Chapter 12
ISABEL
Isabel sat at her desk long after the bullpen had thinned out, the clatter of keyboards and phones replaced by the hum of the vending machine down the hall.
A cold cup of coffee sat untouched at her elbow.
The glow of her desktop monitor lit her face, the cursor blinking in a blank password field.
She typed with practiced speed, unlocking the hidden file buried three folders deep, disguised as nothing more than an abandoned budget spreadsheet.
Once it opened, the title at the top reminded her why she’d started keeping it in the first place: For My Eyes Only.
Her fingers hovered before she began to type.
Today: spoke with every officer who knew about the cabin raid.
— Jenkins (swears she heard about it only after the fact, body language reads truthful).
— Miller (insists briefing details never left her lips, but too eager to defend herself).
— O’Connor (shrugged me off; dismissive, but maybe that’s just her).
She scrolled down, adding notes, her jaw tight as she replayed each interaction in her head. Nothing stuck out. Nobody slipped. Every answer sounded clean—too clean.
She leaned back, raking a hand through her hair.
Déjà vu coiled in her gut like a sickness.
She’d been here before. Different city, different badge, but the same stink in the air.
At her last job, she’d been the one who’d raised the flag.
The one who’d called out a decorated officer when no one else had the guts.
She still remembered the way the room turned cold, how her so-called sisters in blue closed ranks—not around her, but against her. Whistleblower. Rat.
She shook her head and forced her eyes back to the screen.
I spoke to everyone who could’ve known. None of it adds up. Someone knew we were going in. Someone tipped them off. And I can’t see who it is.
Her fingers paused over the keys. For the first time in hours, she slumped forward, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. The frustration was eating her alive. It didn’t make sense. It never did, not until the trap snapped shut.
Isabel dropped her hands and started typing again, harder this time, the strokes sharp.
If there’s a mole here, I’ll find her. I won’t let this play out like last time.
She hit save, locked the file, and pushed her chair back with a weary creak. The knot in her chest didn’t ease.
The sound echoed too loudly in the near-empty precinct. She rubbed the back of her neck, rolling her shoulders, staring at the screen as if willing it to give her something more.
“You’re still here?”
The voice made her jolt. Isabel looked up to see Lieutenant Darcy leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at her mouth.
“Yeah,” Isabel said, forcing her tone into something casual. “Just finishing up notes.”
Darcy’s eyes flicked to the dark screen, then back to her. “You’ve been at it for hours. It’s late. You should go home, Torres. Get some sleep before you burn yourself out.”
“I’m fine,” Isabel muttered, a little sharper than she meant.
Darcy’s smile didn’t falter, but her gaze lingered—steady and unreadable. “Long days don’t get shorter by staring at a computer all night. Trust me on that.”
Something in the way she said it sent a ripple of unease down Isabel’s spine.
She couldn’t pin it—tone? Expression? Just the wrong word at the wrong time?
Her instincts buzzed, the same low hum that had been needling her all day, making every face in the bullpen look as if it might be hiding something.
But she caught herself. She was running on fumes, wound too tight after hours of suspicion that had gone nowhere. She couldn’t afford to start doubting everyone. Not Darcy. Not Victoria. If she didn’t trust them, she didn’t trust anyone.
She brushed it off and nodded, pushing herself to stand. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s been a long day.”
Darcy stepped aside to let her pass, her hand resting loosely on the doorframe. “See you tomorrow, Detective,” she said, her voice light, but something about it carried an edge.
Isabel hesitated a second too long before walking out. Her gut twisted, but she shoved the feeling down.
She didn’t look back—but the sensation of being watched lingered long after she left the room.
The night air was cool when Isabel stepped out of the precinct, the fluorescent hum inside replaced by the hush of an almost-empty lot.
Her boots clicked against the pavement, the echo carrying further than it should have.
She tugged her jacket tighter, still buzzing from the conversation with Darcy, still chewing on that itch of unease she’d tried to dismiss.
Her car sat under the far streetlamp, shadows pooling beneath it. She hit the fob, the taillights blinking red. Normal. Nothing out of place.
She slid into the driver’s seat, tossing her bag onto the passenger side. The faint smell of leather and coffee clung to the air. Her hand found the keys, slid them into the ignition—
And froze.
Something didn’t feel right.
Her gut twisted hard, a wave of cold washing over her skin. She hesitated, her fingers hovering. She’d learned to listen to that instinct, the same instinct that had kept her alive more than once.
Her gaze swept the dashboard, the footwell, the seams of the console. Nothing obvious. Nothing screaming at her.
Still—her hand pulled back.
She opened the door slowly, stepping out into the night. That’s when she saw it: the faint, unnatural gleam of wiring tucked up beneath the chassis, barely visible in the streetlamp’s light.
