Jo felt a pang of admiration for his resolve. Sam’s patience and methodical approach were a stark contrast to her own gut-driven style, but it was moments like this that reminded her why they made such a good team.
Her phone buzzed against the bar, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced down, her stomach knotting when she saw Bridget’s name and the message.
Meet me at the cottage. It’s urgent.
Jo’s first instinct was to tell Sam. She opened her mouth—but then stopped herself.
A cold thread of guilt coiled in her chest. Parker Studies. If anyone found out Sam had let her pretend she was there officially, it could cost him his job. And the trap she wanted to set for the note leaver at the cottage? If Sam showed up and got tangled in that, it could look like he was involved. She couldn’t drag him down with her rule bending.
But as she stared at the message again, another worry gnawed at her. What if the note leaver had Bridget? What if her plan to flush out whoever was behind the threats had put her sister in danger?
Her pulse quickened, and she downed the rest of her beer, trying to push the panic down. She couldn’t afford to lose her focus now.
“Everything okay?” Sam asked, catching her hesitation as he stood and slipped on his jacket.
Jo forced a tight smile, sliding her phone into her pocket. “Yeah, Bridget wants to go over somethingtonight. Probably garden plans or something,” she lied, her voice deliberately light.
Sam studied her, his brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “All right. If she needs anything, you call me.”
“I will,” she promised, the weight of her unspoken fears pressing heavy on her chest.
Sam finished his beer. “I’m off to deal with Beryl. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Good luck,” Jo said, managing a small smile.
She watched him leave, waiting until the door swung shut behind him before grabbing her coat. Her fingers brushed against her phone as she hurried outside, her heart pounding.
Bridget’s message replayed in her mind like a warning bell. If the note leaver had Bridget, she’d never forgive herself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Jo pulled into the driveway, her truck’s headlights sweeping across the porch. Her chest tightened at the sight of Kevin and Bridget sitting on the steps with Pickles stretched out lazily beside them. The tension in their posture sent a ripple of unease through her.
She barely killed the engine before stepping out of the car. “What’s going on?” Jo asked, her boots crunching against the gravel as she hurried up the steps. Her eyes darted from Kevin’s somber expression to Bridget’s faintly guilty one. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Bridget said quickly, too quickly. She glanced at Kevin, who gave her a slight nod. “But we have something we need to tell you.”
Jo raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “I’m listening.”
Kevin stood and gestured toward the front door. “Maybe we should go inside for this.”
Jo’s unease deepened. She followed them into the living room, where the warmth of the cottage clashed with the knot forming in her stomach. Bridget hovered near the arm of the couch, fidgeting, while Kevin stood near the fireplace, his hands in his pockets.
“All right,” Jo said, breaking the silence. “What’s this about?”
Kevin exhaled and pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “This.”
Jo unfolded the note, her breath catching as she read the familiar blocky handwriting.
Secrets always come out.
Her eyes snapped to Kevin. “This… This is similar to the one on my door. Where did you get this?”
Kevin hesitated, glancing at Bridget before answering. “I found it on my windshield a few days ago. Before you found yours.”
Jo’s brow furrowed. “Why would someone leave this for you?”
Kevin shifted uncomfortably. “Because of the thumb drive.”