Chapter 2
ISABEL
Except five minutes had turned into thirty, and now she was officially screwed.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Isabel muttered as she ripped the covers off and bolted upright.
The morning light filtering through her blinds caught the faint freckles across her bronze skin, a reminder that she spent more time in the sun in her youth than she probably should have.
She threw on a black tank top and grabbed the jeans off the floor from next to her bed.
Yanking the jeans over her butt with a little jump, she rushed out of the bedroom.
Her one-bedroom apartment was still more boxes than home - half unpacked stacks lining the walls, the couch was buried under clothes she hadn’t found space for yet. The place smelled faintly of fresh paint and cardboard, and the air conditioner rattled unevenly in the window.
Yet, amidst the chaos, small touches made it hers.
A handful of framed photos were already set on the nightstand and the tiny kitchen counter - her mom laughing mid-conversation, her younger sister grinning at the camera, an old candid of Isabel with her brothers during a beach trip years ago.
A worn leather jacket hung off the back of a dining chair, the only piece of clothing she’d neatly placed.
She dashed into the bathroom, barely flicking on the light as she shoved her toothbrush into her mouth.
The mirror reflected the rushed blur of her - bronze skin, dark eyes still heavy with sleep, and the faint shadow of her undercut peeking through as she ran a wet hand through her hair. The shower would have to wait.
Darting back into the main room, she yanked open a suitcase on the floor, rifling through until she found a clean button-up shirt. Her chucks were sitting on top of a box labeled “kitchen.” Close enough.
She threw them on, grabbed her leather jacket, and was out the door in under five minutes.
Her damned car.
The old sedan coughed like a lifelong smoker when she turned the ignition. Isabel clenched her jaw, willing the thing to start, but it only sputtered before dying completely.
“Oh, come on, you piece of - “
Slapping her palm against the steering wheel did nothing except make her hand ache.
With a muttered curse, she grabbed her phone and called for a ride, practically vibrating with impatience as she waited.
Her fingers drummed against her thigh, the silver ring she always wore on her middle finger catching the light.
By the time the car dropped her off at the precinct, Isabel was already twenty minutes late.
The police parking lot was bustling with movement - officers prepping vehicles, exchanging morning chatter, the heavy scent of exhaust hanging in the humid air.
She adjusted the strap of her leather jacket, rolling her shoulders.
It was already too hot for it, but she didn’t feel right without it.
The dark worn leather was a soft armor that held a reminder of who she was and who she wanted to be now.
Inside, the building was a stark contrast - cool, sterile, and buzzing with low murmurs.
Isabel caught her reflection in the glass doors before stepping through, her deep brown eyes sharp despite the rushed morning.
She shoved a hand through her hair, pushing it back into something resembling order.
She made her way to the front desk, where a middle-aged officer with graying hair and an easy smirk sat nursing a coffee. Her nameplate read Harris.
"You look lost," she drawled, eyeing her up and down. "And late. Not a great start, newbie."
Leaning on the counter, Isabel flashed her most disarming smile. "Guilty as charged. First day. All I know is I’m supposed to meet the captain, but no one thought to tell me where. Help a girl out?"
Harris let out a chuckle, shaking her head. "Oh, you’re in for it. Captain Langley doesn’t do late. She runs this place tighter than a drum."
Isabel huffed a small laugh, feigning innocence. "So, what you’re saying is I should sneak in and hope she doesn’t notice?"
Harris snorted. "Not a chance. Second floor, conference room. Take the stairs—elevator’s out."
"Noted." She gave her a mock salute before heading toward the stairs.
Isabel slid into the conference room as smoothly as possible, but that didn’t stop Victoria Langley’s gaze from snapping to her.
Damn.
The captain was… well… regal. She was stiff-backed, with a crisp suit and blonde hair tied back with ruthless precision. She was the kind of woman Isabel would have admired from afar in another life. Someone untouchable. Controlled.
“Torres, nice of you to join us,” Victoria said, her tone cool enough to make the room drop a few degrees.
A slow smirk tugged at Isabel’s lips. There was something about a beautiful woman being mean to her that just got Isabel excited. “Car trouble. Didn’t expect Phoenix Ridge to be so damned humid.”
Victoria’s ice-blue eyes assessed her. Isabel could feel her taking in the leather jacket, the slouch in her stance, the cocky glint in her expression.
A muscle in her jaw ticked. “Noted. Since you’re here, you’ll be working with me on this. Hope you’re ready to move fast.”
