Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bridget pushed open the glass doors of the White Rock Police Station, the familiar scent of burnt coffee and old paper hitting her immediately. She adjusted the bakery box in her arms and glanced toward the reception desk where Reese was shuffling papers.
Reese looked up, then at the box, then back at Bridget. A slow smile spread across her face.
“Tell me that’s for me.”
Bridget grinned. “Jo told me you guys found a body in the woods. Figured you could use some sugar.”
Reese leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking toward the hallway that led to Sam’s office. “You’re a smart woman, Bridget. They’re all in Sam’s office. Probably still complaining about the FBI.”
“Perfect.” Bridget lifted the box slightly. “You get first pick, though.”
Reese didn’t hesitate, plucking out a glazed croissant and taking a careful bite. Her eyes closed. “You can stay.”
Bridget laughed, giving a mock salute before heading down the hall.
The door to Sam’s office was open when she stepped in. The air inside felt heavier—thick with frustration and the particular tension that came from cops being told to back off their own case.
Jo, Kevin, Wyatt, and Sam were all gathered around Sam’s desk.
A man stood near the window, reviewing a file, keeping a respectful distance from the group.
Jo leaned against the filing cabinet, arms crossed.
Kevin sat sideways in a chair, one leg hooked over the armrest. Wyatt stood near the coffee maker, staring at nothing. Sam was behind his desk, jaw tight.
Lucy lay at Sam’s feet, her head resting on her paws, watching everyone with those alert brown eyes.
The whiteboard behind them was covered in crime scene photos and scribbled notes—strings of information connected by arrows and question marks.
“Bridget, you are my favorite person right now,” Jo declared the moment she saw the box.
“You say that,” Kevin said, already reaching for a pastry, “but I don’t see you sharing.”
Bridget set the box down on the desk. “No fighting. There’s enough for everyone.”
Kevin grabbed a chocolate muffin. Jo snagged a danish, powdered sugar immediately dusting her fingers.
Even Wyatt took something—a plain croissant—though his expression remained distant, elsewhere.
Sam muttered a thanks, taking a glazed croissant.
Keller shook his head politely when offered, but there was something almost wistful in the gesture, like he remembered a time when he would have said yes.
“What’s the latest?” Bridget asked, keeping her tone casual.
“Agent Keller’s been filling us in on what Cooper was investigating,” Sam nodded to the man. “Organized crime syndicate. Been operating in the region for over a decade.”
Keller looked up from his file. “Cooper was getting close. Too close, apparently.” His voice was steady, but the grief underneath it was audible. “He’d identified several front businesses, money laundering operations. The kind of evidence that could bring down the whole network.”
“And now it’s gone,” Jo said flatly. “Along with Cooper.”
Keller nodded. “Which is why I’m hoping we can pool resources. You know this town, these people. I know the syndicate’s patterns, their methods.” He closed the file. “Together, we might be able to find what Cooper found—and the people who killed him for it.”
Before anyone could respond, Reese’s voice carried down the hall—professional but with a note of surprise.
“Can I help you?”
A woman’s voice answered, calm and measured. “Agent Lennox Shaw, FBI. I’m here about the Cooper case.”
The room went still.
Sam and Keller exchanged a look. Keller’s brow furrowed—genuine confusion crossing his features.
“Another agent?” Sam asked quietly.
Keller shook his head, his expression troubled. “I wasn’t told anyone else was coming.”
Footsteps approached down the hall. Lucy’s head came up, her ears pricking forward. But instead of the wariness she’d shown with strangers, her tail began to thump against the floor.
The woman who appeared in the doorway was tall and lean, with medium blonde hair and the kind of face that had seen things and catalogued them for later use.
She wore a practical blazer over a dark shirt, her FBI credentials visible on her belt.
But what drew everyone’s attention was the dog at her side.
A black German Shepherd. Large, well-muscled, with intelligent eyes that swept the room the same way his handler’s did. He wore a working harness, the kind K-9 units used, but there was something different about him—something that suggested his training went beyond standard police work.
Lucy was already on her feet, tail wagging in earnest now. She padded toward the German Shepherd, and something remarkable happened.
The big shepherd’s entire demeanor changed.
His tail began to wag, slow at first, then faster.
He lowered his head, and Lucy pressed her nose against his.
They circled each other once, twice, tails wagging in sync, and then Lucy gave a soft whuff of greeting—the sound she usually reserved for people she loved.
The room watched in stunned silence.
“Well,” Shaw said, a hint of dry humor in her voice. “That’s new.”
Sam stared at Lucy, then at the shepherd. “They know each other?”
“Apparently.” Shaw crouched down, watching the two dogs with open curiosity. “Shadow doesn’t do that. Not with dogs he’s just met.” She looked up at Sam. “What’s your girl’s name?”
“Lucy.”
“Lucy,” Shaw repeated, watching as Shadow pressed his shoulder against Lucy’s side in what could only be described as affection. “Shadow’s been my partner for four years. I’ve never seen him greet another dog like that. Not once.”
Lucy’s tail hadn’t stopped wagging. She looked up at Sam with an expression that seemed to say I know him.
Shaw stood, brushing off her knees. “Shadow has somewhat of a mysterious past. Where did Lucy come from?”
