Previously…
– Elly blurted out to Spencer that she had seen Travis at the Ragan house on the night that Loretta died.
– Spencer immediately reported what Elly had told him to a disbelieving Brent.
– Trevor agreed to cover half of Finn’s rent in exchange for Finn not telling anyone about their hookup.

The Wild Lady hums with the slow, easy energy of a summer afternoon. A few patrons are scattered throughout the space, sipping from bottles of beer as Morgan Wallen and Tate McRae’s twangy trap ballad, “What I Want,” plays over the sound system. Elly Vanderbilt leans against the edge of the polished wood bar, sipping a club soda with a lime wedge floating in it.

“You sure you don’t wanna try the chili?” Jimmy Trask asks from behind the bar, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. His tanned face crinkles with mock offense. “Kathleen‘s recipes has won prizes.”

“Don’t make me dig out the ribbon,” Kathleen Bundy says from her perch on one of the high stools. She has a ledger open in front of her as she works on the establishment’s books; an empty bowl of chili with a spoon sticking out of it sits nearby.

“I’m not really a chili girl, especially when it’s this warm out,” Elly replies, “but I don’t doubt your talents, Kathleen.”

Kathleen glances up, ready to reply, when two uniformed police officers step through the saloon doors at the front of the bar. A plainclothes detective holding a manila envelope follows them.

“Why do I get the sense they’re not stopping in for a pint?” Jimmy murmurs. Across the bar from him, Elly stiffens, her mind suddenly racing.

Kathleen sets down her pen and slides off the stool. “What can we do for you, officers?” she asks as she approaches the law enforcement officials. “I’m Kathleen Bundy, one of the co-owners.”

The detective, sporting a light-blue button-up shirt and a striped navy tie, holds out the envelope. “You can help us with this,” he says.

—–

Rosie Jimenez slips off her black sneakers just inside the front door. She awoke well before the break of dawn to get to the morning’s private security job, and now all she wants is to get out of the stiff, slightly itchy black uniform and into some comfortable clothes so that she can enjoy the afternoon. The scent of coffee left in the pot calls to her, and she shuffles down the short hallway toward the kitchen, where she finds her husband at the breakfast table, his laptop open in front of him.

“Hey, you’re back earlier than I expected,” he says with a smile.

“It was slow, so they cut me a little early,” Rosie explains as she beelines for the far counter to pour herself some coffee. “It’s only about 15 minutes of pay I missed out on, and…” She sighs. “I’m happy to pick up the work, but you have no idea how boring most of these gigs are.”

“You miss the force.”

She thoughtfully takes a sip of the lukewarm coffee. “Of course I miss it. I didn’t quit because I didn’t like the work. I quit because I couldn’t work with Brent anymore.”

“I know,” Travis replies sympathetically. He closes the lid of his laptop. “Maybe you could go back. Work something out.”

Rosie is shaking her head at the prospect when the doorbell sounds. There is something sharp and declarative about it that makes both of them pause.

“I’ll get it,” Travis says, but Rosie nevertheless follows him back to the entryway. When he pulls open the door, they see none other than Brent Taylor standing there in a white polo shirt and tan slacks, his badge clipped to his belt. A pair of uniformed officers flank him.

“Good afternoon, guys,” Brent says in a professional, cool tone.

Rosie eyes the officers with suspicion. “Ouchi? Haynes? What are you doing here?”

“We’re here on official business,” Brent explains as he holds up an envelope. “I have a signed warrant from a judge.”

“What?” Travis asks, confused.

“What do you mean, you have a warrant?” Rosie challenges. “For what?”

Brent hesitates, only for a moment, but his eyes flicker down to the ground for a beat. When he looks up, he tells them, “To search this house. We received a tip that we have no choice but to follow up on.”

The hiss of the espresso machine greets Trevor Brooks as he steps inside Cassie’s Coffee House, and the refreshing cool of the air conditioning makes him realize just how warm the summer day is outside. He sets his sights on the line of customers waiting for the barista to take their orders, and then he looks around the cozy, softly lit space for a place to stake out.

That’s when he spots Finn Campbell alone at a small table by the window with what looks like an iced matcha. Trevor wonders if he should back out the door and go somewhere else for his caffeine fix — but before he can make up his mind, Finn’s gaze flits upward, and now it is too late. Trevor knows that retreating is only going to make Finn feel like he has more power in their dynamic, so he wills his feet into motion and approaches Finn’s table.

“Thought you were gonna sprint back out the door after you saw me,” Finn says.

“I have no reason to do that,” Trevor replies in an attempt to play off his discomfort.

Finn shrugs, indicating that he isn’t as convinced of Trevor’s confidence in the situation. “Whatever.”

