Chapter 9
VICTORIA
The tires hummed against the asphalt, the steady rhythm almost loud in the absence of conversation.
Victoria kept her eyes on the road, both hands locked at ten and two. Out of the corner of her vision, she could see Isabel sitting rigid in the passenger seat, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed out the side window.
Neither of them was going to speak first.
The comment from the interrogation room was still lodged in her head like a splinter.
Everything from the captain tastes good.
She’d brushed it off in the moment, buried it under the work at hand, but now — with only the sound of the engine and the white blur of the lines on the road — it rose back to the surface.
She could still remember the exact curl of Isabel’s lips when she’d said it, the heat in her eyes, like it had been a private message meant only for Victoria.
And of course, her mind went further — to the way Isabel’s mouth had felt on hers last night.
Hot, demanding, tasting of whiskey and something darker.
Victoria’s jaw tightened. She pressed harder on the gas, the engine growling in response.
It was ridiculous. She had no business thinking about any of that right now — not with the cabin coming up, not with a suspect and possibly a victim inside. But the memory kept bleeding in, the way Isabel’s tongue had slid against hers, the low sound she’d made when Victoria finally gave in.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter, leather creaking under her hands.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Isabel shifting in her seat. The movement made the sleeve of her leather jacket stretch just enough for the tear to show — a small, ragged hole where the bullet had grazed her.
The pang that hit her was sharp and unwelcome. She shoved it down immediately. She could not afford to think about what it would have meant if the angle had been different. If the shot had landed a few inches over.
Her eyes flicked back to the road. Focus.
Still, her thoughts looped back to the interrogation.
The way Isabel had cracked the suspect open with just a few jokes and an easy smile.
Victoria had to admit — grudgingly — that it had been effective.
More effective, maybe, than anything she’d said.
That smirk of hers could do a lot of damage in the right place.
And just like that, she was thinking about that smirk again — not in the interrogation room, but from last night. The glint in Isabel’s eyes when she’d pressed Victoria back into the mattress. The way her mouth had curved right before she’d leaned in, her voice low and sure.
Victoria felt heat coil low in her stomach. Dammit.
She swore under her breath and reached for the climate controls, twisting the AC down and cranking the fan up until the vents roared with cold air.
Beside her, Isabel didn’t even look over. “Of course you like it cold,” she said, the edge of a smirk in her voice.
Victoria didn’t answer. She just kept her eyes on the road, pretending the shiver that went down her spine was from the air conditioning.
The turnoff came exactly where the suspect said it would be. The faded fence post leaned toward the road as if it was trying to collapse into the weeds, a chipped smear of yellow paint catching the afternoon light.
Victoria slowed, scanning the tree line. There — a break in the growth, narrow enough to miss if you weren’t looking for it. She took the turn, the tires crunching over packed dirt.
Beside her, Isabel straightened in her seat, that restless energy she carried sharpening into focus. “We should park in the woods and approach on foot,” she said, already scanning the tree line for cover.
Victoria glanced at her, catching the spark in her eyes. Tactical. Smart. “Agreed,” she said, keeping her tone even. The begrudging respect was immediate and deep — she had to give credit where it was due. Isabel wasn’t just bold—she was thinking ahead.
A hundred yards in, she eased the car off the road, maneuvering it behind a thick stand of pines. The engine ticked as she killed it, and the forest’s quiet pressed in — a faint wind, the distant call of a bird. Nothing else.
She popped the trunk and got out, the heels she’d worn to the precinct already feeling like a liability.
Reaching into the back, she pulled out a pair of black, worn-in tactical boots.
The heels went in the trunk with a solid thud, and she stepped into the boots, lacing them tight.
The ritual calmed her, settling her into the state she needed.
When she straightened, Isabel was already watching her, her hand resting lightly near her holstered weapon.
“We observe the front entrance first,” Victoria said, her voice clipped and sharp with purpose. “Look for signs of movement. Once we’re sure of what’s in front, you take the back, I take the front.”
Isabel gave a tight nod, drawing her sidearm without a word. Victoria did the same, the weight familiar and grounding in her grip.
They moved forward together, soundless through the trees, until the clearing came into view.
No vehicle in front.
