Kevin was quiet for a long moment, turning it over in his mind. His instincts said they needed to tell Sam and Jo—that keeping something like this under wraps could blow up in all their faces. But he also understood what Bridget was afraid of. Jo was fierce and loyal and absolutely capable of putting herself in the crosshairs for the people she loved.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Let me do some digging first. Quietly. See what I can find out about this Binding Chain before we bring anyone else in.”
Bridget’s shoulders dropped with relief. “Really?”
“Just research,” Kevin clarified. “I’m not promising anything. If this thing is as big as you’re saying, we can’t sit on it forever. But a few days to figure out what we’re dealing with—that’s not unreasonable.”
Bridget reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly. “Thank you. I mean it.”
Kevin turned his hand over, letting her grip settle into his palm. “We’re in this together. Whatever it is.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen felt smaller somehow, the space between them charged with something unspoken. Then Bridget pulled back, clearing her throat.
“I should go.” She stood, reaching for her coat. “It’s getting late, and I’ve already dumped enough on you for one night.”
Kevin walked her to the door, the meatloaf sitting forgotten on the counter. At the threshold, Bridget paused, looking back at him.
“Kevin?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. Please.” Her voice was soft. “These people... they don’t play games.”
He nodded. “I will.”
She held his gaze for another heartbeat, then slipped out into the night.
Kevin stood in the doorway, watching her taillights disappear down the street. The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it.
He was keeping secrets from Sam and Jo now. Real secrets. The kind that could fracture a team if they came out wrong.
And somewhere in all of this—between the FBI agents who didn’t trust each other, the dogs who somehow knew each other, and the syndicate that killed federal agents—there was a thread he couldn’t quite see yet.
The weight of it settled heavy across his shoulders as he closed the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning, Wyatt pushed through the station doors at seven-forty-five. Coffee in hand, shoulders squared, trying to look like a man who’d slept more than an hour.
Lucy was on him before he made it three steps.
Not her usual greeting—no tail wag, no playful bounce. Just pressed against his leg, nose working overtime, eyes locked on his face like she was reading something written there.
“Morning, girl.” He scratched behind her ears, but his hand felt mechanical. She didn’t pull away, just stayed glued to his side as he moved deeper into the station.
The squad room was already humming. Kevin had his feet propped on a desk drawer, phone to his ear, laughing at something. Major lay sprawled across the top of the filing cabinet, tail flicking in that slow, judgmental rhythm cats did so well.
Jo sat at her desk, crime scene photos spread in front of her. She glanced up when he walked in, just a flicker of acknowledgment, then went back to her work.
But Wyatt felt her attention stay on him.
He dropped into his chair. The coffee cup hit the desk harder than he meant, liquid sloshing against the lid. Lucy settled at his feet, chin on her paws, still watching.
His computer hummed to life. Login screen. Password. Desktop loading.
He pulled up the case file—the body in the woods. James Cooper. FBI agent. The words blurred, sharpened, blurred again.
He’d already read this. Twice yesterday. Once last night while his mother packed a bag and disappeared into a network of people who knew how to vanish.