Mick raised his glass in a toast, his grin more sardonic than cheerful. “To the truth. May it dig itself up, sooner or later.”
Jo clinked her bottle against his glass, feeling the steely edge of determination settle over her. “And to getting answers before any more bodies turn up. I’m getting back to my job even if it kills me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was already dark when Bridget pulled into the driveway of their little cottage. Jo’s car wasn’t there. She tugged her coat tighter against the chill as she approached the front steps. The porch light flickered above, casting a dim glow over the wooden boards, and Pickles, usually waiting at the door to greet her, was nowhere in sight.
A frown tugged at her lips. That was odd.
She was halfway to the door when she saw it. Her breath caught in her throat.
A single white sheet of paper, fluttering slightly in the breeze, was taped to the door. Large block letters scrawled in black marker. It was crude but unmistakable. A threat.
Secrets always come out.
Her heart pounded in her ears. It had to be for her. Someone knew. Someone had dug into her past—what she’d done. She stumbled forward, fingers trembling as she reached for the note, desperate to tear it down before Jo saw it. If Jo found out…
Just then, headlights illuminated her and froze her in place. Jo was pulling into the driveway. And she’d seen Bridget reaching for the note.
Bridget’s fingers brushed the corner of the note, but it was too late. Jo was already out of the car and walking toward her, her gaze fixed on the note.
There was a beat of silence, and then Jo’s body went rigid. Her eyes flicked from the note to the dark woods behind them, scanning the shadows with a tension that set Bridget’s nerves on edge.
Jo’s voice was low, dangerous. “This is about me.”
Bridget’s pulse quickened. No, no, it wasn’t—Jo had it all wrong. But Jo’s interpretation was immediate, her mind already racing. Her suspension, the frame job—of course, Jo would think the note was tied to that. Bridget felt a pang of guilt, a sick twist in her stomach that she couldn’t confess her real fear, her real secret.
Jo’s jaw tightened as she ripped the note off the door. “Whoever left this is trying to scare me off the case. They’re desperate.”
Bridget swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “Jo… we don’t know that. It could be?—”
“Pickles,” Jo interrupted, glancing around suddenly. “Where’s Pickles?”
Bridget froze, her gaze darting around the porch. Now that Jo mentioned it, the cat still hadn’t shown up. Someone had been here, and now, Pickles was gone. Anxiety gnawed at her insides.
“I… I don’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s usually right here.”
Jo’s eyes darkened, and she pocketed the note. “Stay close.”
Without waiting for a response, Jo stormed across the yard, scanning the area with sharp, deliberate movements. Bridget trailed behind her, her nerves fraying with each step. The trees loomed ominously around them, the wind picking up, rustling the branches like whispered threats.
Bridget’s heart hammered in her chest, a mix of guilt and terror swirling inside her. Was this about Jo? About her suspension? Or was it for Bridget? The past she’d worked so hard to bury seemed to be clawing its way back to the surface, and the fear of it unraveling made her legs weak.
Jo crouched by the edge of the yard, her eyes scanning the ground. “No blood. No signs of struggle.”
Bridget bit her lip, forcing herself to stay calm. But a gnawing panic kept rising inside her. Pickles wasn’t merely a cat to her. He was a tether to something safe, something normal in a world that constantly threatened to rip her apart.
Jo stood, her face set in a hard line. “He could just be hiding… Or someone took him.”
The words felt like a slap. Bridget stumbled forward, desperate to keep up with Jo’s pace. “What… What do we do?”
Jo’s eyes flicked toward the dark tree line again. “We’ll find him. But first, we need to check inside. If they left the note, they might’ve been inside the house. Could be the person that tried to frame me.”
Bridget swallowed hard, her throat tight. The thought of someone being inside their home made her skin crawl. She followed Jo back to the porch, her mind racing through every possible scenario. The note. Pickles. The things she hadn’t told Jo. It was all colliding, and Bridget felt herself drowning in it.
Jo moved quickly, unlocking the front door and stepping inside with a controlled, quiet urgency. Bridget followed, her heart pounding louder with each step.
The house was dark and still, exactly as they’d left it. No signs of forced entry, no sign of anything out ofplace. But Bridget couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—had been there. Watching. Waiting.