Chapter 10 #2
For a heartbeat, Victoria’s mask slipped. The panic Isabel had glimpsed in the bullpen flickered again—raw and unguarded. Then it was gone, replaced by steel. “You need to control yourself, Torres. This reckless outburst—it’s exactly why I didn’t want you on this case in the first place.”
The words hit like a punch. Isabel’s chest burned, fury tangling with hurt so sharp she couldn’t untangle them. “You don’t want me here?” she asked, her voice rough. “Then say it. Say you don’t want me here.”
Victoria’s hands flattened on the desk, her knuckles pale. Her jaw flexed before she finally spoke. “Fine. You want the truth? I don’t want you here.”
The words landed like a slap. They rang false—Isabel could see it in the flicker of hesitation, the way Victoria’s eyes darted away for the briefest second—but the fact that she’d said them at all cut deeper than silence ever could.
Heat roared in Isabel’s chest, rising until it broke loose. “You don’t want me here?” Her voice pitched higher, anger cracking through. “Good. Because I sure as hell don’t want to be anywhere near you, either!”
Her voice carried, sharp and loud enough that heads were already turning outside the glass. “This place, this—” she threw her hand toward the bullpen, “—all of it. You can have it, Victoria. You can keep your control and your walls and your perfect little mask. I’m done.”
She snatched the file off the desk, her movements jagged and violent with fury. “You want me gone? Watch me.”
Isabel yanked the office door open with a force that rattled the frame. Conversations in the bullpen faltered, eyes darting up, following her as she stormed through. The phones still rang, keyboards still clattered, but under it all, the hush of held breaths pressed in around her.
She didn’t slow. Didn’t glance back. Her boots struck hard against the polished floor, carrying her through the maze of desks, past the wide-eyed rookies and the seasoned detectives who knew better than to get in her way.
The fluorescent lights glared down, the hum of the precinct pounding in her skull until it felt unbearable.
And then she shoved through the front doors into the cool air outside, the noise and brightness of the bullpen swallowed behind her.
The slam of the doors echoed like finality.
Isabel sat on the edge of her couch, a bottle of beer sweating in her hand, the glow from the muted TV casting shadows across the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall.
She’d been staring at them for twenty minutes, wondering if it was worth even bothering.
Leave them closed, she thought. Easier that way.
Who knew if Phoenix Ridge was worth unpacking for?
She tipped back the bottle, swallowing warm beer gone flat. The fight at the precinct still rang in her head, Victoria’s words replaying like a broken record: I don’t want you here. They were a lie, and Isabel knew it. But they hurt like truth.
The knock at her door startled her so hard she nearly dropped the bottle. She frowned, setting it down before padding across the room. When she pulled the door open, every thought drained clean out of her.
Victoria stood there.
Her posture was stiff, but her face was another story. The captain’s usual immaculate poise had cracked. Her eyes were red-rimmed, mascara smudged faintly beneath them. Even her hair seemed less perfectly arranged, a strand falling across her cheek.
Isabel’s mouth went dry. She stepped aside automatically, unable to form words. Victoria moved past her into the small apartment, the faint scent of rain and perfume clinging to her jacket.
“I…” Victoria’s voice faltered. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“I came to apologize. For earlier. For saying I didn’t want you on this case.
” Her words were clipped, rehearsed, her hands flexing at her sides as though she wanted to wring them.
“That was uncalled for. You’re a good detective, Torres. You belong here.”
Isabel blinked at her, still too stunned to find her footing. The silence stretched until she finally managed flatly, “Is that all?”
Victoria’s jaw tightened. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” Isabel crossed her arms, holding her ground. “Is that all you came here to say?”
Victoria hesitated. Her gaze slipped, and for a moment Isabel swore she saw her flinch. But then the captain mask slid back into place. “Yes,” she said, steady but hollow. “That’s all.”
Something in Isabel hardened. She moved to the door and pulled it open. “Then you should go. You clearly said everything you needed to say already, right?”
For once, Victoria didn’t move. She just stood there, frozen, staring at Isabel as if the ground had dropped away beneath her. The mask crumbled. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. Her chest rose and fell too fast, and suddenly her eyes filled.
When the tears spilled over, she snapped.
“Goddammit, Torres!” Victoria’s voice cracked, raw and ragged.
