Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
ZARA
The downtown gazebo glowed with white lights, surrounded by a crowd of bundled-up locals and tourists singing along with the carolers.
Their voices rose in harmony, filling the cold air with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”—the kind of holiday magic that might normally make Leavenworth feel like stepping into a snow globe.
Tonight, it felt like a mockery.
I stood at the edge of the crowd with Chloe, my hands shoved deep into my coat pockets, watching the carolers’ breath clouds in the cold air. Their faces were flushed with joy and Christmas spirit, completely oblivious to the fact that a good man they adored sat in a jail cell.
“So what’s our next move?” Chloe asked quietly, her eyes on the carolers but her mind clearly elsewhere. “Do we even have a next move?”
I didn’t answer immediately. What could I say? That Thorne had ordered us back to Seattle in the morning? That Beverly had won? That Sam was being processed and transferred, and there was nothing I could do about it?
“Zara?”
“I’m not going back.”
Chloe’s head snapped toward me. “What?”
“To Seattle,” I clarified. “I’m not going back in the morning.”
“Are you …?” She lowered her voice even further. “Are you quitting your job?”
“No.” The word came out automatically, but then I paused, really thinking about it. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s tempting, though.” I looked at her. “Is it possible I’ve outgrown the Bureau?”
Chloe’s expression morphed into something between sympathy and amusement.
“You haven’t outgrown the job, Zara. You’ve outgrown the people.
You’re too smart for the bureaucracy, too principled for their politics, and way too stubborn to play by Beverly’s rules.
” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “And I’m sure you’re qualified for a thousand different jobs if you were really thinking about leaving.
But …” Her voice caught slightly. “I would miss you.”
“I’d miss you too.” The admission made my throat tight. “Well, this gives me something to think about, I guess."
We fell silent as “Deck the Halls” began, the carolers’ voices blending harmoniously. The crowd swayed, holding up phone lights like tiny stars. It was beautiful and everything else that Christmas was supposed to be.
And I’d never felt more lost.
My phone rang.
Jarring and out of place.
I pulled it from my pocket and looked at the caller ID.
CHELAN COUNTY REGIONAL JUSTICE CENTER.
My heart stopped. I’d created an account and registered my phone number with them, just in case Sam wanted to call me from jail, but I didn’t think he actually would.
I showed Chloe the screen.
“Pick up!” she hissed. “Pick up right now!”
My hands shook as I yanked off my glove and swiped to answer the call. Before I could say hello, an automated message cut through: “This call is being monitored and recorded. This call is from an inmate at Chelan County Regional Justice Center. To accept charges, press one. To decline—”
I stabbed the number one so hard I nearly dropped the phone.
A click. Static. Then—
“Hello?”
His voice hit me hard.
Relief and anguish all at once.
“Sam …” I turned away from the carolers, pressing my free hand to my other ear to block out the singing. “I can’t believe you’re calling me. Shouldn’t you be using your one phone call to contact a lawyer?”
“I just needed to hear your voice,” he said.
My eyes burned. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m settling in nicely.” His tone was almost light, conversational. “I have some wonderful roommates—one of them even gave me tips on winning a bar fight. And I’m looking forward to dinner because I hear the jail bratwurst is to die for.”
I couldn’t believe he still had his sense of humor. Locked up in a jail cell, facing federal charges, and he was making jokes.
“When you get out,” I said, fighting the lump in my throat, “we’ll have to celebrate by going back to München Haus and getting you the real deal again. And I’ll do my best not to punch you this time.”
“Count me in—I can practically smell those sandwiches from here.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone shifted slightly—still casual, but more deliberate.
“Speaking of which—remember that interesting scent at the library the other morning? The one you tried to get rid of with the air freshener?”
Why on earth would he want to talk about Beverly’s perfume of all things? The sudden change of topics made my eyes twitch.
“I remember, of course,” I said carefully, curious about where this was going. “Why?”
“Sniff around and see if you can figure out what it’s connected to, you know, the source of the problem,” Sam said.
“Because where you find a single bloom, you often find the roots of the entire garden. It might be worth digging deeper into the soil beneath the original source to see what unexpected branches are drawing water from the same place.”
Sam was definitely talking in code. The call was being recorded—he couldn’t say anything directly incriminating or give me specific instructions that would tip off the police or FBI.
He wanted me to do a background check on Beverly and see if she was connected to someone with authority, someone corrupt, someone higher in the ranks, maybe someone who was giving her the actual orders.
“Okay, I can do that,” I said.
“And I hope you won’t let the fact that I’m in jail stop you from continuing to volunteer for us,” Sam said, his voice casual. “I have a new project at the library, if you’re interested.”
“Of course,” I said. “Whatever you need. Just ask.”
“You’re too kind,” he said. “I want to take some exterior shots of the library for social media. Shoot them from across the street at Kaiserhof restaurant. They have the best view of the library, especially in the morning when the sun is coming up and hitting our building. It’s practically a spotlight. ”
It was amazing how easy it was to dissect his words.
He also wanted me to get the security footage from the restaurant that would show the street and the library entrance. Footage that might show Beverly breaking in during the morning hours before the library had opened that day to access his computer and plant evidence.
“Sounds like a fun project,” I said. “Speaking of fun, I want to jot down some ideas on how you can improve the library database. Do you have any notepads at work that I can use?”
“Not me—I don’t use them,” he answered, giving me everything I needed to know. “Ask Eleanor, she may have some.”
I knew it.
Beverly had planted the notepad at his desk.
The smoking gun was actually a smoking mirror.
“Thanks,” I said.
“None of this is your fault,” Sam said. “Remember that—”
“That’s enough,” the correctional officer said to Sam, then the line suddenly went dead.
I stood there frozen, the phone still pressed to my ear, listening to the silence where his voice had been. Around me, the carolers launched into “Joy to the World,” their voices bright and triumphant.
My mind was spinning through everything Sam had just told me in our carefully coded conversation.
He’d given me a roadmap. He’d handed me the keys to dismantling Beverly’s entire case and getting him out of jail.
All while being recorded. All without saying a single thing that could incriminate either of us.
I lowered the phone and looked at Chloe, shaking my head.
“Zara?” She grabbed my arm. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost.” I started walking, pulling her with me. “A trap.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Kaiserhof Restaurant—they have security cameras pointed at the library. If Beverly broke in that morning to plant evidence, they’ll have footage of it. That will change everything.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “Holy crap.”
“And the notepad they found? The ‘incriminating’ handwritten notes?” I was moving faster now, practically running. “Sam says he doesn’t use notepads. Never has. Which means—”
“Beverly planted it.”
“And that means the writing on the notepad is not his, which would be easy to prove.” My breath came in sharp gasps, partly from the cold, partly from adrenaline.
“We need that footage before it gets overwritten or mysteriously disappears. Before someone realizes what it shows. That is more than enough to get the judge to toss out the case.”
Chloe matched my pace, her expression shifting from shock to fierce determination. “Then what are we waiting for?”
We broke into a run, leaving the carolers and their Christmas magic behind. We had evidence to find and a case to solve.
And maybe—just maybe—a man to save.