Chapter 3 #2
“Not the time, Langley.”
Victoria’s jaw clenched. Blood was already seeping through Isabel’s sleeve, dark and sticky. But she was still standing, still moving. The last two shooters were repositioning. Victoria tracked their movement, then met Isabel’s gaze.
“One each?” Isabel suggested.
Victoria huffed. “Try to keep up.”
They moved in sync. Isabel fired first, catching one of the shooters in the knee, sending her tumbling down. Victoria lined up the last shot and took out the remaining shooter with a single, clean shot to the shoulder.
Silence settled over the warehouse, thick and heavy. Victoria exhaled slowly, her gun still raised, eyes scanning for movement.
Isabel swayed slightly. Victoria caught her by the elbow, her grip firm. “You need a medic.”
“You need to stop worrying about me,” Isabel muttered, but she let Victoria steady her.
Footsteps thundered outside. Seconds later, the side door burst open, and Collins stormed in with a tactical team, weapons raised. Victoria finally lowered her gun.
“Took you long enough,” Isabel muttered.
Collins’ eyes darted between them, taking in the bodies, the still-smoking weapons. “Jesus. You two all right?”
Victoria nodded. “Torres needs medical attention.”
Isabel groaned. “I swear to God, if you send me to the hospital—”
“You got shot,” Victoria snapped. “You’re going.”
Collins smirked. “Looks like you two had fun.”
Victoria inhaled, steadying herself. The case wasn’t over. The fight wasn’t over. But one thing was damned certain—she owed Isabel Torres her life. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Victoria exhaled sharply, her ears still ringing from the gunfire.
The scent of gunpowder and rusted metal clung to the stale warehouse air as backup flooded the space, securing the scene.
Officers moved swiftly, sweeping the area, calling out the all-clear as the bodies of the downed shooters were checked for signs of life.
“Two dead,” Collins reported, stepping over the crumpled form of one gunman as she holstered her weapon. “One’s still breathing—barely. We’ve got a medic on her now.”
Victoria’s gaze flicked to the body count and immediately scanned the area again, a gnawing sense of wrongness settling in her gut. Something was missing.
Her eyes narrowed. “Where the hell is Natalia Voss?”
Collins stiffened before glancing toward her team. A quick exchange of words confirmed it.
“She’s gone,” one of the officers said grimly. “Must’ve slipped out during the chaos.”
Victoria felt her pulse tick higher. “Are you telling me the only person in this damned building who could give us real answers just walked away?”
“No one saw her leave,” another officer admitted. “Comms were still jammed when we breached—she must’ve had a head start.”
“Son of a bitch,” Victoria muttered, shoving a hand through her blonde hair.
Across the room, Isabel let out a long, drawn-out groan before slumping back against a rusted metal crate. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me I got shot and we don’t even get the bastard?”
Collins shook her head. “We’ll track her down, Captain. She won’t get far.”
Victoria wasn’t convinced. Natalia Voss wasn’t just some street thug—she was a syndicate enforcer. She had resources, connections, and enough experience to slip through their fingers if given the chance.
Isabel let out another dramatic sigh, drawing Victoria’s attention.
“I swear to God,” Isabel grumbled, tilting her head back against the crate. “I take one out-of-state job, and suddenly, I’m getting shot at, trapped in warehouses, and losing my favorite leather jacket.”
Victoria blinked. “You were nearly killed, and your biggest concern is your jacket?”
Isabel held up a single finger. “Not just any jacket. My favorite jacket.”
And then, to Victoria’s utter confusion, Isabel turned her attention to the jacket itself.
“Don’t you worry, baby,” Isabel cooed, gently running her fingers over the ragged bullet hole near the sleeve. “I’ll get you fixed up. I will not let you die like this.”
Collins snorted from a few feet away. Victoria just stared.
Isabel shook her head, muttering under her breath as she peeled the jacket off with careful, deliberate movements. She winced—her injured arm clearly protesting—but still cradled the damaged leather as if it had feelings.
“You didn’t deserve this,” she lamented, examining the torn material. “You’ve been nothing but good to me. Years of loyalty, keeping me warm, making me look good. And now? You’ve been wounded in battle.”
