Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jo’s cottage felt even smaller with everyone in it.
Bridget had laid out a spread of appetizers on the kitchen counter—bruschetta, stuffed mushrooms, something with phyllo dough. Nervous baking taken to the extreme. No one had touched any of it.
Kevin arrived first, stomping mud off his boots on the porch before slipping inside. He crossed straight to Bridget, who was rearranging the appetizers for the third time, and squeezed her shoulder.
Sam came next, Lucy trotting at his heels. The dog made her usual rounds—sniffing corners, checking windows, avoiding Pickles—before settling near the door with a huff, like she understood this wasn’t a social call.
Wyatt was last.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, the evidence box tucked under his arm, looking at the faces gathered in Jo’s living room. These were the people he’d been lying to for weeks. The people he’d been trying to protect by keeping them in the dark.
Now they knew everything.
And somehow, impossibly, they were still here.
“Come in,” Jo said quietly. “Close the door.”
He did.
Bridget was on the couch, hands wrapped around a mug of tea she hadn’t touched.
Her face was pale but composed—Kevin had warned her what was coming, given her time to absorb the worst of it.
But hearing it secondhand wasn’t the same as sitting in the same room with the man who’d been protecting her from the shadows.
“Wyatt.” Her voice was steady, but Jo could see the tremor in her hands. “Kevin told me... what you did. The files you changed. The searches you deleted.”
Wyatt set the evidence box on the coffee table and lowered himself into the armchair across from her. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes.
“I didn’t know it was you at first,” he said.
“Just a description on a list. Female, late teens at the time, involved with disposal—“ He stopped, swallowed. “When the pieces started fitting together, when I realized Kevin was searching for information that could lead them right to you... I couldn’t let that happen.”
“You risked everything.” Bridget’s voice cracked. “Your job. Your freedom. You didn’t even know me.”
“I knew enough.” Wyatt finally looked at her. “I knew what these people do to loose ends. And I knew you’d built a life here. A real one. I wasn’t going to let them take that from you.”
The room was quiet. Pickles jumped onto the back of the couch and settled behind Bridget’s head, his orange tail swishing slowly. Finn circled his tank in lazy loops, oblivious to the tension.
Kevin reached over and took Bridget’s hand. She gripped it tight.
“So what happens now?” Bridget asked.
Sam stepped forward, his presence filling the room in that steady way he had.
“Now we set a trap. Wyatt’s been stalling his father’s people, but they’re out of patience.
They want that evidence.” He nodded toward the box on the table.
“Tonight, Wyatt’s going to tell them he has it. He’s going to offer to hand it over.”
Bridget’s eyes widened. “You’re using him as bait.”
“I’m volunteering,” Wyatt said quietly. “This is my mess. My father. It has to be me.”
“It’s dangerous,” Kevin added. “But it’s also our best shot at catching whoever shows up. We get them on tape, we get evidence we can use. We start unraveling this thing from the inside.”
Bridget looked around the room—at Jo, at Sam, at Kevin, at Wyatt. Her jaw tightened.
“I want to help.”
“No.” Sam’s voice was firm but not unkind. “You’re not police, Bridget. This isn’t—“
“These people have been hunting me for eight years.” Bridget’s voice rose, fierce and sharp.
“They killed someone I watched die. They turned me into a person I’ve spent my whole life trying to forget.
And now they’re threatening everyone I care about.
” She stood, squaring her shoulders. “Don’t tell me I can’t help. ”
The room went still.
Jo watched her sister—really watched her. This wasn’t the fragile girl who’d shown up on her doorstep years ago, strung out and desperate. This was someone else. Someone forged by fire.
But Sam shook his head.
“I understand,” he said. “Believe me, I do. But tomorrow night, we’re walking into a situation with unknown variables. Armed suspects, possibly federal involvement, definitely dangerous. I can’t put a civilian in the middle of that.”
“Sam—“
“What you can do,” Sam continued, “is stay by your phone. We’ll keep you updated. If something goes wrong, if we need information only you have, you’ll be our lifeline.” He met her eyes. “That’s not nothing, Bridget. That’s important.”
Bridget held his gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded.
“Fine.” She sat back down, Kevin’s hand still in hers. “But you promise me—all of you—that you’ll be careful. That you’ll come back.”
“We promise,” Jo said.
She hoped it wasn’t a lie.
They gathered around the coffee table, the evidence box sitting in the center like a bomb waiting to detonate.
“Walk us through it,” Sam said.
Wyatt pulled out his phone. His hands were steady, but Jo could see the tension in his jaw, the way his thumb hovered over the screen.
“I text the number they’ve been using. Tell them I have what they want. Ask where they want it delivered.”
“And then?”
“Then we wait.”
The room held its breath.
Wyatt typed slowly, each word deliberate:
I have what you need. Case 2012-0847. Where do you want it?
He looked up at Sam. Sam nodded.