Trevor studies him, backlit ever-so-slightly by the sun spilling through the café’s windows. There was a time when he very much cared for Finn — at least as a friend and coworker, but also as an objection of fascination and attraction. That admission to himself makes him feel almost sick with guilt, as the heat of their single, emotion-fueled tryst comes roaring back to him. He knows he never should have let things get that far, but he can’t go back and change it now.

He finds himself pulling out the scuffed wooden chair across from Finn and taking a seat.

“What’s going on?” Trevor asks gently.

Finn regards him with surprise, as if the tenor of Trevor’s approach is so unexpected that he doesn’t know how to process it.

“Do you know how hard it is to find a job right now?” Finn finally says. “Especially when you had to leave your last one because of a failed coup attempt.”

“I’m sure there’s someone who would hire you, Finn.”

“Really? Point me in their direction, then. I’m drowning here, Trevor. I don’t know why I ever let–” He stops himself mid-statement.

“Ever let what?” Trevor waits. “Or who…?”

“Why I ever let Gia rope me into her plans,” Finn says. “I thought it made sense — hitching my wagon to someone who’d let me have actual power in my own mother‘s company. But all it did was screw me over.”

“Have you thought of telling Molly who you really are? Asking her for a chance?” The minute he says it, Trevor regrets it; the last thing he needs is Finn in his face all day at work, too. Quickly he adds, “Maybe she’d hire you at the boutique, at least.”

Finn groans. “Retail. Ugh.”

“If you’re this desperate to get back on your feet, you can’t be that picky about jobs, Finn. And I can’t keep subsidizing your rent behind Alex‘s back forever. We had a deal.”

“And that deal was predicated on me being able to find a job that pays enough to cover the rent,” Finn replies snottily.

“Or, I don’t know, get a roommate?”

Over the table, Finn grimaces at him. “The last roommate I had turned out to be a nutjob who tried to frame Tempest for stalking them. I’m not exactly dying to open up my home to the deranged and the dangerous.”

Trevor takes a deep breath before responding. He feels like he has to choose every word with the utmost care. “I’m trying to give you options, Finn. I want to help you.”

“You can help me by covering your half of the rent until I find a suitable job,” Finn tells him, a spark of defiance flaring behind his eyes. He leans forward, his voice low but cutting. “Unless you want Alex to find out how generous you’ve been to me — and why.”

—–

Elly lingers by the bar and watches Kathleen slide a fresh pint of beer, with the perfect amount of foam on top, over to a customer. Her own club soda sits forgotten on the surface of the bar, with a small puddle of condensation pooling around its base. As soon as Kathleen finishes serving the customer, she walks back down to where Elly is waiting.

“I wonder what’s keeping your dad,” Kathleen says.

“I should’ve gone up with him,” Elly says, as she continues watching the door that leads to the stairs and the second-story apartments above the bar.

“Hon, let Jimmy handle ’em. You don’t need to be mixed up in all that.”

“I’m a lawyer, Kathleen. And they’re searching upstairs because of me.”

“Still shouldn’t be interfering. Let ’em go through the apartments, find nothing, and get outta here.” Kathleen picks up a rag, lifts Elly’s glass, and wipes up the condensation.

“Sorry about that,” Elly says.

“No need to apologize. But play it cool, okay? Let’s let those cops do what they need to do so they can get outta here without disrupting things any more than they already have.” Kathleen’s gaze sweeps across the bar. “Good thing they didn’t scare off our customers.”

Elly nods. “I just wish I knew what was going on up there.”

Kathleen hangs the rag on a hook behind the bar. “You’ve got nothing to hide, right? You were honest about being at that house the night that nasty lady got what she deserved.”

“I’m glad someone feels that way,” Elly replies, casting a cautious glance over at the door to be sure the cops have not returned. “That woman terrorized a lot of people. It’s not like there’s a shortage of suspects.”

“Especially after what she put poor Travis and Rosie through, letting them fall in love with that little girl…”

Elly tenses at the mention of Travis but does her best not to let it show outwardly. Luckily, another customer sidles up to the bar, and Kathleen instantly takes notice.

“Be right back, hon,” she says before slipping away to take the woman’s order. Elly offers a soft smile, but as soon as Kathleen’s focus is off her, a memory rushes up, nearly overtaking her.

“Travis? What the hell are you doing here?”

She can still feel the numbing shock of watching Travis slip out the side door of the Ragan home’s garage, and the expression of complete panic on his face when he realized he’d been caught.

“What are you doing here?” Travis finally snaps back to her.

“I came to, uh, talk to Spencer.”

“He’s not here.”

“Then why were you in the house? And why are you sneaking out the side door?”

She trembles, trying to shake off the memory, afraid that someone might somehow be able to see what is playing on the screen in her mind.

It doesn’t matter, she reassures herself. There’s nothing they could find upstairs that would make any difference.

She drums her fingernails along the bar, anxiously awaiting some kind of update.

