Chapter 8 #2
She smirked to cover it. “Just a graze,” she said lightly, the words slipping out like they meant nothing. But she didn’t miss the quick flicker of Victoria’s eyes toward her or the way her pulse was suddenly loud in her ears.
The suspect glanced between them, clearly picking up on the tension, but Victoria was already turning the knife.
“You’ve got one chance to make this easier on yourself,” she said flatly. “And right now, you’re wasting it.”
The woman stayed silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. The air in the room was thick — too much staring, too much steel. Isabel decided it was time to change the temperature.
She pushed off the wall, crossing to the table with an easy, almost careless gait.
“You want something to drink?” she asked the suspect, tilting her head.
“I wouldn’t recommend the precinct coffee — tastes like it’s been filtered through motor oil.
But if you’re lucky, maybe the captain will let us dip into her private stash. ”
Victoria’s head turned sharply, her gaze like a blade. Isabel felt the sting of it but didn’t look away.
“Collins,” Victoria said without breaking eye contact with Isabel. “Bring three cups from my personal stash.”
Isabel grinned at the suspect. “You have no idea how rare that is. Most of us have to sell our souls for a cup of that coffee.”
The woman huffed something that was almost a laugh.
Isabel leaned casually against the wall again, feeling Victoria’s presence on the other side of the table — that contained, controlled force that made her so damned compelling.
It was impossible not to think of those same hands scratching at her back, her voice rough in her ear.
She shoved the thought away before it could show in her expression.
When Collins returned with the coffee, setting the cups down, Isabel watched the suspect take a cautious sip.
She smirked. “Everything from the captain tastes good.”
It was subtle, the way Victoria’s shoulders stiffened — but Isabel caught it.
The captain turned her back to her and refocused on the suspect. “Who made that ransom call?”
The woman’s smirk faded. She glanced at the coffee again.
“I don’t know his name,” the woman said finally, her voice low. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to Victoria. “But…there’s a cabin.”
Isabel leaned forward, her adrenaline sparking. “Where?”
“In the mountains,” the woman said, shifting in her seat. “Past the old mill road. It’s off the main track — you wouldn’t find it unless you knew where to look.”
Victoria’s voice cut in sharply. “How far past the mill road?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes. Dirt path. There’s a turn-off marked by an old fence post with yellow paint on it. If you go past that, you’ve gone too far.”
“You’ve been there?” Isabel asked.
The woman hesitated. “Twice. Last time was a week ago.”
“What was there?” Victoria asked.
The woman’s fingers tapped against her coffee mug. “One main cabin. Small. Two rooms, maybe three. There’s a shed out back with crates and gas cans. Stuff for staying off the grid.”
“Armed guards?” Isabel pressed.
“Two. Stayed outside the whole time. One with a shotgun, one with a rifle. Porch light off, lantern inside.”
Victoria’s gaze sharpened. “Who was inside?”
“That’s the thing.” The woman’s eyes flicked up. “The caller — the guy who made the ransom call — he’s not running things. He’s nothing big. They use him for errands. Small jobs. Probably picked him to make the call so it wouldn’t trace back to the people actually in charge.”
Isabel frowned. “So, who’s in charge?”
The woman’s mouth tightened. “A woman. Mid-forties, maybe a little older. Blonde hair — or at least, that’s the color she’s wearing now. Sharp dresser, even in the middle of nowhere. Always wearing rings, the big kind with gems in them. She’s the one people listen to.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Name?”
“I never heard anyone say it. Just ‘the boss’ or ‘her.’”
“Describe her mannerisms,” Isabel said.
“She’s calm, but you can feel it — like she could go from zero to putting a bullet in you in half a second. She never yells. She doesn’t have to. People just…do what she says.”
“What about when you were there?” Victoria asked.
The woman nodded. “First time, she had two men with her. Second time…there was a kid. Teenager. Brown hair. Quiet. Sat at the table the whole time as if she was waiting for something.”
Chloe. Isabel’s pulse thudded.
“Vehicles?” Isabel asked, steadying her voice.
“A black pickup, older, a dent in the rear bumper. And a dark blue SUV parked out back so you can’t see it from the road.”
“Any dogs? Traps?” Victoria asked.
“No dogs. Motion lights front and right side. Left side’s woods, but steep.”
Isabel’s mind was already cataloging it: the blind spot, the vehicles, the guard positions. “And the caller — you think he’ll be there?”
“Maybe. But he’s not the one you want.” The woman’s gaze slid to Victoria. “She is.”
Victoria leaned forward, her tone ice. “Good. Then we’ll find her.”
The moment the woman finished describing the turn-off past the mill road, Isabel pushed back from the table. “We have to get to that cabin. Now.”
Victoria was already halfway there, her voice crisp and sharp as she turned toward the mirrored glass. “Collins — we’re heading up there. You wrap this up. Get her statement on record, get her to sign it. Hell, tell her attorney we’ll give her a good deal if the cabin turns out to be something.”
“Yes, Captain,” Collins’ voice crackled through the speaker.
Victoria’s focus didn’t waver. Watching her like this — issuing orders, fully in control — was maddening.
Isabel couldn’t help admiring the way she commanded a room, but it was tangled with the same frustration that had been gnawing at her all morning.
Even now, when the air between them practically vibrated with tension, there was that cold wall — polished, impenetrable, and firmly in place.
As they stepped into the hall, Isabel asked, “Your car or mine?”
“My car,” Victoria said without missing a beat. “Obviously.”
The snap of it sent a flicker of heat and irritation through Isabel’s chest. She followed her out to the precinct garage without another word.
When they slid into Victoria’s black sedan, the space between them seemed impossibly small — not just in distance, but in how aware she was of every single thing about her.
The faint scent of her perfume, the controlled precision of her movements as she adjusted the mirrors, the quiet power in her posture even in the driver’s seat.
They’d been closer than this — much closer — just last night. But somehow, this felt further away than ever.
The sexual tension still undeniably hummed between them, but Victoria’s wall was so firmly in place that Isabel felt as if she was sitting next to a fortress. She wanted to reach across the console, to force that mask to crack, but she kept her arms folded instead, staring out the windshield.
So close.
And yet so far.