their client, but Bridget wasn’t going to bring her into this. The woman needed a new identity and somewhere to go—both of which Bridget was supposed to figure out tonight. Until then, the client had to lay low. The Capeiras weren’t going to find her.
She turned to Clarke. “You’re the one who sold her out and told Benito Capeira where she was. Aren’t you?”
His expression hardened. “They made me do it. They said they’d kill my mother if I didn’t.”
Bridget’s overblown sense of empathy for the underdog flared to life inside her. At the same time, she tried to figure out if he was even telling the truth.
Capeira laughed. Smaller than his brother, Enrico was still built like a powerhouse. She needed to not underestimate him the way she had with Benito. That only landed her with a broken rib before she was forced to shoot him. Both men’s reputations spoke of a ruthless need to be obeyed at all times.
Those who did not? Their bodies were never found.
Until the client discovered their secrets and took that information to the Justice Department. Instead of being given the case, she’d been told to go find “actual evidence.” Bridget had heard enough. She was going to help.
She’d also thought Clarke would help.
Guess not.
“A chair, I think.” Enrico stepped back and motioned with his gun. “Make it look like she fell asleep exhausted and smoking a cigarette. Accidents happen.”
Clarke shoved her into a chair. “I thought we were doing a gas leak.”
“Like I said, ‘accidents.’”
Bridget looked up at her colleague. Before she could say anything, he ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “I’ll be heartbroken. But I’ll find someone else.”
Before she took her next break, he raised his hand and pistol whipped her with her gun. Everything went black.
The next thing Bridget knew was that she couldn’t breathe. She tried to move. Her face was smashed against the carpet. Using both hands, she did a push up and got her knees under her. No restraints. They had to have left her free to make the “accident” look real.
When she lifted up, the temperature of the room registered within her.
Then the smell.
Bridget launched herself toward the back hall. She stumbled, slammed her shoulder against the corner of the wall, and cried out. She didn’t have time for more injuries. The building was about to explode.
She braced the wall with one hand and raced the other direction, down the hall to the back door she’d come in.
An explosion ripped through the building. The force blew apart the door and flipped her over. She slammed onto the asphalt outside and rolled. A moan escaped her lips, but she needed to see it. She needed to know it was still there.
Her backpack.
Bridget crawled to the wall beside the spot the door had been just a moment ago. She shifted rubble and tugged over her pack to hold it close as she dug inside for her phone. Relief washed over her, though this wasn’t done.
Far from it.
She pulled up her texts and sent one to her boss.
Code Red.
Nothing needed to be—or could be—salvaged from the building. It was all saved to an encrypted server. They would move on. Rebuild. Once Bridget took care of the threat, and Clarke.
She forced her legs to take her weight and start walking. The last thing she needed was to still be here when the cops arrived.
A second later she got a reply with an address.
Get here ASAP.
Bridget sagged against the siding of a neighboring building. Go there? After all these years, that was the last place she wanted to be. But orders were orders. She had to head home.
To Last Chance.
Two
Last Chance
“I was hoping you’d be here.” The woman who’d sidled up to him lifted a beer bottle and took a sip.
Aiden Donaldson, Last Chance police officer—currently off duty—tried to remember what her name was, but for the life of him, he couldn’t. He smiled. “It’s good to see you.” Then turned back to the group of kids bowling.
His kid was up, so he squeezed through the crowd of moms and children—including the birthday girl—and made his way to where Sydney waited for a ball to come out.
“This purple one will work.”
“I’m waiting for the pink one.”
Behind them, a group of first grade girls erupted into laughter. The pink ball came out.
“Ready?”
“I want to do it by myself.”
Aiden bit back what he wanted to say and squeezed down on his back teeth while he sent her a closed-mouth smile.
His