Sam was already thinking, Jo could see it in his eyes. The tactical calculations, the variables, the ways this could go wrong.
“The old mill,” he said slowly. “I know it. Abandoned for years. Multiple entry points, lots of cover. Good place for an ambush—theirs or ours.”
“They’ll be watching the approaches,” Jo said. “If they see a bunch of cops rolling in?—“
“We don’t roll in. We’re already there.” Sam moved to the window, staring out at the darkening woods. “Wyatt goes in alone, just like they asked. Wired. We position ourselves in the trees, out of sight. Watch for whoever shows up.”
“Shaw,” Kevin said grimly. “We think she’s the inside person.”
“Maybe. Maybe someone else.” Sam turned back to the room. “We don’t know who’s going to walk through that door. Could be Shaw. Could be syndicate muscle. Could be?—“
“My father,” Wyatt finished quietly.
The word hung in the air.
Jo watched Wyatt’s face—the way his expression shuttered, the way his hands curled into fists on his knees. She’d read his file, knew the broad strokes of what his father had done. But seeing it now, the weight of it sitting on Wyatt’s shoulders...
“If it’s him,” Wyatt said, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You don’t have to know.” Sam’s voice was steady. “That’s why we’ll be there. Whatever happens, you’re not alone.”
Wyatt nodded, but Jo could see the doubt in his eyes.
They spent the next hour working through logistics.
Entry points. Sight lines. Communication protocols. What to do if things went sideways. Jo took notes, her handwriting growing tighter as the plan took shape.
“I’ll be in the tree line to the north,” Sam said. “Best vantage point. Lucy stays with me—she’ll alert if anyone approaches from that direction.”
“I’ll take the south approach,” Jo said. “Closer to the access road. If they try to run, I can cut them off.”
Kevin nodded. “I’ll be mobile. Circle the perimeter, watch for anyone trying to flank.”
“And Wyatt goes in alone,” Bridget said quietly. The words weren’t a question.
“Wired,” Sam confirmed. “We’ll hear everything. The moment we have what we need—the moment they incriminate themselves—we move in.”
“What if they don’t incriminate themselves? What if they just take the evidence and leave?”
“Then we follow. Track them. Build a bigger case.” Sam’s jaw tightened. “But these people didn’t kill an FBI agent to be careful. They’ll talk. They always do.”
Jo hoped he was right.
The clock on the wall showed nine-thirty. Outside, full dark had fallen, the woods pressing close around the cottage.
“We should get some rest,” Sam said finally. “Tomorrow’s going to be long.”
No one moved.
Bridget was the first to stand. She crossed to Wyatt, who looked up at her with something like surprise.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For protecting me. For risking everything when you didn’t have to.”
“I had to,” Wyatt said. “You didn’t deserve what they were going to do to you.”
Bridget smiled—small, sad, but real. “None of us deserved any of this.” She glanced around the room. “But we’re going to end it anyway.”
Kevin rose and pulled Bridget into a hug. “You going to be okay?”