Wyatt hit send.
The phone sat on the table between them, screen glowing in the dim light. Seconds stretched into minutes. Jo found herself counting heartbeats, each one louder than the last.
Pickles meowed softly from his perch on the couch. Lucy’s ears pricked forward.
Then the phone buzzed.
Everyone leaned in.
Midnight. Old mill on Route 7. Come alone.
Wyatt exhaled—a long, shaky breath. “Tomorrow night.”
“Twenty-four hours,” Kevin said. “That gives us time to plan.”
Sam was already thinking, Jo could see it in his eyes. The tactical calculations, the variables, the ways this could go wrong.
“The old mill,” he said slowly. “I know it. Abandoned for years. Multiple entry points, lots of cover. Good place for an ambush—theirs or ours.”
“They’ll be watching the approaches,” Jo said. “If they see a bunch of cops rolling in—“
“We don’t roll in. We’re already there.” Sam moved to the window, staring out at the darkening woods. “Wyatt goes in alone, just like they asked. Wired. We position ourselves in the trees, out of sight. Watch for whoever shows up.”
“Shaw,” Kevin said grimly. “We think she’s the inside person.”
“Maybe. Maybe someone else.” Sam turned back to the room. “We don’t know who’s going to walk through that door. Could be Shaw. Could be syndicate muscle. Could be—“
“My father,” Wyatt finished quietly.
The word hung in the air.
Jo watched Wyatt’s face—the way his expression shuttered, the way his hands curled into fists on his knees. She’d read his file, knew the broad strokes of what his father had done. But seeing it now, the weight of it sitting on Wyatt’s shoulders...
“If it’s him,” Wyatt said, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You don’t have to know.” Sam’s voice was steady. “That’s why we’ll be there. Whatever happens, you’re not alone.”
Wyatt nodded, but Jo could see the doubt in his eyes.
They spent the next hour working through logistics.
Entry points. Sight lines. Communication protocols. What to do if things went sideways. Jo took notes, her handwriting growing tighter as the plan took shape.
“I’ll be in the tree line to the north,” Sam said. “Best vantage point. Lucy stays with me—she’ll alert if anyone approaches from that direction.”
“I’ll take the south approach,” Jo said. “Closer to the access road. If they try to run, I can cut them off.”
Kevin nodded. “I’ll be mobile. Circle the perimeter, watch for anyone trying to flank.”
“And Wyatt goes in alone,” Bridget said quietly. The words weren’t a question.
“Wired,” Sam confirmed. “We’ll hear everything. The moment we have what we need—the moment they incriminate themselves—we move in.”
“What if they don’t incriminate themselves? What if they just take the evidence and leave?”
“Then we follow. Track them. Build a bigger case.” Sam’s jaw tightened. “But these people didn’t kill an FBI agent to be careful. They’ll talk. They always do.”
Jo hoped he was right.
The clock on the wall showed nine-thirty. Outside, full dark had fallen, the woods pressing close around the cottage.
“We should get some rest,” Sam said finally. “Tomorrow’s going to be long.”
No one moved.
Bridget was the first to stand. She crossed to Wyatt, who looked up at her with something like surprise.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For protecting me. For risking everything when you didn’t have to.”
“I had to,” Wyatt said. “You didn’t deserve what they were going to do to you.”
Bridget smiled—small, sad, but real. “None of us deserved any of this.” She glanced around the room. “But we’re going to end it anyway.”
Kevin rose and pulled Bridget into a hug. “You going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Jo’s here.” Bridget squeezed him tight, then stepped back. “Go. Get some sleep. You’ve got a long night tomorrow.”
He kissed her forehead—quick, gentle—then headed for the door. Sam and Lucy followed, Sam pausing to grip Wyatt’s shoulder.
“Get some rest,” Sam said. “That’s an order.”
Wyatt managed a weak smile. “Yes, sir.”
Then they were gone, taillights disappearing down the dark road.
Jo stood at the window, watching until the last glow faded into the trees. Behind her, she heard Bridget moving around the kitchen, putting away the untouched casserole. The soft pad of Wyatt’s footsteps as he gathered his things.
“Jo.”
She turned. Wyatt stood by the door, the evidence box tucked under his arm again.
“Thank you,” he said. “For believing me. For not—“ He stopped, struggling for words.
“For not treating you like a traitor?”
“Yeah.”
Jo crossed to him, stopping close enough to see the exhaustion in his eyes, the fear he was trying so hard to hide.
“You’re not a traitor, Wyatt. You’re someone who got caught in an impossible situation and tried to do the right thing.” She put a hand on his arm. “Tomorrow night, we finish this. Together.”
Wyatt nodded. For a moment, he looked like he might say something else. Then he just squeezed her hand and slipped out into the night.
Jo locked the door behind him and leaned her forehead against the cool wood.
Twenty-four hours.
She hoped it would be enough.