“I’ll be fine. Jo’s here.” Bridget squeezed him tight, then stepped back. “Go. Get some sleep. You’ve got a long night tomorrow.”
He kissed her forehead—quick, gentle—then headed for the door. Sam and Lucy followed, Sam pausing to grip Wyatt’s shoulder.
“Get some rest,” Sam said. “That’s an order.”
Wyatt managed a weak smile. “Yes, sir.”
Then they were gone, taillights disappearing down the dark road.
Jo stood at the window, watching until the last glow faded into the trees. Behind her, she heard Bridget moving around the kitchen, putting away the untouched casserole. The soft pad of Wyatt’s footsteps as he gathered his things.
“Jo.”
She turned. Wyatt stood by the door, the evidence box tucked under his arm again.
“Thank you,” he said. “For believing me. For not—“ He stopped, struggling for words.
“For not treating you like a traitor?”
“Yeah.”
Jo crossed to him, stopping close enough to see the exhaustion in his eyes, the fear he was trying so hard to hide.
“You’re not a traitor, Wyatt. You’re someone who got caught in an impossible situation and tried to do the right thing.” She put a hand on his arm. “Tomorrow night, we finish this. Together.”
Wyatt nodded. For a moment, he looked like he might say something else. Then he just squeezed her hand and slipped out into the night.
Jo locked the door behind him and leaned her forehead against the cool wood.
Twenty-four hours.
She hoped it would be enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The day of the operation crawled by like a wounded animal.
Jo arrived at the station early, before the sun had fully cleared the trees. She needed the quiet—time to think, to steady herself before the chaos of the day began. Lucy was already there, curled near Sam's office door, which meant Sam had beaten her in. Of course he had. The man probably hadn't slept at all.
She poured herself a coffee she didn't want and settled at her desk, pulling up case files she had no intention of reading. The evidence box was locked in Sam's office now, waiting. Everything was in place.
All they had to do was survive the next sixteen hours.
Kevin arrived at seven-thirty, looking about as rested as Jo felt. He dropped into his chair with a grunt and immediately started typing—busywork, same as her. Something to do with his hands while his mind churned through everything that could go wrong tonight.
Wyatt came in fifteen minutes later, and Jo had to give him credit—he looked almost normal. A little pale, maybe. A little tight around the eyes. But he walked to his desk with the samesteady stride he always used, nodded to Reese, scratched Lucy behind the ears.
If she didn't know better, she'd think it was any other day.
But she did know better. And so did everyone else.
The morning passed in fragments. Phone calls that didn't matter. Paperwork that would still be there tomorrow. The station filled with its usual sounds—voices, footsteps, the gurgle of the coffee maker—but underneath it all was a tension that hummed like a live wire.
Keller arrived at ten.
Jo saw him come through the front door—that measured stride, the professional smile he gave Reese—and felt her shoulders tense. He'd been watching them yesterday. He knew something was happening.
The question was what he planned to do about it.