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Mark entered the room as well, closing the door behind him.

“I have something for you too,” Mark said, holding up a white envelope. His face was strangely blank, something Bridget had never seen before. He was a gentle man who’d never looked at her with anything less than kindness or humor.

“What is it?”

“We were hoping you could tell us. When we woke up in an empty bed, we were worried we’d overwhelmed you. Matt suggested we get you flowers.”

She smiled and hoped they couldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes. “I like the flowers.”

Mark didn’t acknowledge her comment. “On the way to town, we stopped by Ellen Updyke’s house this morning to offer our condolences to her niece and to see if she needed help with anything. Her aunt’s funeral is today.”

A ball of ice formed in her stomach. She tried to ignore it and focus on their thoughtful gesture. “That was nice of you.”

He nodded, but didn’t return her smile or acknowledge her compliment. “Her niece was cleaning up the house, getting ready for the reception after the funeral.”

The event she and Rodney had planned to crash. Looked like that plan was shot to hell.

Then she wondered where Mark going with this whole conversation. Clearly something had happened at Ellen’s house. Had the hit man shown up there?

Her voice was weak with fear and dread. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Gretchen, Ellen’s niece, was with her aunt when she passed away. Said one of the last things her aunt did before she died was hand her this letter, telling her to guard it carefully and never show it to anyone. Said to be on the lookout for the woman whose name was written on the front.”

Mark flipped the letter over and Bridget gasped. Written in Lyle’s distinctive scrawl was her name, but there was no way Matt and Mark could know that. She’d introduced herself as Carson.

“Bridget Wilder?”

“You,” Matt said.

She looked at her other lover. He’d been silent since handing her the flowers. It wasn’t like him to be quiet. “Me?”

Matt took her continued denial like a punch in the face. She felt sick to her stomach, sorry about the lies. “I typed Bridget Wilder and New York City into my iPhone. Pulled up an article about a reporter who’d gone into protective custody after witnessing a murder. Even had a picture of you.”

They knew.

“So this Gretchen, she showed the letter to you?”

She and Rodney had been right. Lyle’s code had led them to Saratoga and his godmother, Ellen, but how could she explain this to the two men staring at her with suddenly angry eyes?

Mark nodded. “Unlike her aunt, Gretchen’s not exactly known for her ability to keep a secret or mind her own business. She was dying to open the letter and asked my advice. When I saw the name Bridget, something clicked. I told her I knew you and that I’d deliver it for her. Needless to say, she was disappointed. I expect her to call me sometime in the next twenty-four hours to grill me about you.”

Matt took a step closer to her. “You want to tell us why Ellen Updyke had a letter with your name written on it, Bridget? I get that you’re in protective custody, and I think it’s pretty fucking obvious that Rodney’s not your brother. But none of what I read in that newspaper explains why you’re here, hiding in plain sight. I thought safe houses were secluded places tucked away in the middle of nowhere.”

She sighed, silently wishing Rodney was here. He’d know how to proceed. Her heart longed to tell them the whole truth, but she feared it may be too late. How would they feel once she revealed how badly she’d misled them? She’d let things go way too far with her handsome twins. The day of reckoning was at hand.

“I suspect I’ll find a key in there.” It wasn’t the answer they were hoping for, but it was the most innocuous one she could give them. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. She’d lived every moment of the past six months jumping at shadows and running for her life, but she’d never felt true fear until this moment.

Would they forgive her for her deception? How would they feel when they learned of her role in Lyle’s death? She couldn’t forgive herself for letting her friend die. How could she ask them to?

“A key?” Matt asked.

She nodded and reached for the envelope. Mark handed it to her. She wanted to open it, but she hesitated.

“Go on,” Matt prodded, his words almost a dare.

They were worried about her. She knew that. They’d known from almost the start that she was hiding something from them, but she’d piled lie upon lie rather than offer them the trust they’d given her so completely.

She took a deep breath and opened the envelope. A small key fell out into the palm of her hand. The letter inside simply said First Bank, 348 Main Street, Saratoga.