Her stomach dropped.
She took a step back. Another. Her breath lodged in her throat.
The ignition clicked faintly as the keys shifted in the slot. Then—
BOOM.
The car erupted in a deafening blast, a fireball punching into the night sky. Heat slammed into Isabel’s body, knocking her back onto the asphalt. Shards of glass rained down, the smell of burning fuel and scorched metal choking the air.
She scrambled, coughing, dragging herself behind a concrete barrier as the flames roared, her heart battering against her ribs.
Her car was gone. If she’d turned that key—if she hadn’t listened to that tiny voice—she’d be gone, too.
“Torres!”
Darcy’s voice ripped through the night. Isabel twisted toward the precinct doors just as Darcy barreled out, her boots pounding the asphalt. Her face was pale in the glow of the flames, her eyes wide with panic.
“Help! Somebody call it in,” Darcy shouted over her shoulder before dropping to her knees beside Isabel.
“Jesus, Torres—are you hit?” Her hands skimmed over Isabel’s arms, her sides, checking for blood, for torn fabric, for anything that meant the blast had left more than ringing ears and scorched lungs behind.
“I’m fine,” Isabel rasped, though her voice shook. The heat from the wreck still pressed against her back, glass crunching under her palms.
Darcy didn’t look convinced. Her eyes swept her again, frantic, as if expecting some hidden wound to surface. “That was your car.”
“Yeah,” Isabel muttered, coughing against the smoke curling through the air. “What’s left of it.”
The words came out harsher than she meant, but the adrenaline made her skin prickle and her pulse hammer. She shoved herself up on shaky legs, ignoring Darcy’s steadying hand.
The fire screamed behind them, but louder still was the truth pounding in Isabel’s chest: someone had just tried to kill her.
And the person who planted that bomb had known exactly which car was hers.
The sirens had faded, leaving only the crackle of fire hoses and the distant murmur of uniforms roping off the scene.
Isabel sat on the edge of the parked ambulance, a blanket draped over her shoulders more for show than warmth.
Her ears still rang, her throat raw from smoke.
The medic had pronounced her lucky—no burns, no serious injuries—but the adrenaline hadn’t let her believe it yet.
Her body still felt like live wire, buzzing and hollow all at once.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She fumbled it out, blinking at the name flashing across the screen.
Victoria.
She answered, and before she could speak, Victoria’s voice barreled through, sharp with panic. “Isabel? Tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” Isabel croaked, though her voice betrayed the tremor underneath.
“I heard the call. The explosion.” Victoria’s breath hitched, ragged on the other end. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way. And you’re not going back to your apartment until we’ve cleared it. Understood?”
Isabel opened her mouth to argue, but all that came out was a shaky, “Yeah. Understood.”
Minutes later, headlights swept the lot, and then Victoria was there—slamming her car door, cutting through the crowd like a storm.
Her eyes found Isabel instantly. Relief flickered across her face, but it didn’t soften the strain etched around her mouth.
She looked…shaken. More than Isabel had ever seen her.
“Come on,” Victoria said, she voice gentler than the command it wanted to be. She slipped the blanket tighter around Isabel’s shoulders, her hand steady at her back as she guided her to the car. “You’re coming with me.”
Back at Victoria’s house, Isabel expected an argument, maybe even cold distance once the panic wore off.
Instead, Victoria fussed—checking her over again, pressing a glass of water into her hand, pulling another blanket over her when she sat on the couch.
Isabel almost laughed at the image: Captain Langley, unflappable ice queen, hovering like a mother hen.
But the laugh caught in her throat. The adrenaline was gone now, leaving only the hollow echo of what might have been. She should have been dead. The thought cracked something inside her, and before she could stop it, a tear slid down her cheek. Then another.
“Hey.” Victoria was beside her in an instant, slipping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight. For once, there was no command in her touch, no restraint. Just warmth. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Isabel let herself sag into her, pressing her face into the crook of Victoria’s neck. The tears weren’t loud or many, but they were real, and they left her feeling raw and human in a way she rarely allowed. Victoria’s embrace was steady, grounding her as nothing else could.
When Isabel finally drew back, their faces were close, breaths mingling. Victoria’s thumb brushed away the last tear clinging to her cheek. The look in her eyes wasn’t ice, wasn’t guarded—it was open, vulnerable, terrified of what could have been lost.
Isabel leaned in first, but Victoria met her halfway, their lips pressing together in a kiss that started soft and comforting. Then need surged between them, desperate and alive, pulling them deeper.
The night deepened around them, and when Victoria finally led her upstairs, Isabel didn’t resist. She didn’t want to. She wanted to forget the flames and the fear, wanted to lose herself in the one place she felt safe.
And in Victoria’s arms, she did.