“Get some rest,” Sam said finally. “Both of you. Tomorrow we plan this out properly.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The station felt different the next morning.
Jo noticed it the moment she walked in—the way Kevin's eyes found hers across the room, the slight nod that saidwe need to talk. The way Wyatt sat rigid at his desk, pretending to work while his gaze kept drifting toward Sam's office. The way Sam himself stood at his window, coffee untouched, watching the parking lot like he was expecting trouble.
Jo had called Kevin on her way home from Sam's place, giving him the short version—Wyatt's father, the syndicate, the pressure he'd been under. Kevin had listened in silence, then said only, "And Bridget?" Jo had assured him Wyatt had been protecting her all along. The relief in Kevin's voice had been palpable. She'd promised to fill Bridget in gently, prepare her for what was coming.
They all knew something had shifted. Last night at Sam's cabin had changed everything.
Now they had to figure out what to do about it.
Jo dropped her bag at her desk and made a show of booting up her computer. Reese was at the front, sorting mail. Major dozed on the filing cabinet. Lucy lay near Sam's door, head on her paws, but her eyes were open. Watching.
The station's normal morning sounds—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the coffee maker gurgling—felt like camouflage. A thin layer of routine stretched over something much more dangerous.
Kevin wandered over with a file folder, leaning against the edge of Jo's desk like he was asking about a case. His voice was low.
"We need to move tonight. The longer we wait?—"
"I know." Jo kept her eyes on her screen. "Sam's thinking the same thing. We need a place to meet. Somewhere private."
"Your cottage?"
Jo nodded slightly. "Bridget needs to know what's happening. This affects her too."
"Agreed." Kevin straightened, tapping the folder against his palm. "I'll let Wyatt know."
He drifted back to his desk, and Jo let out a slow breath. This was the hard part—acting normal when nothing was normal. Pretending the world hadn't tilted on its axis.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Sam:My office. Five minutes. Just you and Wyatt.
Jo waited the full five minutes, then stood and stretched like she needed a coffee refill. She caught Wyatt's eye on her way past his desk—a flicker of acknowledgment—and he followed a moment later.
Sam's office door was open. He was standing by the window, Lucy at his feet.
"Close the door," he said quietly.
Jo did. Wyatt took the chair across from Sam's desk, his knee bouncing with nervous energy.
"We need the box cutter," Sam said without preamble. "If Wyatt's going to set up a meet, he needs to have something to offer. Something real."
Wyatt's face went pale. "You want me to actually take it from evidence?"
"I want you to sign it out properly. Chain of custody. Your name on the log." Sam's voice was steady. "If this goes wrong, I want documentation that shows we did this by the book."
"And if it goes right?"
"Then we catch whoever shows up, and the evidence goes right back where it belongs." Sam turned from the window. "But we do this clean. No shortcuts."
Jo watched Wyatt process this. He'd been so afraid of crossing that line—stealing evidence, becoming what his father wanted him to be. But this was different. This was controlled. Documented. A trap instead of a betrayal.
"Okay," Wyatt said finally. "When?"
"Now. Before the station gets busy." Sam grabbed his keys. "I'll walk you down. Jo, stay here. Keep an eye on things."
They slipped out, and Jo moved to Sam's window, watching the parking lot through the blinds. A few cars. Nothing out of the ordinary.