Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Wyatt was halfway through his morning coffee when his phone buzzed. Unknown number.
He almost ignored it. Almost.
His coffee turned to acid in his stomach.
The case number was old, something from long ago.
Why would his father be interested in that? And what did he want?
Another text: Don't make us remind you what's at stake.
He didn't need reminding. His mother's face flashed in his mind. The way she'd looked when they'd finally escaped. The years of hiding, rebuilding, pretending to be someone else.
A third text: One week.
Wyatt set the phone down. His hand was steady, but his pulse wasn't.
His phone buzzed again.
This time, no words. Just a list.
Names. Dates. Locations. Line after line of details his father wanted scrubbed from the file. Witnesses redacted. Connections erased. Evidence altered so carefully that no one would ever notice the seams.
Wyatt scrolled through the changes, his stomach turning with each one. This wasn't a quick fix. This was surgery. Hours of work, maybe days, all while pretending everything was fine. All while sitting ten feet from Sam and Jo and Kevin, people who trusted him.
Could he even do it without getting caught? If the files were digitized, access was tracked. If not, how could he possibly alter paper?
Did he even want to?
He stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Then another message came through.
That's not all.
Wyatt's throat tightened.
Case 2012-0847. Evidence box. Physical item inside needs to disappear.
He read the words three times, each time hoping he'd misunderstood.
Physical evidence.
Not digital records he could alter from behind a keyboard. Not files he could access through his ghost protocols. An actual item sitting in the evidence lockup at White Rock Police Station.
They wanted him to steal it.
His phone buzzed again.
Box cutter. Old case. Prints were never processed. Technology's better now. You understand the problem.
He understood. A decade-old piece of evidence with prints that couldn't be analyzed back then—but could be now. Someone's fingerprints on that blade. Someone who was still active. Still dangerous. Still connected to his father's organization.
If that evidence got processed with modern forensics, it could unravel everything.
Another text: Digital changes buy us time. Physical evidence is the real threat. Handle both.
Wyatt set the phone down and pressed his palms flat against the kitchen table, willing his hands to stop shaking.
Altering digital records was wrong. He knew that. But he'd justified it to himself—protecting his mother, buying time, keeping the people he cared about safe. It was surgery performed in shadows, invisible wounds that might never be discovered.
But stealing physical evidence?
That was different.
That meant walking into the evidence room at the station where he worked. Signing the log. Looking Reese in the eye while he checked out a box. And then making that box—or something inside it—disappear.
That meant becoming exactly what his father wanted him to be.
A criminal. A thief. A traitor to everything the badge was supposed to mean.
His phone buzzed one final time.
One week. Both tasks. Don't disappoint us.
Wyatt shoved the phone in his pocket and grabbed his jacket.
He didn't have an answer yet.
But he had six days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-eight minutes to find one.
Wyatt forced himself to walk into White Rock Police Station at exactly seven-forty-five am, just like always. His steps felt mechanical, practiced, each one a conscious effort to appear normal.
Reese glanced up from her desk, already sorting through what a box of donuts. “Morning! I brought donuts. Sam and the others are in his office. They’ve been there for a while.”
“Thanks.” His voice came out steady. Good. He was getting better at this.
Lucy bounded over from her spot near the door, tail wagging. But instead of her usual enthusiastic greeting, she pressed against his leg and looked up at him with worried eyes.
“I’m fine, girl,” he murmured, scratching behind her ears. The lie felt bitter on his tongue.
He headed for the k-cup machine, desperate for something normal to do with his hands. Major sat atop the filing cabinet beside it, green eyes following his every move. The cat’s tail moved in slow, deliberate sweeps as Wyatt selected a pod and started the machine.
“You know something, don’t you?” he muttered to Major, the quiet whir of the coffee maker masking his words. The cat just blinked, looking entirely too knowing for Wyatt’s comfort.
The coffee machine hummed. Three sugars, no cream. Normal routine. Normal morning. Just act normal.
Sam’s office door was open, voices drifting out. Wyatt grabbed his coffee and headed that way, Lucy padding beside him. He could do this. Just another day at work.
Then he stepped into Sam’s office and his world tilted sideways.
Sam stood at his desk, spreading crime scene photos across the cork board behind it. Kevin leaned against the wall, flipping through a file. Jo sat perched on the edge of Sam’s desk, studying a report.
“Morning,” Sam said without looking up. “Grab a seat. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
Wyatt’s eyes caught on the first photo Sam had pinned up. Just a corner of fabric at first. Dark denim. Then more photos. A button-down shirt, wrinkled and dirty.
His coffee cup suddenly felt too hot in his hands.
“Victim was found by a hiker,” Jo said, consulting her notes. “M.E. puts time of death between midnight and two AM.”
Just hours before Wyatt had found...
No. Don’t think about that.
Sam pinned up another photo. This one showed more of the scene. The body lay face-down, partially covered by leaves.
“Cause of death was blunt force trauma,” Kevin added. “M.E. found tree bark embedded in the wounds. Whoever did this used a branch or log.”
The coffee burned Wyatt’s throat as he took a careful sip. “Random attack?”
“No.” Sam’s voice was firm. “This was planned. Professional.” He pointed to another photo. “See the positioning? Body was moved twice. First dump site was about thirty feet from where we found him.”
Jo nodded. “Lucy picked up the scent trail. Whoever moved him waited at the first spot for a while.”
Lucy pressed against Wyatt’s leg, a warm reminder of reality.
