Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The station felt different the next morning.
Jo noticed it the moment she walked in—the way Kevin's eyes found hers across the room, the slight nod that said we need to talk.
The way Wyatt sat rigid at his desk, pretending to work while his gaze kept drifting toward Sam's office.
The way Sam himself stood at his window, coffee untouched, watching the parking lot like he was expecting trouble.
Jo had called Kevin on her way home from Sam's place, giving him the short version—Wyatt's father, the syndicate, the pressure he'd been under.
Kevin had listened in silence, then said only, "And Bridget?
" Jo had assured him Wyatt had been protecting her all along.
The relief in Kevin's voice had been palpable.
She'd promised to fill Bridget in gently, prepare her for what was coming.
They all knew something had shifted. Last night at Sam's cabin had changed everything.
Now they had to figure out what to do about it.
Jo dropped her bag at her desk and made a show of booting up her computer. Reese was at the front, sorting mail. Major dozed on the filing cabinet. Lucy lay near Sam's door, head on her paws, but her eyes were open. Watching.
The station's normal morning sounds—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the coffee maker gurgling—felt like camouflage. A thin layer of routine stretched over something much more dangerous.
Kevin wandered over with a file folder, leaning against the edge of Jo's desk like he was asking about a case. His voice was low.
"We need to move tonight. The longer we wait—"
"I know." Jo kept her eyes on her screen. "Sam's thinking the same thing. We need a place to meet. Somewhere private."
"Your cottage?"
Jo nodded slightly. "Bridget needs to know what's happening. This affects her too."
"Agreed." Kevin straightened, tapping the folder against his palm. "I'll let Wyatt know."
He drifted back to his desk, and Jo let out a slow breath. This was the hard part—acting normal when nothing was normal. Pretending the world hadn't tilted on its axis.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Sam: My office. Five minutes. Just you and Wyatt.
Jo waited the full five minutes, then stood and stretched like she needed a coffee refill. She caught Wyatt's eye on her way past his desk—a flicker of acknowledgment—and he followed a moment later.
Sam's office door was open. He was standing by the window, Lucy at his feet.
"Close the door," he said quietly.
Jo did. Wyatt took the chair across from Sam's desk, his knee bouncing with nervous energy.
"We need the box cutter," Sam said without preamble. "If Wyatt's going to set up a meet, he needs to have something to offer. Something real."
Wyatt's face went pale. "You want me to actually take it from evidence?"
"I want you to sign it out properly. Chain of custody. Your name on the log." Sam's voice was steady. "If this goes wrong, I want documentation that shows we did this by the book."
"And if it goes right?"
"Then we catch whoever shows up, and the evidence goes right back where it belongs." Sam turned from the window. "But we do this clean. No shortcuts."
Jo watched Wyatt process this. He'd been so afraid of crossing that line—stealing evidence, becoming what his father wanted him to be. But this was different. This was controlled. Documented. A trap instead of a betrayal.
"Okay," Wyatt said finally. "When?"
"Now. Before the station gets busy." Sam grabbed his keys. "I'll walk you down. Jo, stay here. Keep an eye on things."
They slipped out, and Jo moved to Sam's window, watching the parking lot through the blinds. A few cars. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But her skin prickled anyway.
Wyatt had been in the evidence room a hundred times. It was just a room—metal shelves, fluorescent lights, the faint smell of dust and old paper. Boxes stacked in neat rows, each one tagged and numbered, holding pieces of cases long closed.
Today it felt like a tomb.
He found the box on the third shelf. Smaller than he expected. The evidence bag inside was sealed, the box cutter visible through the clear plastic. Old. Unremarkable. The kind of thing you’d find in any warehouse or shipping facility.
Sam stood by the door while Wyatt took the item ignoring the log. It went against everything he believed in to just take a piece of evidence and not sign for it, but if everything went well, it would be back in the box soon and no one would be the wiser.
“Got it,” Wyatt said, his voice rough.
Sam nodded. “Let’s go.”
They were halfway down the hallway when a voice stopped them.
“Chief Mason.”
Wyatt’s stomach dropped.
Shaw stood in the hallway, coffee cup in hand, Shadow sitting alert at her side. Her eyes moved from Sam to Wyatt to the evidence box in Wyatt’s hands.
