Page 27 of Breaking Rules

Jo’s mind raced with the implications. If there was another killer, someone who had been working with or alongside Hazel Webster, it meant that the danger might not be over. There could still be someone out there, someone who had escaped justice.

“What does Hazel say?” Jo asked.

Holden shrugged. “She’s acting like she has no idea about any of it.”

“She confessed to us!” Jo said.

“Well, now, she’s playing dumb. Probably trying to get an insanity plea.” Holden sighed.

“What do we do now?” Bridget asked, her voice small.

Holden met her gaze, his expression softening. “The FBI has the resources, expertise, and jurisdiction to deal with this, so we let them handle it. For now.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next morning, Bridget drove into town, mentally checking her grocery list for the shepherd's pie she planned to make for Garvin and Kevin. The thought of cooking for them brought a smile to her face, but it was tinged with worry about her past. She checked her phone one last time, confirming the message from Carl, a friend from her old life who still had connections.

As she pulled into the Roadside Diner's parking lot, Bridget spotted Carl sitting in a booth. She could see even through the window that the diner's walls looked greasy and dirty, the once-gleaming stainless steel counter now dulled and sapped of vibrancy. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an unflattering glow over the handful of patrons scattered among peeling vinyl booths.

Bridget hesitated for a moment, questioning her decision, but the need to protect herself and those she cared about propelled her forward. She stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling. She carried a large purse, its contents soon to be altered.

Sliding into the booth across from Carl, Bridget managed a tight smile. She could see the tension on his face, his eyes darting around the diner.

"Hey, Bridge," Carl greeted her, his voice low. "How you doing?"

"Good. You?" Bridget replied, trying to keep her tone casual.

The waitress approached their table, her expression bored. "What can I get you folks?"

"Just coffee for me, please," Bridget answered, her stomach too knotted to consider food.

"Me too." Carl nodded in agreement, and the waitress walked away to fetch their drinks.

Bridget glanced around the diner, ensuring no one was paying attention to them. There was only one other patron, a disheveled man sitting on one of the stools at the counter, his back to them. She reached down, grasping the large purse at her feet. With a subtle movement, she handed it to Carl under the table.

Carl took the purse, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. He unzipped a pocket, retrieving the envelope filled with cash that Bridget had carefully placed inside earlier. In exchange, he slipped a small, cold object into the purse—the gun Bridget had requested.

The waitress returned with their coffees, setting them down on the table. Bridget and Carl thanked her, waiting until she was out of earshot before continuing their conversation.

"So, how's Jackie doing these days?" Bridget asked, sipping her coffee and trying to appear that they were two old friends catching up.

Carl shrugged. "Last I heard, she was still working at that dive bar downtown. You know, the one where we used to hang out?"

Bridget nodded, memories of their past lives flickering through her mind. "Yeah, I remember. Those were some crazy times."

They reminisced about old acquaintances and haunts, their voices low and their laughter forced. The weight of their transaction hung between them, unspoken but ever present.

"Well, guess I better get going. Nice seeing you." Carl stood and tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table.

"You too. Thanks." Bridget took another sip of coffee as she watched him walk out. She wanted to wait a few minutes, just in case. She didn't want anyone to notice them leaving at the same time.

A familiar car pulled in. What the heck? Was that Kevin? What was he doing here?

Kevin pulled into the Roadside Diner parking lot, and his brow furrowed as he spotted Bridget through the window. He’d just been to Rita’s to pick up a fruitcake, the dense, unappetizing brick now sitting on the passenger seat like a forgotten paperweight. Taking his usual route past the diner, he was surprised to see Bridget there again, and wasn’t that the same shady guy he’d passed on the road?

Kevin’s mind raced with questions. Was that a boyfriend? No, he hadn’t gotten that vibe the last time he saw them together. But why did Bridget keep meeting with him? Kevin hoped she wasn’t in trouble. He cared about her, more than he wanted to admit.

As he stepped out of the car, the cold air nipped at his face. He made his way toward the diner entrance, the bell above the door jangling as he pushed it open. The familiar sounds of clinking dishes, sizzling grills, and murmured conversations enveloped him.

---