Isabel’s chest seized. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stare at the woman breaking down in front of her.
Victoria’s voice shook as she pushed forward, every word raw.
“You don’t get it, Torres. You make me lose control.
I don’t lose control.” Her fists tightened at her sides, tears cutting dark tracks under her eyes.
“I tried to keep it professional. I tried to pretend it was just the job. But you—” she jabbed a trembling finger toward Isabel, her breath hitching, “—you made me like you. More than I should. More than as a coworker.”
The words tore out of her, ragged and furious, as if she could shout them into being less true.
Victoria took another step closer, her voice breaking now. “And I can’t ignore it anymore. I can’t ignore you. There’s something between us, something I don’t know how to control, and it terrifies me.”
The confession crashed into the room, leaving a silence so heavy it rang in Isabel’s ears.
Her jaw dropped, her heart hammering in her chest. She wanted to say something, anything—but the sight of Victoria undone, mascara smudged, eyes bright with tears, knocked every word from her tongue.
Instead, her body moved on instinct.
She surged forward, closing the last sliver of space between them, her mouth finding Victoria’s in a kiss that was messy, desperate, and consuming. All the anger and heat, all the pent-up frustration, spilled out in that single collision.
Victoria pressed back instantly, meeting her with equal force, hands gripping at Isabel’s jacket as though she couldn’t bear to let go. Isabel gasped into her mouth, pulling her closer until the world outside the apartment may as well not have existed.
The kiss deepened fast, too fast, and Isabel didn’t care.
Victoria’s mouth was hot and insistent against hers, tasting faintly of salt from tears and the sharp edge of wine she must have had before coming here.
Isabel groaned, the sound raw in her throat, and slid her hands down Victoria’s sides, gripping her hips as if she could anchor herself in the storm.
Victoria clung back just as fiercely, fingers twisting into Isabel’s shirt, dragging her closer until their bodies pressed flush. The heat between them spiked, a spark roaring into flame.
Without breaking the kiss, Isabel bent, hooked her arms under Victoria’s thighs, and lifted.
Victoria gasped into her mouth, startled, but her legs wrapped around Isabel’s waist instinctively, holding tight.
Isabel carried her the few steps across the small space and set her down onto the counter, the edge pressing into the back of Victoria’s thighs.
Victoria’s hands flew to Isabel’s shoulders, then tangled into her hair, dragging her in again. Their mouths met in a clash of teeth and breath, each kiss hungrier than the last. Isabel pressed forward, bracing her palms against the counter on either side of Victoria’s hips, caging her in.
Victoria tipped her head back, her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted as Isabel kissed down along her jaw, her throat. A shaky sound broke free of Victoria’s chest—half a gasp, half a moan—and it sent a jolt of heat straight through Isabel.
The air in the apartment grew heavy, thick with the scent of beer, perfume, and the electric charge of everything they’d been denying. The counter creaked beneath them as Isabel pressed closer, unable to get enough, unwilling to let go.
Isabel’s hands slid under the hem of Victoria’s blouse, her fingertips tracing warm skin, the thought of taking her time—of peeling her open slowly, deliberately, savoring every inch—thrumming hot in her chest. She wanted to undress her carefully, to claim every button, every layer, until Victoria was trembling for her.
But Victoria didn’t let her.
With a sudden, guttural sound, Victoria fisted Isabel’s shirt in both hands and yanked.
The fabric tore up and over her head in one fierce motion, buttons scattering against the floor.
Isabel froze for half a second, breathless and shocked at the violence of it—and then fire surged through her veins.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” she rasped, her eyes blazing.
Her hands shot to Victoria’s blouse, ripping it open in one swift motion, sending buttons flying. The jacket was next, tugged off with rough hands, then the bra, Isabel tearing through fabric and lace until Victoria sat bare on the counter, hair mussed, eyes wild.
Victoria’s hands slid boldly over Isabel’s chest, fingers curling until she pinched and rolled a nipple between them. The sharp tug sent a shock of heat straight through Isabel’s body, pooling low and fierce. For a second, her breath caught, the sensation threatening to steal her focus.
But then she saw it for what it was.
Victoria’s eyes glinted, daring, testing—trying to flip the balance, trying to make Isabel come undone first.