Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kevin heard Bridget’s car pull into the driveway and wiped his hands on the dish towel.
Thursday nights had become something he looked forward to more than he probably should—her showing up with whatever recipe she’d been experimenting with, the easy conversation, the way the apartment felt less empty when she was in it.
He opened the door before she could knock.
Bridget stood on the step with a casserole dish in her hands, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Turkey meatloaf,” she said, lifting the dish slightly. “As promised.”
Kevin took it from her, the warmth seeping through the foil. “Smells amazing.” He stepped back to let her in, watching as she shrugged off her coat. Something was off. The way she moved, a little too quick, a little too deliberate. “No sides tonight?”
Bridget froze mid-motion, her coat half on the hook. “What?”
“You always bring a side. The roasted vegetables. The salad. That garlic bread that one time that nearly killed us both.” He kept his tone light, but he was watching her now. Really watching.
She blinked, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I completely forgot.” She finished hanging her coat, but her hands lingered on the fabric a beat too long. “I’ve been... distracted.”
Kevin set the meatloaf on the counter and leaned against the edge, giving her space. “I noticed.”
Bridget’s eyes met his, and for a moment, something flickered there—uncertainty, maybe. Or fear. Then she looked away, moving toward the small kitchen table like she needed something to do with her hands.
They went through the motions of dinner prep. Kevin grabbed plates while Bridget sliced the meatloaf, but the usual rhythm was off. She kept stopping mid-motion, staring at nothing. Twice he caught her looking at him like she was working up to something.
He didn’t push. That was the thing about Bridget—she’d get there when she was ready. Pushing only made her clam up.
Instead, he tried to fill the silence with something lighter.
“Strange day at the station,” he said, setting glasses on the table. “Two FBI agents. That was unexpected.”
Bridget glanced up from the meatloaf. “Yeah. Keller looked like he had no idea Shaw was coming.”
“Right? I was watching his face when she walked in. Genuine confusion.” Kevin grabbed silverware from the drawer. “And then there’s the dogs. I still can’t get over that.”
“Lucy and Shadow.” Bridget’s voice was distracted, but she was listening. “That was... something.”
“I’ve never seen Lucy do that with a strange dog. Tail wagging, pressing up against him like they were old friends.” Kevin shook his head. “Shaw seemed just as surprised. Said her dog never greets other dogs like that.”
“Sam looked like he was trying to solve a puzzle,” Bridget said quietly.
“We never did find out where Lucy came from but she must have had some sort of training.” Kevin said. “Maybe it’s the same for Shadow.”
They sat down to eat, but Bridget barely touched her food. Just moved it around her plate, fork scraping against the ceramic.
“There was tension too,” Kevin continued, partly to fill the silence, partly because it had been nagging at him. “Between Keller and Shaw. They were both being very... professional. Very cooperative. But something was underneath it.”
Bridget glanced up. “I noticed.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing. FBI types can be competitive. Territorial about cases.”
“Or maybe one of them knows something the other doesn’t.”
Kevin paused, fork halfway to his mouth. The way she’d said it—quiet, almost to herself. Like she was thinking about more than just FBI politics.
“Maybe,” he said slowly. “Shaw definitely brought more intel than Keller had shared. Sam noticed that too.”
Bridget didn’t respond. Her fork had stopped moving. She was staring at her plate, but Kevin could tell she wasn’t seeing it.
“Hey.” He kept his voice gentle. “You’ve been off since you came to the station this morning. Before Shaw even showed up.” He set his fork down. “What’s going on?”
Bridget didn’t answer right away. She set the water glass down, her fingers curling around the edge of the table.
Finally, she set the fork down.
“So.” She took a breath. “That thing I texted you about.”
Kevin pushed his own plate aside and gave her his full attention. “I’m listening.”
Bridget’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. “You know I saw something at the station. When I brought the pastries in.”
Kevin nodded. He’d noticed something then too—the way her face had gone pale when she looked at the evidence board, the way she’d covered it with that too-bright smile.
“The crime scene photos,” Bridget continued. “There was an earring in one of them. A black stud. Small. Most people wouldn’t look twice at it.” She paused, her throat working. “But it had an engraving. A broken chain with a single link still intact. Shaped like an eye.”
Kevin frowned. “Okay. What does that mean?”
