She thought about Kevin, and the way he and Bridget had been spending time together lately—Thursday dinners, whispered conversations, the kind of closeness that suggested shared secrets.
Was Bridget hiding something too?
Jo hated herself for even thinking it. This was her sister. The person she’d fought to protect, the person she’d bent rules for. If you couldn’t trust family, who could you trust?
But the question wouldn’t leave her alone.
“You okay?”
Jo blinked. Bridget was watching her, a bowl of stew in each hand, her expression curious.
“What?”
“You’re staring at me like I’m a suspect in one of your cases.” Bridget set the bowls down, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “Do I need a lawyer?”
Jo forced a laugh. “No. Sorry. Long day.”
Bridget studied her for a moment, and Jo had the uncomfortable feeling that her sister could see right through the deflection. But Bridget just nodded and sat down across from her.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.” Jo picked up her spoon, stirring the stew without really seeing it. “Just work stuff.”
“Right.” Bridget’s voice was light, but there was something underneath it. Something Jo might have called careful. “Just work stuff.”
They ate in a silence that felt different from the comfortable quiet they usually shared. Heavier. Full of things neither of them was saying.
That night, Jo lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
The cottage was quiet. Bridget had gone to bed an hour ago, and the only sounds were the familiar creaks and groans of an old house settling. Outside, wind moved through the trees, a soft rustle that usually helped Jo sleep.
Not tonight.
She ran through it again, the way she always did when a case wasn’t coming together. Wyatt. Kevin. Keller. Bridget. Everyoneshe trusted, everyone she worked with—all of them holding something back. All of them wearing masks she couldn’t see behind.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, a dead FBI agent and an organization that killed people for knowing too much.
Jo turned onto her side, punching her pillow into a different shape. It didn’t help.
The worst part wasn’t not knowing what secrets they were keeping. The worst part was the creeping fear that when the truth finally came out, it would change everything.
She needed to find out what was going on. Before whatever was brewing exploded. Before the cracks in her team—in her family—became breaks she couldn’t repair.
Jo closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come.
It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next day, Bridget was wiping down the counter when the bell over the door jingled.
The bakery was nearly empty—just one customer lingering over a latte in the corner, and her coworker restocking the display case. Closing time was fifteen minutes away. Bridget looked up with a practiced smile, ready to apologize that they were almost done for the day.
The smile died on her lips.
Kevin stood in the doorway, and the expression on his face sent ice through her veins. She’d seen him stressed before. Worried. Even scared, once or twice. But this was different. This was the look of a man who’d just realized how deep the water was—and that he was already in over his head.
“We need to talk,” he said. No greeting. No pretense. “Now.”