“Torres,” Victoria started, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Are you seriously—”
“Shh!” Isabel cut her off, pressing a finger to her lips as if scolding her for interrupting a funeral service. “Show some respect.”
Victoria exchanged a look with Collins, who was visibly struggling not to laugh.
“Jesus Christ,” Victoria muttered.
“Language,” Isabel shot back, still caressing the jacket like a fallen comrade.
Collins chuckled, shaking her head. “All right, lovebirds, while you two argue over Torres’ emotional support jacket, I’ll be coordinating the forensic team.”
Victoria rolled her eyes, but before she could snap back, Isabel finally sighed, setting the jacket aside as if she were tucking it into bed.
“All right,” Isabel said, flexing her fingers. “Let’s get this over with.”
Victoria frowned. “Get what over with?”
Isabel reached up and, with zero hesitation, ripped off the entire sleeve of her already-ruined white button-up shirt.
Victoria’s mouth opened, then closed. “Did you just—”
“Shirt was already ruined,” Isabel said casually, twisting the fabric into a makeshift bandage before tying it snugly around the wound on her upper arm, using her teeth to tighten the knot.
Victoria’s gaze snagged on the way Isabel’s lush lips pulled back, imagining what those teeth would feel like against her neck.
Isabel winced slightly but didn’t pause. “And before you start mothering me, it’s shallow. I’m not dying. Just a few stitches, and I’ll be good as new.”
Victoria wanted to argue, but as she stepped closer to inspect the wound, she saw Isabel was right. It wasn’t deep—just a nasty graze, the kind that would sting like hell but wouldn’t do any lasting damage.
Still.
“You need a hospital.”
“No, I don’t,” Isabel countered immediately.
Victoria’s jaw clenched. “Torres—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I just tied it off,” Isabel pointed out, gesturing to the wrapped sleeve. “See? No immediate danger. You take me to a hospital, and I get benched for the rest of the case. Not happening.”
Victoria exhaled slowly. She understood the instinct—hell, she’d done the same thing more times than she could count. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
“You’re impossible,” Victoria muttered.
Isabel grinned. “So I’ve been told.”
Victoria scrubbed a hand down her face. “Fine. But you’re getting patched up as soon as we get back to the precinct.”
“I can slap a Band-Aid on it myself,” Isabel countered.
Victoria arched a brow. “Not a chance. If you won’t go to the hospital, I’m patching you up myself.”
That made Isabel pause. Her gaze flicked to Victoria, assessing, before she smirked. “You? Didn’t take you for the ‘nurse me back to health’ type.”
Victoria shot her a glare. “I’ve stitched up more people than I can count, Torres. Try me.”
Isabel’s smirk didn’t waver. In fact, it deepened.
“Oh, I’d love to try you, Captain,” she said, voice just a little too low, a little too amused. “But I’m afraid your hands may not be gentle enough for me.”
Victoria inhaled sharply. She refused—refused—to let that comment get under her skin.
She turned away, stalking toward the exit. “Get in the damned car, Torres.”
Isabel’s chuckle followed her out of the warehouse.
Victoria didn’t look back.
The drive back to the precinct was mostly silent—if only because Victoria refused to give Isabel the satisfaction of acknowledging the ridiculous grin she was wearing.
Victoria focused on the road, gripping the steering wheel way too tightly. Every time she stole a glance at Isabel, she caught her sitting there, one arm draped lazily over the center console, fingers tapping idly against the leather, smirking like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Victoria exhaled sharply through her nose. Focus. The case. The wound. Nothing else.
“You know,” Isabel mused after a while, “I think this is the longest you’ve gone without telling me what to do.”
Victoria’s grip tightened. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Oh, I am,” Isabel murmured.
Victoria definitely wasn’t going to ask what she meant by that.
By the time they pulled into the precinct lot, Victoria had a plan: Get inside, get Torres patched up, and get out of the situation as quickly as possible. No unnecessary conversation. No unnecessary touching.
She should have known Isabel was going to make that impossible.
Victoria set the first aid kit on her desk, motioning for Isabel to take a seat. “Shirt off.”
Isabel’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, Captain. Buy me dinner first.”
Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose. “Torres.”
Isabel grinned, but she obeyed, shrugging out of what remained of her completely destroyed button-up. She was left in just a black tank top, the fabric clinging to her in a way that was entirely unnecessary. Victoria told herself she didn’t notice.
