Someone Wyatt now had to find first.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kevin heard Bridget’s car pull into the driveway and wiped his hands on the dish towel. Thursday nights had become something he looked forward to more than he probably should—her showing up with whatever recipe she’d been experimenting with, the easy conversation, the way the apartment felt less empty when she was in it.
He opened the door before she could knock.
Bridget stood on the step with a casserole dish in her hands, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Turkey meatloaf,” she said, lifting the dish slightly. “As promised.”
Kevin took it from her, the warmth seeping through the foil. “Smells amazing.” He stepped back to let her in, watching as she shrugged off her coat. Something was off. The way she moved, a little too quick, a little too deliberate. “No sides tonight?”
Bridget froze mid-motion, her coat half on the hook. “What?”
“You always bring a side. The roasted vegetables. The salad. That garlic bread that one time that nearly killed us both.” He kept his tone light, but he was watching her now. Really watching.
She blinked, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I completely forgot.” She finished hanging her coat, but her hands lingered on the fabric a beat too long. “I’ve been... distracted.”
Kevin set the meatloaf on the counter and leaned against the edge, giving her space. “I noticed.”
Bridget’s eyes met his, and for a moment, something flickered there—uncertainty, maybe. Or fear. Then she looked away, moving toward the small kitchen table like she needed something to do with her hands.
They went through the motions of dinner prep. Kevin grabbed plates while Bridget sliced the meatloaf, but the usual rhythm was off. She kept stopping mid-motion, staring at nothing. Twice he caught her looking at him like she was working up to something.
He didn’t push. That was the thing about Bridget—she’d get there when she was ready. Pushing only made her clam up.
Instead, he tried to fill the silence with something lighter.
“Strange day at the station,” he said, setting glasses on the table. “Two FBI agents. That was unexpected.”
Bridget glanced up from the meatloaf. “Yeah. Keller looked like he had no idea Shaw was coming.”
“Right? I was watching his face when she walked in. Genuine confusion.” Kevin grabbed silverware from the drawer. “And then there’s the dogs. I still can’t get over that.”
“Lucy and Shadow.” Bridget’s voice was distracted, but she was listening. “That was... something.”
“I’ve never seen Lucy do that with a strange dog. Tail wagging, pressing up against him like they were old friends.” Kevin shook his head. “Shaw seemed just as surprised. Said her dog never greets other dogs like that.”
“Sam looked like he was trying to solve a puzzle,” Bridget said quietly.
“We never did find out where Lucy came from but she must have had some sort of training.” Kevin said. “Maybe it’s the same for Shadow.”
They sat down to eat, but Bridget barely touched her food. Just moved it around her plate, fork scraping against the ceramic.
“There was tension too,” Kevin continued, partly to fill the silence, partly because it had been nagging at him. “Between Keller and Shaw. They were both being very... professional. Very cooperative. But something was underneath it.”
Bridget glanced up. “I noticed.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing. FBI types can be competitive. Territorial about cases.”
“Or maybe one of them knows something the other doesn’t.”
Kevin paused, fork halfway to his mouth. The way she’d said it—quiet, almost to herself. Like she was thinking about more than just FBI politics.
“Maybe,” he said slowly. “Shaw definitely brought more intel than Keller had shared. Sam noticed that too.”
Bridget didn’t respond. Her fork had stopped moving. She was staring at her plate, but Kevin could tell she wasn’t seeing it.
“Hey.” He kept his voice gentle. “You’ve been off since you came to the station this morning. Before Shaw even showed up.” He set his fork down. “What’s going on?”