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He nodded.

She knocked lightly and then entered when beckoned. She had no idea what she was going to say, but she was determined she wasn’t leaving this bank without looking in the safe-deposit box.

She pulled out the key and then, on a lark, she retrieved Lyle’s coded message as well. The manager smiled at her until Rodney entered the room as well. Then he frowned.

“Back again? Do you have a copy of the will?”

Rodney shot her a look that said, This is pointless, but he remained quiet.

She started to speak, then her gaze landed on something she hadn’t noticed before written lightly across the top of the message in pencil, something that had been erased.

“Did you write this?” she asked Rodney.

He glanced where she pointed. “Yeah, I was trying to keep track of our number codes. The theory of six and then the countdown idea. I think that was what the code turned out to be, but those numbers don’t make?—”

He paused. There were four digits that appeared to be random. Something clicked in her mind. She pulled out her cell phone, scrolling through her contacts list. She’d never been able to bring herself to delete Lyle’s name. “It’s the last four digits of his phone number.” She held her phone out to show Rodney the screen.

“That’s pretty clever. How the hell could you not remember that?”

She scowled. “First of all, we never really wrote down the number code—I’m a visual learner. And secondly, once I plugged Lyle’s number in my phone, I never looked at it again. Just hit his name on my phone list whenever I wanted to call him. It’s not like I had the damn thing memorized. Hell, I don’t even know my mother’s number. You know, this is the problem with cell phones. No one bothers to learn phone numbers anymore.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not about to get into a debate about the pros and cons of smartphones with you. Can we just get this show on the road? We have a flight to catch.”

She wrote the numbers six, five, five, four on the piece of paper and handed it to the bank manager. He compared the numbers to his and then smiled at her.

“Very good,” he said. “Follow me.”

He led the two of them into a vault filled with safe-deposit boxes. Bridget used the key to open the box. Inside she found a flash drive and a letter. She grinned as she pulled them out. “Told you it would be on a flash drive.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “You always have to be right, don’t you?”

“I don’t have to be. I just naturally am,” she teased. They’d done it. They’d broken the code and retrieved the flash drive. For the first time in months, Bridget felt like everything was going to be okay.

“God help your guys.”

She knew he meant his words as a joke, but instead they sent a piercing pain straight to her heart. Okay. So maybe not everything. She’d come to think of the James twins as hers, but how much longer could that last? She was going home. There was a light at the end of her tunnel, and she couldn’t see Matt and Mark in the beam.

She handed Rodney the flash drive and opened the letter. It was handwritten. Her throat closed up when she spotted Lyle’s familiar messy scrawl.

Dear Bridget,

If you are reading this, two things have happened. One, you’ve figured out my clues—well done. And two, I’m dead. I knew the moment I uncovered what the judge was up that to my days would be numbered if I kept digging. I pursued it anyway. We all make decisions in life, Bridget. Some good, some bad. One of the best decisions I ever made was befriending you. You’re honest, smart and a little bit quirky—all good characteristics in my book. I loved you despite your inexplicable fascination for Hugh Grant, scary movies and smutty pirate books.

Now it’s up to you. Finish the job. Do what I couldn’t. The information contained on this drive can put not only Judge Lucian Thompson away for a very long time, but also thirty-seven criminals who bribed their way to freedom rather than pay for their crimes. I leave their fate in your hands.

Your friend,

Lyle

Bridget swallowed hard, wiping away the tears that started to fall. She hadn’t cried once for her friend. She’d been whisked out of the city under cover of darkness the night he was murdered. She hadn’t been able to go to his memorial service, and as she was shuffled from safe house to safe house, she hadn’t had time to grieve for him. Hearing his voice through the words of his letter opened the floodgates, and she feared there would be no stopping them now.

“Oh, damn, Bridget. I’m sorry, baby.” Rodney wrapped his arms around her while she cried. “I’m so sorry.”

She let her emotions go for only a few minutes. She didn’t dare indulge them for longer than that. She’d already lost one friend over the contents of this drive. She couldn’t allow anyone else to die. She sniffled and wiped her eyes quickly. “I know we have to go.”

Rodney nodded. “I wish there was more time for you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I know what I need to do. I can do it.”