“Same. Just wandered out of the woods one day.”
“Huh, maybe they do know each other.”
Keller stepped forward, his confusion now edged with something else—professional wariness. “Agent Shaw. I wasn’t informed the Bureau was sending additional personnel.”
“It’s a new development.” Shaw’s voice was pleasant, but there was steel underneath it. “I requested the assignment when I heard about Cooper.”
“You knew him?”
“We crossed paths a few years back. Different case, same kind of people.” She moved into the room, Shadow falling into step beside her. Lucy followed, staying close to Shadow like she’d found an old friend. “When I heard what happened, I wanted to help.”
Sam watched her carefully. There was something she wasn’t saying—he could feel it. But her credentials were real, her presence wasn’t hostile, and Lucy trusted the dog she’d brought. That counted for something.
“What can you tell us that we don’t already know?” he asked.
Shaw glanced at the whiteboard, her eyes moving across the photos and notes with practiced efficiency.
“The syndicate Cooper was investigating has been on the Bureau’s radar for years, but we’ve never been able to get enough evidence for prosecution.
They’re careful. Patient. They don’t make mistakes. ”
“Until now,” Jo said.
Shaw’s expression flickered. “Killing a federal agent isn’t a mistake. It’s a statement.” She looked at Keller. “You were his partner. What was the last thing he reported?”
Keller hesitated for just a moment—so brief that only someone looking for it would have noticed. “He said he’d found something. Something big. But he wanted to verify before he shared it.” His voice roughened. “I told him to be careful. That was the last time we spoke.”
Shaw nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on Keller a moment longer than necessary. Then she turned back to Sam. “I’d like to review whatever evidence you’ve collected. Fresh eyes might catch something.”
“That can be arranged.” Sam looked at Keller. “You two can coordinate. Share what you have.”
“Of course,” Keller said smoothly. But there was something in his expression—a flicker of unease that was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
Shaw caught it. Sam caught her catching it.
The room had gotten more complicated.
“In the meantime,” Shaw said, reaching into her bag and producing a folder, “I brought everything I could pull on the Binding Chain’s known operations in New England. Properties, businesses, suspected members. It’s not complete, but it’s a start.”
She handed the folder to Sam. He flipped it open, scanning the contents. It was more than Keller had shared—more detailed, more recent. He looked up at her.
“This is good work.”
“I’ve been tracking these people for a while.” Shaw’s voice was quiet. “Cooper’s not the first agent they’ve killed. He’s just the first one we can prove.”
The words hung in the air.
Keller’s face remained carefully neutral, but something shifted behind his eyes.
“We should compare notes,” he said to Shaw. “See where our information overlaps.”
“Agreed.” Shaw nodded, professional and cooperative.
Bridget had been half-listening to the exchange, watching the two FBI agents circle each other with the wariness of cats meeting for the first time. But her attention kept drifting back to the whiteboard.
She hadn’t meant to look at the crime scene photos. She wasn’t a cop—this wasn’t her case. But the images were right there, pinned up in neat rows.
Wide shots of the woods. Close-ups of disturbed earth. A body, face-down, partially covered by leaves.
Her eyes moved across them, almost absently.
Then they stopped.
One photo. Smaller than the rest. A close-up of evidence laid out on a white background.
A small earring.
Simple. Unobtrusive.
Except for the design.
A broken chain with a single, intact link—shaped like an eye.
Bridget’s breath caught in her throat.
The room didn’t go quiet. Shaw was explaining something about syndicate patterns, Keller was nodding along, Kevin was asking questions. But the sound became distant, muffled, like she’d been shoved underwater.
Her fingers curled against her palms.
She knew that symbol.
The memory surfaced like something dragged up from deep water. Cold. Sharp. Unwanted.
Years ago. Back when she was on the streets. When survival meant doing what you were told and not asking questions.
Something just like that had been worn by the person who’d given the orders. The person who’d looked at her and others like they were tools. Disposable.
The person who’d told them to get rid of a body.
Her stomach twisted.
She could see it now—the glint of metal catching streetlight. The way the chain had swayed when the person moved. The eye-shaped link that had always seemed to be watching.
But that was years ago. A different life. A different Bridget.
This couldn’t be connected. Could it?
“You good?”
The voice cut through the fog.
She turned sharply. Kevin was watching her, concern in his eyes.
For a split second, she thought she’d let something show—a flicker of panic, recognition, the way her hands had gone rigid at her sides. But she recovered quickly, forcing her shoulders to relax, her mouth to curve into something close to a smile.
“Yeah.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “Just thinking about work.”
Kevin’s eyes lingered on her for a beat longer than comfortable. Not suspicious, exactly. Just... noticing.
Then he shrugged and took another bite. “Dangerous habit.”
Bridget made herself stay a few more minutes, made herself say goodbye to Jo, made herself walk out of the station like nothing had changed.
Her phone was in her hand before she reached her car.
Still on for dinner tonight?
Kevin’s reply came fast. Turkey meatloaf Thursday. Wouldn’t miss it.
She typed back: Good. I need to talk to you about something.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Sounds serious, everything ok? You seemed off just now.
I don’t know. See you at 7.
She pocketed the phone, glanced once more at the station doors, then made herself walk to her car like everything was normal.
Even though nothing was.