Bridget didn’t answer right away. She set the water glass down, her fingers curling around the edge of the table.
Finally, she set the fork down.
“So.” She took a breath. “That thing I texted you about.”
Kevin pushed his own plate aside and gave her his full attention. “I’m listening.”
Bridget’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. “You know I saw something at the station. When I brought the pastries in.”
Kevin nodded. He’d noticed something then too—the way her face had gone pale when she looked at the evidence board, the way she’d covered it with that too-bright smile.
“The crime scene photos,” Bridget continued. “There was an earring in one of them. A black stud. Small. Most people wouldn’t look twice at it.” She paused, her throat working. “But it had an engraving. A broken chain with a single link still intact. Shaped like an eye.”
Kevin frowned. “Okay. What does that mean?”
“It’s a symbol.” Bridget’s voice dropped, and Kevin had to lean in to hear her. “The Binding Chain. That’s what they called themselves. The people I—“ She stopped. Started again. “When I was on the streets, before Jo found me, I ran with some bad people. Did some bad things.”
Kevin stayed quiet. He knew pieces of this—fragments Bridget had shared over late nights and too much wine. But he could tell this was different. Deeper.
“That symbol,” Bridget said, her eyes fixed on some point past his shoulder. “I saw it worn by someone high up. Someone who gave orders.” Her jaw tightened. “Someone who ordered me and a few others to get rid of a body.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Kevin exhaled slowly. His cop brain was already clicking through implications—this could be a major break in the case, a connection they hadn’t even considered. But he kept that locked down. Right now, this wasn’t about the case. This was about Bridget.
“How long ago?” he asked quietly.
“Years. A different life.” She finally looked at him, and the vulnerability in her eyes made his chest ache. “I got out. Built something new. But if that symbol is showing up at a crime scene now...”
“These people are still active,” Kevin finished.
Bridget nodded, her throat tight.
Kevin leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Why are you telling me this and not Jo?”
It wasn’t an accusation. Just a question. But Bridget flinched anyway.
“Because Jo doesn’t know.” The words came out strained. “She knows I had a rough past. She knows I wasn’t exactly a saint. But the body...” Bridget shook her head. “I never told her how deep I was in. How bad it got.”
“She’d understand. Jo’s not?—“
“It’s not about understanding.” Bridget’s voice cracked. “If Jo finds out that this case connects to people from my past—people who hurt me, people who made me do things—she’ll go after them. You know she will. She’ll walk right into the middle of it trying to protect me.”
Kevin couldn’t argue with that. Jo’s protective streak ran deep, especially when it came to Bridget.
“Jo can handle herself,” he said, but even as he said it, he knew how weak it sounded.
“These aren’t street thugs, Kevin.” Bridget’s eyes were fierce now, the fear hardening into something sharper. “They killed an FBI agent. And now there’s two FBI agents in town, showing up separately, not even coordinating with each other?” She shook her head. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
Kevin sat back, running a hand through his hair. She wasn’t wrong. The tension between Keller and Shaw, the separate arrivals, the way Shaw had more information than Keller had shared—it didn’t add up to anything clean.
“So what do you want to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” The admission seemed to cost her something. “That’s why I’m telling you. I needed to tell someone, and you’re...” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“I’m what?”
“You’re the person I trust.” She said it simply, like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t the kind of thing that made Kevin’s heart do something complicated in his chest. “I need help figuring out what to do before Jo gets involved. Before she finds out on her own and does something stupid.”