—–

Soaking up the afternoon sun is the furthest thing from Travis and Rosie’s minds as they wait in the tall grass of Juanita‘s front yard, each keeping a close eye on the open front door of the house. From inside, they can hear the occasional creak of footsteps across floorboards or drawers being roughly opened and closed.

“We’re lucky Mama’s not here for this,” Rosie comments. “She’d be having a heart attack.”

“Thank god she had that church luncheon,” Travis agrees.

Rosie keeps her eyes trained on the house, her arms crossed tightly. Occasionally she tugs the scratchy fabric of her uniform away from her skin. When Brent steps out onto the small front porch, she’s already bounding toward him.

“Don’t worry, I’m not conducting any part of the search,” he says. “The conflict of interest is too severe.”

Rosie’s jaw tightens. “Then maybe you can tell us what this is all about.”

Brent hesitates — just long enough for Travis to feel a pinch of dread in his gut — before saying, “Like I said, we got a tip and had to follow up on it. Maybe it’ll turn out to be nothing. I hope it turns out to be nothing.”

Travis swallows hard. The thought is already there, like a shadowy figure stalking him: Loretta. Could Brent somehow know more about that night than Travis thought? Did Elly say something? But he shakes off the creeping thought as best he can. He is confident that there is nothing inside that house that could link him to the events of that night. He knows that much.

“A tip about what?” Rosie presses.

Brent levels his gaze on her, one law enforcement officer to another. “Rosie… you know I can’t reveal details about an ongoing investigation to someone whose home we’re searching. There are too many ways that could blow everything up. Especially given my personal connection to both of you.”

“This has to be a mistake,” Travis says, desperation flooding his system. “Did someone tell you something? If we knew, we could clear it up–“

But he stops when he spots Officer Ouchi exiting the house. “Commander?” Ouchi calls. “You might want to take a look at this.”

Travis’s chest tightens. What did they find? How could they have found anything?

“I’ll be back,” Brent says, and he crosses back to the house to consult with the other officer.

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Rosie asks. “The only thing I can think of is that it has something to do with Loretta.”

Travis forces a shrug, his voice as light as he can get it. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know what’s going on.”

Rosie stares back at the house, her teeth gritted. “Then I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

—–

Trevor swallows down the surge of panic that rises into his throat as a result of Finn’s threat.

“I’m doing my best here,” Trevor says. “But I’m not rich, Finn. It’s not like I’m the one running Objection.”

Finn’s expression hardens. He picks up his matcha and takes an overly long sip through the straw.

“I can help you find a job, I can help you find a roommate, I can help you find another place if need be,” Trevor continues. “But — Alex aside, even — I can’t keep scraping together half the rent on my family’s house forever.”

Finn places the matcha cup down on the table and stares out the window, toward the parking lot.

“I know. It’s not like I want to be working you for my rent,” he says quietly. “I care about you, Trevor. And honestly… what happened… I thought it might be more than a one-time thing.”

Fresh stabs of guilt pierce Trevor all over. Not only did he betray Alex and their son when he gave into temptation, but he betrayed Finn, too — someone he had come to think of as a friend, despite their ups and downs.

“I take a huge part of the blame for that,” Trevor says after a long pause. “I’m the one who’s married. I’m the one who should’ve known better.”

Finn lets out a prolonged, exhausted exhale. “I should’ve known. Things don’t work out for me. I’m born to this mother who could have given me an amazing life, but instead, she puts me up for adoption to hide me from my father, who was apparently some kind of maniac. I make my way here and get into the company that always should’ve been mine, and it blows up in my face before I can become more than an executive assistant. I meet this great guy, and of course he’s married and I’m too stupid to realize I won’t be his priority until it’s too late. And now I don’t have a job or a way to pay my rent for much longer.”

Trevor feels the shift in energy, and a sense of empathy pulls him forward. He reaches over the table and closes his hand over Finn’s forearm in a quiet, reassuring grip.

“Even if I leave town and start over,” Finn bemoans, “where am I going to go? I have nothing to show for myself and no one who even cares.”

“I do care,” Trevor says, “even if it’s not the way you wish I would.”

Just as Finn looks up at him, they hear the jingle of the bell on the café’s door. At first, Finn merely spots the figure on the periphery of his vision — but once he processes who it is, he instinctively yanks his arm backward. But Alex Marshall has already seen them.

“What’s wrong?” Trevor asks, his back to the door.

“Turn around,” Finn mutters.

Trevor turns just in time to see his husband approaching them.

“Hey, guys,” Alex says with more than a note of suspicion in his voice. “What’s going on here?”

END OF EPISODE 1267

Has Alex caught Trevor and Finn in their lies?
What did the police find at the Jimenez home?
What should Elly’s next move be?
Talk about it all in the comments below!

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