She definitely noticed.
“All right let’s see it,” Victoria said, rolling up the sleeves of her own shirt.
Isabel turned slightly in the chair, resting her arm on the desk. The wound was shallow but ugly—a jagged graze along her upper bicep already crusted with dried blood.
Victoria grabbed a bottle of antiseptic. “This is going to sting.”
“I can handle it,” Isabel murmured, her voice lower now. More serious.
Victoria nodded, pressing a gauze pad to the wound. The moment the antiseptic hit, Isabel inhaled sharply, her fingers curling into a fist. Victoria felt the way her body tensed under her hands—too close, too warm. The air in the office felt heavier somehow, pressing in.
“You’re awfully gentle for someone who probably learned this in a war zone,” Isabel murmured after a moment, voice teasing but softer now.
Victoria’s hands stilled for half a second before she continued. “I’ve patched up worse.”
“Is that your way of saying you care?”
Victoria didn’t look at her. “It’s my way of saying I don’t want you bleeding all over my precinct.”
Isabel chuckled, but there was something else in her expression—something thoughtful, almost searching. “You ever think about quitting? Doing something less…” She gestured vaguely. “Life-threatening?”
Victoria exhaled, securing the gauze. “No.”
“Not even once?”
“No.”
Isabel hummed. “So you’re one of those ‘the job is my life’ people.”
Victoria shot her a look. “And you’re not?”
Isabel’s smirk faltered—just for a moment. “Touché.”
Victoria shook her head, reaching for the needle and thread. “Stay still.”
Isabel obeyed, but she was watching Victoria again, her gaze slow and deliberate. “I meant what I said, by the way.”
Victoria frowned, threading the needle. “About what?”
“About your hands,” Isabel murmured. “They’re steady. Strong.” She tilted her head slightly, smirking. “But you’re careful. You don’t want to hurt me.”
Victoria’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to keep going. “That’s what a good medic does,” she muttered.
“That’s what a good partner does,” Isabel corrected.
Victoria didn’t have an answer for that.
She focused on the stitches, keeping her breathing steady, keeping everything steady.
But Isabel made it impossible. She was so…
there. The warmth of her skin, the scent of leather and gunpowder still clinging to her, the way she held Victoria’s gaze without hesitation.
When Victoria finished the last stitch, she exhaled slowly and sat back. “Done.”
Isabel flexed her arm slightly, testing the movement before glancing up at Victoria with a lopsided grin. “Not bad, Captain. Didn’t even cry.”
Victoria arched a brow. “I told you.”
Isabel smirked. “You did. And I so love when you’re right.”
Victoria ignored that. “You need rest.”
“Oh, come on,” Isabel groaned. “You patch me up just to put me on a time-out?”
“You were shot,” Victoria pointed out. “You need sleep.”
Isabel rolled her shoulder. “Nah. I’ll be fine.”
Victoria sighed, standing. “Then at least eat something.”
Isabel’s lips curled, her expression shifting as if she’d just been handed an opportunity. Victoria immediately regretted saying anything.
“You know, Captain,” Isabel drawled, leaning back in her chair, “since you’re so worried about my wellbeing, maybe you should supervise my recovery.”
Victoria narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at, Torres?”
“Dinner.” Isabel tilted her head. “Lavender’s. It’s not far, the food’s good, and you can make sure I don’t pass out at the table.” She smirked. “Very responsible of you.”
Victoria hesitated. “That’s not necessary.”
Isabel raised a brow. “So you’d rather I don’t eat?”
Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose. Why was Torres like this?
Isabel grinned, standing. “Come on, Langley. It’s just dinner. You and me, no precinct, no case talk—just two people eating food. Surely even you take breaks.”
Victoria’s lips pressed into a thin line. This was a mistake. A terrible mistake. And yet she heard herself saying, “Fine.”
Isabel blinked, then grinned like she’d just won something. “Damn. Wasn’t expecting that to work.”
Victoria grabbed her blazer, slipping it on with sharp, efficient movements. “Let’s get this over with.”
Isabel chuckled, following her out. “Oh, Captain. You’re gonna have fun. I promise.”
Victoria had serious doubts about that.