Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning, Wyatt pushed through the station doors at seven-forty-five. Coffee in hand, shoulders squared, trying to look like a man who’d slept more than an hour.
Lucy was on him before he made it three steps.
Not her usual greeting—no tail wag, no playful bounce. Just pressed against his leg, nose working overtime, eyes locked on his face like she was reading something written there.
“Morning, girl.” He scratched behind her ears, but his hand felt mechanical. She didn’t pull away, just stayed glued to his side as he moved deeper into the station.
The squad room was already humming. Kevin had his feet propped on a desk drawer, phone to his ear, laughing at something. Major lay sprawled across the top of the filing cabinet, tail flicking in that slow, judgmental rhythm cats did so well.
Jo sat at her desk, crime scene photos spread in front of her. She glanced up when he walked in, just a flicker of acknowledgment, then went back to her work.
But Wyatt felt her attention stay on him.
He dropped into his chair. The coffee cup hit the desk harder than he meant, liquid sloshing against the lid. Lucy settled at his feet, chin on her paws, still watching.
His computer hummed to life. Login screen. Password. Desktop loading.
He pulled up the case file—the body in the woods. James Cooper. FBI agent. The words blurred, sharpened, blurred again.
He’d already read this. Twice yesterday. Once last night while his mother packed a bag and disappeared into a network of people who knew how to vanish.
But he stared at the screen anyway, pretending the words meant something new.
“There’s more pastries up front if you want one,” Kevin called over, phone finally down. “Pretty sure there’s still a few left before Reese eats them all.”
“I’m good.”
Kevin shrugged and went back to his paperwork.
Wyatt scrolled. Autopsy notes. Blunt force trauma. Tree bark in the wounds. Time of death between midnight and two AM.
His eyes weren’t moving. He was staring at the same paragraph, seeing nothing.
Outside the window, a car door slammed. His pulse kicked. Just a civilian dropping off something at the front desk. Not his father. Not a threat.
He forced his eyes to move down the screen. Fiber analysis. Carpet samples. Automotive origin.
Lucy shifted at his feet. Her tail thumped once against the floor, then stopped.
Jo’s chair creaked. When he glanced up, she was looking at him. Not suspicious exactly. Just... observing. The way she watched crime scenes, taking in details most people missed.
He looked back at his screen.
“Hey, Wyatt.”
Kevin’s voice made him flinch. Just barely. Just enough that Lucy’s head came up.
“Yeah?”
“Your mom doing better?”
The question landed like a punch he should’ve seen coming.
“Yeah. Much better.” The words came out too fast, too smooth. Rehearsed. “Just needed rest and some antibiotics.”
Kevin nodded, already moving on. “That’s good. My mom used to get sick every winter. Drove her crazy.”
Wyatt managed something that might’ve been a smile.
Jo’s pen tapped against her desk. Three times. Then stopped.
Sam’s office door opened. “Team meeting. Five minutes.”
Relief hit Wyatt so hard he had to grip the edge of his desk. Structure. Orders. Something to follow that wasn’t his own spiraling thoughts.
He stood, coffee in hand, Lucy immediately at his heel.
Sam’s office was small, barely big enough for all of them. Sam took his usual spot behind the desk. Jo stood next to the window. Kevin leaned against the filing cabinet. Wyatt positioned himself by the doorframe—always by the door, always with a clear line to the exit.
Old habits.
Agent Keller was already there, standing near Sam’s desk with a folder in hand. He nodded at them as they filed in, his expression tired but professional. The grief from yesterday was still there, visible in the lines around his eyes, but he’d gotten it under control.
Sam spread his notes across the desk. “Agent Keller’s been sharing what the Bureau has. Victim was undercover, investigating organized crime moving into the region.”
Kevin leaned forward. “What kind of organized crime?”
“The kind with roots,” Sam said. “Not street gangs. Not drug dealers working corners. This is bigger. Corporate fronts, money laundering, connections that go deep.”