“Pulling old evidence?” Her tone was casual, but her gaze was sharp. “Anything interesting?”
Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Cold case review. Nothing urgent.”
“Need a hand? I’ve got some time.”
“We’re good. Thanks.”
Shaw’s eyes lingered on the box for a moment longer. Then she nodded, that same unreadable expression on her face. “Let me know if that changes.”
She walked past them toward the squad room, Shadow padding silently at her heels. Wyatt didn’t breathe until she turned the corner.
“She saw,” he said quietly.
“She saw us walking with a box.” Sam’s voice was calm, but his jaw was tight. “That’s all. Come on.”
They made it back to Sam’s office without further incident. Jo was waiting, arms crossed, tension visible in her shoulders.
“Shaw?” she asked.
“Ran into her in the hall.” Sam closed the door. “She asked questions.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Cold case review. She didn’t push.” Sam turned to Wyatt. “Put that somewhere secure. Not your desk. Not your car. Somewhere only you can access until tonight.”
Wyatt nodded, clutching the box like it might explode.
“Tonight,” Jo said. “My cottage. Eight o’clock. Kevin’s already in. We bring Bridget up to speed and figure out our next move.”
“Agreed.” Sam glanced toward the squad room, where the normal sounds of the station continued—phones, voices, the mundane rhythm of police work. “Until then, we act normal. We don’t give anyone a reason to think something’s changed.”
Easier said than done, Wyatt thought. But she nodded anyway.
The rest of the morning was an exercise in performance.
Jo reviewed case files she’d already memorized. Kevin made phone calls that went nowhere. Wyatt sat at his computer, the evidence box locked in his bottom drawer, and tried not to look at it every thirty seconds.
And through it all, Jo felt eyes on them.
Keller arrived around ten, settling into an empty desk with his files and his laptop. But Jo caught him watching—glances that lingered a beat too long, attention that seemed focused on something other than his work.
Once, she looked up to find him standing, coffee cup in hand, his gaze fixed on the corner where she and Wyatt had been talking in low voices just moments before.
Their eyes met.
Keller smiled—pleasant, professional—and raised his cup in a small salute before turning back to his work.
By noon, Jo’s nerves were frayed.
She found Kevin in the hallway.
“Keller’s watching us,” she said quietly.
“I noticed.” Kevin’s jaw tightened. “Shaw too. She asked me about the fibers found on Cooper this morning. Wanted to know if we found the car.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That we were still looking.” Jo rubbed her temples. Two FBI agents, both circling, both suspicious. And tonight they were going to set a trap that could blow up in all their faces.
“Eight o’clock,” she said. “My place. We figure this out.”
Kevin nodded. “I’ll be there.”
The afternoon crawled.
At four-thirty, Sam called a brief team meeting—routine stuff, case updates, nothing that would raise flags. But when it ended, he caught Jo’s eye and gave a slight nod.
We’re still on.
Jo gathered her things at five, same as always. Said goodnight to Reese, scratched Major behind the ears, waved to Kevin across the room. Normal. Routine. Nothing to see here.
She was halfway to her car when she heard footsteps behind her.
“Detective Harris.”
Jo turned. Keller was crossing the parking lot toward her, jacket slung over his arm, keys in hand.
“Agent Keller.” She kept her voice neutral. “Heading out?”
“Long day.” He stopped a few feet away, close enough to talk, far enough to seem casual. “You?”
“Same.”
He nodded, but didn’t move toward his car. His eyes searched her face—looking for something, reading something. Jo kept her expression blank.
“You know,” Keller said slowly, “I’ve been doing this job a long time. Long enough to know when people are keeping secrets.”
Jo’s heart rate spiked, but she didn’t let it show. “Everyone’s got secrets, Agent.”
“True.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I just hope whatever’s going on, you’re being careful. These people—the ones who killed Cooper—they don’t play games. And they have eyes everywhere.”
A warning? A threat? Jo couldn’t tell.
“I appreciate the concern,” she said evenly. “But we know how to handle ourselves.”
“I’m sure you do.” Keller stepped back, finally moving toward his car. “Have a good night, Detective. Stay safe.”
Jo watched him drive away, her pulse still hammering.
Then she got in her truck and headed for home.
Tonight, everything would change.
One way or another.