Isabel felt the low burn of something settling in her gut. Interest? Challenge? Maybe something a little less professional. “Fast is my specialty.”
Isabel shifted to stand beside who she could only assume was Lieutenant Darcy Collins, forcing herself to refocus. Still, as Victoria resumed the briefing, Isabel let her gaze linger a beat longer than necessary.
Shit. She was in trouble.
“We have limited time before the syndicate disappears with Chloe. Torres, you’ll dig into the gala staff - someone let them in. Find out who.”
Unable to help herself, Isabel gave a mock salute as she looked directly into Victoria’s icy blue eyes. “On it, Captain.”
The tips of her fingers tingled as she watched Victoria’s nostrils flare before turning back to the group. “We don’t have time for mistakes. Let’s move.”
Officers began to move at the clear dismissal as Victoria strode to the door with purpose. Stopping, Victoria snapped over her shoulder, “I expect an update at oh-nine-hundred.”
The officers in the conference room visibly relaxed as the door closed behind the captain. Chatter picked up as people began to file out of the room. Isabel took this moment to turn to the short stocky woman standing next to her.
Sticking out her hand, she gave her best carefree smile and introduced herself. “I’d introduce myself but it looks like the captain did a good job of that.”
Chuckling, the officer shook her head and ran her hands through her cropped salt and pepper hair before firmly grabbing Isabel’s hand and responding.
“Lieutenant Darcy Collins. I’m your direct report. You certainly know how to make an impression.”
Isabel snorted as her smirk widened. “You could say that. I do like to make an entrance.”
Darcy’s face remained stoic, though her eyes lit up with laughter as she motioned down the hall.
“Come on, hot shot. This way.”
They stopped at an empty desk littered with a few stray office supplies and an outdated landline phone. A sleek chair with battered edges sat in front of a computer that looked too clean and fancy to have belonged to anyone else.
“Welcome to your kingdom,” Darcy said dryly. “Don’t get too comfortable. We spend more time in the field than at these desks, but you’ll want to go through this first.” She dropped a thick case file onto the desk with a heavy thud.
Isabel ran a hand over the folder, noting the bright red KIDNAPPING - CHLOE HARPER label. Picking up the folder, Isabel feigned like it was too heavy to lift as she lifted a questioning brow at Darcy.
Darcy rolled her eyes before answering Isabel’s silent question. “That’s the all the info we could pull on the gala staff this morning. None of it has been reviewed yet.”
Isabel nodded, growing serious. “What’s the captain’s read on this so far?”
Darcy leaned against the desk, crossing her arms again. “Langley’s thinking professionals. Maybe even Iron Fang - a local syndicate.”
Isabel flipped the folder open, scanning the preliminary reports.
Photos of Chloe Harper’s last known appearance - stepping outside the gala in a shimmery silver dress - were clipped to the top.
Next to it was a still from the security footage: a dark SUV with blacked-out windows pulling away from the hotel’s rear exit.
“Security footage is too grainy for plates,” Isabel muttered, flipping to the next page. “And no ransom demand yet?”
Darcy nodded, an approving look in her eyes as she assessed Isabel. “Not publicly,” she acknowledged. “But something’s off with Lily Harper. She’s holding back.”
“Shocker,” Isabel murmured, reaching for the crime scene photos. Chloe’s abandoned shoe, the overturned chairs from the gala’s fire drill, the faint smear of something dark near the exit. Isabel squinted at the image. “Has forensics confirmed if this is blood?”
Darcy shook her head. “They’re running tests now.”
Isabel studied the pictures, then the transcripts of witness statements. Most guests had been too distracted by the fire drill to notice much. A few mentioned a man near the exit, but the descriptions varied - tall, medium height, clean-shaven, scruffy…”
She sighed, shutting the file. “Something’s bugging me.”
Darcy smirked. “Then you’ll fit right in. Figure out what it is. And for god’s sake, you’d better go through those background checks on the gala staff before the 9 a.m. meeting, or you’ll never get on Captain Langley’s good side.”
Never one to turn down a challenge, Isabel straightened her spine. “Well call me Tom Cruise, because I’m going to dominate this mission impossible.”
Darcy rolled her eyes, feigning disgust. “You’d better put your money where your mouth is, Torres.”
Isabel laughed as she gave a mock salute and retorted, “Yes, Lieutenant Collins!”