Wyatt’s fingers tightened around his coffee cup.
“Cooper was close to something,” Sam continued. “Close enough to get killed for it.”
Jo’s gaze flicked to the pictures tacked to the corkboard on the wall. “The dump site was staged. Whoever did this wanted us to find him.”
“Message killing,” Kevin said.
“Exactly.” Sam’s eyes moved around the room, landing on each of them. “Which means they’re not done. This was a warning.”
The words hung in the air.
The front door opened, and footsteps approached down the hall. A moment later, Shaw appeared in the doorway, Shadow at her side. Lucy’s tail immediately started wagging, and Shadow’s ears perked forward.
“Sorry I’m late,” Shaw said. “Had to make a call to Quantico.” She glanced at the assembled team, then at Keller. “What did I miss?”
“Just getting started,” Sam said. “Come in.”
Shaw stepped inside, finding a spot along the wall. Shadow settled at her feet, but his eyes kept drifting to Lucy. The two dogs seemed to be having their own silent conversation.
“We were discussing the staged nature of the crime scene,” Jo said. “Message killing.”
Shaw nodded slowly. “That tracks with what I’ve seen from this organization.
They don’t just eliminate threats—they make examples.
” She pulled a small notebook from her jacket.
“Cooper’s last few reports mentioned he was close to identifying someone inside law enforcement. Local or federal, he wasn’t sure yet.”
The room went still.
“Inside law enforcement?” Kevin asked.
“It’s how they operate.” Shaw’s voice was calm, factual. “They don’t just buy off politicians and businessmen. They get people inside the system. Cops, prosecutors, sometimes federal agents.” She glanced at Keller. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Keller said quietly.
Sam’s jaw tightened. “So we might be looking at a leak.”
“It’s possible.” Shaw looked around the room, her gaze settling on each of them in turn. Not accusatory—more like she was taking stock. “I’m not saying it’s anyone here. But someone fed Cooper’s location to the people who killed him. That information came from somewhere.”
Wyatt’s stomach turned to ice. He forced himself to keep breathing, to keep his face neutral.
“I need everyone sharp,” Sam said. “We’re coordinating with the Bureau, but this is still our jurisdiction. Our case.”
He started assigning tasks. Jo would handle evidence coordination. Kevin would work the victim’s background, see if anyone in town knew him.
“Wyatt,” Sam said, “I want you on digital. Pull anything we’ve got from Cooper’s phone records, emails, whatever the Bureau releases. Cross-reference with local databases.”
“Got it.”
Relief again. Computer work. Something that kept him alone, kept him useful without having to be present. Without having to lie to their faces more than necessary.
“I can help with that,” Shaw offered. “I’ve been building a database of the organization’s known patterns—communication methods, money trails, that kind of thing. Might help narrow down what to look for.”
Kevin glanced at her. “You’ve been tracking them for a while?”
“Long enough.” Something flickered in Shaw’s eyes—something old and personal. Then it was gone. “They’re patient. Methodical. They don’t make mistakes often, but when they do, the pattern shows.”
“That would be helpful,” Sam said. “Wyatt, work with Agent Shaw on the digital side. See what overlaps.”
Wyatt nodded, trying not to let his unease show. Working closely with an FBI agent was the last thing he needed right now. But refusing would look suspicious.
“Questions?” Sam asked.
No one spoke.
“Alright. Let’s move.”
Chairs scraped. Papers shuffled. The room emptied in that efficient way cops moved when work was waiting.
Shaw fell into step beside Kevin as they headed back to the squad room. “The victim’s background—you’re looking for local connections?”
“Anyone who might have known him, talked to him, seen him around.” Kevin shrugged. “Small town. Hard to be invisible.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Shaw pulled out her phone, scrolling through something. “I’ve got a list of businesses Cooper was looking at. Front operations, we think. Might be worth cross-referencing with anyone who pops up in your interviews.”
Kevin took the phone, scanning the list. His eyebrows rose. “Some of these are pretty established places.”