“It’s a symbol.” Bridget’s voice dropped, and Kevin had to lean in to hear her. “The Binding Chain. That’s what they called themselves. The people I—“ She stopped. Started again. “When I was on the streets, before Jo found me, I ran with some bad people. Did some bad things.”
Kevin stayed quiet. He knew pieces of this—fragments Bridget had shared over late nights and too much wine. But he could tell this was different. Deeper.
“That symbol,” Bridget said, her eyes fixed on some point past his shoulder. “I saw it worn by someone high up. Someone who gave orders.” Her jaw tightened. “Someone who ordered me and a few others to get rid of a body.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Kevin exhaled slowly. His cop brain was already clicking through implications—this could be a major break in the case, a connection they hadn’t even considered. But he kept that locked down. Right now, this wasn’t about the case. This was about Bridget.
“How long ago?” he asked quietly.
“Years. A different life.” She finally looked at him, and the vulnerability in her eyes made his chest ache. “I got out. Built something new. But if that symbol is showing up at a crime scene now...”
“These people are still active,” Kevin finished.
Bridget nodded, her throat tight.
Kevin leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Why are you telling me this and not Jo?”
It wasn’t an accusation. Just a question. But Bridget flinched anyway.
“Because Jo doesn’t know.” The words came out strained. “She knows I had a rough past. She knows I wasn’t exactly a saint. But the body...” Bridget shook her head. “I never told her how deep I was in. How bad it got.”
“She’d understand. Jo’s not—“
“It’s not about understanding.” Bridget’s voice cracked. “If Jo finds out that this case connects to people from my past—people who hurt me, people who made me do things—she’ll go after them. You know she will. She’ll walk right into the middle of it trying to protect me.”
Kevin couldn’t argue with that. Jo’s protective streak ran deep, especially when it came to Bridget.
“Jo can handle herself,” he said, but even as he said it, he knew how weak it sounded.
“These aren’t street thugs, Kevin.” Bridget’s eyes were fierce now, the fear hardening into something sharper. “They killed an FBI agent. And now there’s two FBI agents in town, showing up separately, not even coordinating with each other?” She shook her head. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
Kevin sat back, running a hand through his hair. She wasn’t wrong. The tension between Keller and Shaw, the separate arrivals, the way Shaw had more information than Keller had shared—it didn’t add up to anything clean.
“So what do you want to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” The admission seemed to cost her something. “That’s why I’m telling you. I needed to tell someone, and you’re...” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“I’m what?”
“You’re the person I trust.” She said it simply, like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t the kind of thing that made Kevin’s heart do something complicated in his chest. “I need help figuring out what to do before Jo gets involved. Before she finds out on her own and does something stupid.”
Kevin was quiet for a long moment, turning it over in his mind.
His instincts said they needed to tell Sam and Jo—that keeping something like this under wraps could blow up in all their faces.
But he also understood what Bridget was afraid of.
Jo was fierce and loyal and absolutely capable of putting herself in the crosshairs for the people she loved.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Let me do some digging first. Quietly. See what I can find out about this Binding Chain before we bring anyone else in.”
Bridget’s shoulders dropped with relief. “Really?”
“Just research,” Kevin clarified. “I’m not promising anything. If this thing is as big as you’re saying, we can’t sit on it forever. But a few days to figure out what we’re dealing with—that’s not unreasonable.”
Bridget reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly. “Thank you. I mean it.”
Kevin turned his hand over, letting her grip settle into his palm. “We’re in this together. Whatever it is.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen felt smaller somehow, the space between them charged with something unspoken. Then Bridget pulled back, clearing her throat.
“I should go.” She stood, reaching for her coat. “It’s getting late, and I’ve already dumped enough on you for one night.”
Kevin walked her to the door, the meatloaf sitting forgotten on the counter. At the threshold, Bridget paused, looking back at him.
“Kevin?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. Please.” Her voice was soft. “These people... they don’t play games.”
He nodded. “I will.”
She held his gaze for another heartbeat, then slipped out into the night.
Kevin stood in the doorway, watching her taillights disappear down the street. The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it.
He was keeping secrets from Sam and Jo now. Real secrets. The kind that could fracture a team if they came out wrong.
And somewhere in all of this—between the FBI agents who didn’t trust each other, the dogs who somehow knew each other, and the syndicate that killed federal agents—there was a thread he couldn’t quite see yet.
The weight of it settled heavy across his shoulders as he closed the door.