“Lab results came back on some of those fibers we found,” Kevin said, shuffling papers. “Dark gray carpeting, probably automotive. Pretty distinctive weave pattern -- they’re running it against manufacturer databases.”
The coffee cup trembled slightly in Wyatt’s hand. He set it down before anyone could notice.
“No ID on the body,” Sam continued, pinning up the last photo. “Wallet, phone, everything’s gone.”
And there it was. The full scene. The body Wyatt had found in his trunk, now laid out in the woods for the police to find.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Major appeared in the doorway, tail swishing slowly as he regarded Wyatt with those unnervingly intelligent eyes.
“The bruising pattern is interesting,” Jo said, moving closer to the board. “These marks here? Almost like he was restrained before the attack.”
“But no marks on the wrists,” Sam pointed out. “Whatever held him didn’t leave traces.”
Wyatt’s phone buzzed again.
Lucy whined softly, pressing closer to his leg.
Voices drifted in from reception, one unfamiliar and official-sounding.
Lucy’s ears pricked forward, her body tensing slightly against Wyatt’s leg.
“Chief?” Reese appeared in the doorway, her usual easy smile replaced by something more professional. “There’s an FBI agent here to see you.”
Sam straightened, exchanging a quick look with Jo.
“Send him in.”
Reese nodded and disappeared. A moment later, she returned with a man in a dark suit, his badge held loosely at his side rather than thrust forward.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of weathered face that came from years of hard cases and harder choices.
But what struck Wyatt first was the exhaustion in his eyes—the deep, hollow look of someone running on fumes and willpower.
“Agent Nelson Keller,” the man said, his voice quieter than Wyatt expected. His gaze moved across the room before landing on the crime scene photos, and something flickered across his face. Pain. Recognition. “And I’m afraid you’ve found my partner.”
Jo straightened. “Your partner?”
Lucy had moved to Sam’s side, positioning herself between her team and the newcomer. She watched Keller with the careful wariness she showed all strangers—not aggressive, just assessing.
Keller noticed. He stopped a few feet from Sam’s desk and crouched down slowly, extending the back of his hand toward Lucy. “Hey there,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
Lucy sniffed his hand cautiously. Her tail didn’t wag, but she didn’t growl either. After a moment, she sat back on her haunches, apparently satisfied that he wasn’t an immediate threat.
“She’s particular about people,” Sam said, watching the exchange.
“Smart dog.” Keller straightened, and the weight seemed to settle back onto his shoulders. “Agent James Cooper. He was—“ His voice caught slightly, and he cleared his throat. “He was working deep cover. Investigating a crime syndicate in the area. I was his handler.”
“What kind of syndicate?” Jo asked, her tone softer now.
Keller moved toward the evidence board, but he didn’t crowd it the way some federal agents did.
He kept a respectful distance, studying the photos with the careful attention of someone who’d seen too many crime scenes.
“The kind that’s been systematically taking over small towns across New England.
They start with legitimate businesses, then branch into drugs, weapons, protection rackets.
By the time anyone realizes what’s happening, they’re already embedded in the community. ”
“And Agent Cooper was investigating them?” Sam asked.
“He’d made progress. Significant progress.” Keller’s jaw tightened, and for a moment his composure cracked. “Then three days ago, he missed his check-in. I knew—“ He stopped, shook his head. “I hoped I was wrong.”
The room was quiet. Even Major had gone still on top of the filing cabinet.
“You think they made him?” Kevin asked gently.
“I think they did more than that.” Keller’s voice was rough.
He pointed to the photos, but his hand wasn’t quite steady.
“This wasn’t just a murder. It was a message.
To us. To anyone thinking of investigating them.
” He turned to face them, and there was something raw in his expression—grief barely held in check by professional discipline.
“They’re telling us they can get to anyone, anywhere. Even federal agents.”
Wyatt’s stomach twisted. His phone buzzed again in his pocket.
Sam’s eyes narrowed, but there was understanding in them now. “You have suspects?”
“Several organizations we’re looking into.
” Keller pulled a folder from his briefcase—Wyatt hadn’t even noticed he was carrying one—and handed it to Sam.
“Everything I can share is in there. I know this is your jurisdiction, and I know how federal involvement can feel like an intrusion. But Cooper was...” He paused, collecting himself.
“Cooper was a good man. A good agent. I want to find who did this. I’m hoping we can work together. ”
Sam took the folder, studying Keller for a long moment. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he nodded. “Jo, I want you coordinating with Agent Keller. Kevin, work with forensics on those carpet fibers. Wyatt, help Jo compile the evidence we have so far.”
Wyatt nodded, grateful for a task that would keep him close to what was happening. His phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.
“I appreciate this, Chief,” Keller said. “I know it’s not easy, having the Bureau walk into your house. But these people—they’re professionals. They have eyes everywhere. If we’re going to catch them, we need to share what we know.”
“Understood.” Sam’s voice had lost some of its earlier edge. “We’ll handle it carefully.”
Lucy had settled at Sam’s feet, still watching Keller but no longer on high alert.
Major’s tail flicked once, twice. The cat’s gaze never wavered.
“Alright,” Sam said. “Let’s get to work. Jo, my office. Everyone else, you have your assignments.”
Wyatt stood, phone heavy in his pocket. As he turned to leave, he caught Sam watching him with that careful look he’d been giving him lately.
They knew something was wrong with him.
But they had no idea how wrong.
Or how deep this went.
The stakes had just gotten impossibly high.
And Wyatt had no choice but to play along.
For now.