“That’s the point. They don’t buy failing businesses. They buy successful ones and use them as cover.” Shaw took the phone back. “I’ll send you the file. Might save you some time.”
“Thanks.” Kevin sounded genuinely surprised. “Keller’s been... helpful, but he hasn’t shared this much.”
Shaw’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture shifted. “Keller and I have different approaches.”
She moved off toward Wyatt’s desk, Shadow padding alongside her. Kevin watched her go, then caught Jo’s eye across the room.
Jo raised an eyebrow.
Kevin just shrugged and headed for his own desk.
Back at his desk, Wyatt pulled up the evidence database. Logged in. Started the search protocols for Cooper’s digital footprint.
Shaw appeared at his shoulder, Shadow settling on the floor next to Lucy. The two dogs immediately pressed close to each other, like they’d been separated for years instead of hours.
“Quite a bond they’ve got,” Shaw said, watching them.
“Yeah.” Wyatt kept his eyes on the screen. “Still can’t figure that out.”
“Me neither.” Shaw pulled up a chair, sitting at a respectful distance. “Mind if I take a look at what you’re pulling? I might be able to suggest some search parameters.”
“Sure.”
The screen filled with data. Call logs. Partial email strings. Metadata the Bureau had cleared for local access.
Shaw leaned in, scanning the information with practiced efficiency. “Try filtering for burner phone contacts. This organization uses a lot of disposables—numbers that only appear once or twice, then go dead.”
Wyatt adjusted the search. New results populated the screen.
“There.” Shaw pointed. “See that cluster? Four different numbers, all contacted within a 48-hour window, all going dead right after. That’s their pattern.”
Despite himself, Wyatt was impressed. “You really have been tracking them.”
“For a while now.” Shaw’s voice was quiet. “They hurt people I care about. That makes it personal.”
She didn’t elaborate. Wyatt didn’t ask.
They worked in silence for a few minutes, Shaw occasionally suggesting refinements to his searches, Wyatt implementing them without argument. She was good—thorough, methodical, the kind of investigator who saw patterns others missed.
It made him nervous.
Across the room, Jo gathered her evidence photos. Her movements were methodical, practiced. But her eyes kept sliding toward Wyatt’s desk.
She’d worked with him long enough to know his rhythms. The way he typed—fast, efficient, no wasted motion. The way he held his coffee, always in his left hand so his right stayed free. The way he sat, back straight, never quite relaxed.
Today was different.
His coffee sat untouched, going cold on the desk. His shoulders were tight, bunched like he was bracing for impact. And his eyes—they moved across the screen, but they weren’t tracking. Weren’t reading.
Even with Shaw sitting right there, pointing things out, helping him focus, something was off.
He was thinking about something else.
Something that had him wound so tight she half-expected him to snap.
Jo slowly stirred more sugar into her coffee mug. Bought herself a few seconds to watch without being obvious.
Kevin said something—she didn’t catch what—and Wyatt’s head snapped up. Just for a second. Then he laughed, the sound thin and wrong, and went back to his screen.
Something was wrong.
Really wrong.
And whatever it was, Wyatt was trying very hard to make sure no one noticed.
Major jumped down from the filing cabinet, landing with a soft thud. He padded across the floor, tail high, and stopped at Wyatt’s desk.
Wyatt didn’t notice. He was still staring at his screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard but not moving.
The cat sat. Watched. Waited.
Lucy’s tail thumped against the floor. Once. Twice. She was pressed against Shadow’s side, but her eyes were on Wyatt.
Then she stood, crossed to Wyatt’s side, and rested her head on his knee.
He blinked. Looked down. His hand moved to her head, scratching behind her ears in that automatic way people did when they needed something to hold onto.
Jo turned back to her work.
But she kept Wyatt in her peripheral vision.
Kept watching.
Because whatever was happening, whatever had him this rattled, she had a feeling it was about to get worse.
And when it did, she wanted to be ready.