt the weight of it settle into her bones.

“No,” she said honestly. “But I will be. After we put Wheeler away.”

***

Two days later, Quinn sat in DA Clarissa Sanders’ office with Dax, Nathan, and Clara Mendez, watching as the DA reviewed the USB drive’s contents on her laptop.

Clara hadn’t wanted to come to Blackridge. Had barely agreed to leave Spokane at all, even with the promise of federal protection. She sat now in the chair beside Quinn, her hands twisted together in her lap, eyes darting toward the door every few seconds as if she expected Wheeler to burst through it.

“It’s okay,” Quinn said softly, reaching over to touch Clara’s arm. The older woman flinched. “We’re safe here. Wheeler doesn’t even know you’re in town.”

“You don’t know that.” Clara’s voice was thin with fear. “He has people everywhere. Eyes everywhere. That’s how he found out I was going to testify before. That’s why I had to run.”

“That was eleven years ago,” Nathan said from his position by the door. “He’s not as powerful as he was. And you have federal protection now. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Clara didn’t look convinced.

DA Sanders looked up from the laptop, her expression carefully controlled but her eyes bright with the kind of intensity prosecutors got when they thought they had a winning case.