The cabin sat squat and still in the clearing, its porch half in shadow. The front steps sagged slightly, and the porch light was dead. No smoke from the chimney.
It looked empty.
Fresh tire tracks cut into the dirt out front — recent, judging by the sharp edges and lack of debris.
Could be clear. Could be nothing.
She didn’t let the thought ease her guard. She motioned Isabel to the left, the signal to take the back. Isabel dipped her chin in acknowledgment, slipping into the shadows along the cabin’s flank.
Victoria advanced on the front, keeping her body angled and weapon steady. She reached the first window and eased up just enough to peer inside.
No movement. No figures. Chairs were overturned, one on its side in the corner and another lying flat near the table.
She dropped low, the wood siding rough against her shoulder, and called out, her voice loud and commanding. “Phoenix Ridge PD! Open up!”
Silence.
In the same motion, she was up and driving her boot hard into the door. The frame splintered, the door swinging inward with a bang. She swept the muzzle of her gun across the room in smooth arcs — left, right, corners clear.
From the back, she heard the echoing crash of Isabel kicking in the rear door.
Their eyes met across the empty space — no words, just that quick exchange of understanding.
They moved in opposite directions, clearing the small rooms with the same efficiency until they both ended up back in the main room.
Empty.
“Shit,” Isabel muttered, the word sharp in the stale air.
Victoria’s eyes roamed the space. It wasn’t just empty — it had been disrupted—items strewn, drawers open, chairs toppled. Someone had left in a hurry, or someone had searched it afterward.
She holstered her weapon and pulled her phone from her pocket, pressing speed dial.
“Collins,” she said when the line picked up. “Cabin’s clear. We’re going to do a sweep for any clues before we head back.”
She hung up without waiting for a reply, her eyes already moving over the wreckage of the room, the gears in her head turning.
Victoria slid her phone back into her pocket and scanned the room again, forcing herself to look at it like a crime scene instead of an abandoned shack.
“Start with the main room,” she said, already moving toward the overturned table.
Isabel didn’t answer — just moved toward the cabinets near the small kitchenette. She crouched and tugged one open. “Empty,” she reported. “Unless you count a rusted can opener and a spoon.”
“Could be staged,” Victoria said. “They may have cleared everything knowing someone would come looking.”
“Or,” Isabel countered, pulling open the next door, “they just never kept much here to begin with. Makes it easier to leave in a hurry.”
Victoria glanced over. “That’s still staging.”
“That’s survival,” Isabel shot back.
Victoria didn’t bite. She shifted to the small bookshelf near the wall, scanning the spines of battered paperbacks. Her fingers lingered on one that looked newer than the rest. She slid it out — the pages had been hollowed in the center, but whatever had been hidden there was gone.
“Empty,” she called across the room.
Isabel straightened from the counter. “Maybe because someone else already found it.”
Victoria set the book on the table a little harder than necessary. “Or because they took it with them when they left.”
“Same difference,” Isabel muttered.
They moved through the rest of the space — two cramped bedrooms, each with a single bed and a heap of rumpled blankets. In the first, Isabel poked at the mattress with her knuckles. “Still warm.”
Victoria stepped in beside her. “Body heat doesn’t linger that long.”
“Tell that to this mattress.” Isabel gave her a look that was half challenge, half satisfaction.
Victoria moved past her without answering, checking the nightstand — nothing but a single cigarette butt and a matchbook from a gas station in town.
“Matches,” she said. “Could be our lead.”
Isabel arched a brow. “From a place ten minutes from the mill road? Not exactly narrowing it down.”
The second bedroom held even less — just a bedframe with no mattress and a tipped-over chair. Victoria crouched to check underneath and found nothing but dust and a small scuff mark on the floorboards.
When she came back into the main room, Isabel was at the window, scanning the tree line.
“They could’ve ditched anything important outside,” Isabel said. “No point searching in here if they’ve already cleared it.”
Victoria’s patience frayed another inch. “We don’t assume it’s clean until we’ve gone over every inch.”
“We just did,” Isabel said.
“Then we’ll check again,” Victoria replied.
Isabel let out a low, irritated sound.
Victoria straightened, brushing her hands off. “Fine. Let’s take it outside. You check the back. I’ll take the front and the woods.”
Isabel’s jaw shifted, but she nodded once. “Works for me.”