“No one saw her leave,” another officer admitted. “Comms were still jammed when we breached—she must’ve had a head start.”
“Son of abitch,” 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 gotshotand 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 takeoneout-of-state job, and suddenly, I’m getting shot at, trapped in warehouses, and losing myfavoriteleather jacket.”
Victoria blinked. “You were nearly killed, and your biggest concern is yourjacket?”
Isabel held up a single finger. “Not just any jacket. Myfavoritejacket.”
And then, to Victoria’s utter confusion, Isabel turned her attentionto the jacket itself.
“Don’t youworry, baby,” Isabel cooed, gently running her fingers over the ragged bullet hole near the sleeve. “I’ll get you fixed up. I willnotlet 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 hadfeelings.
“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 somerespect.”
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. “Getwhatover 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’sshallow.I’m not dying. Just a few stitches, and I’ll be good as new.”
Victoriawantedto 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.”
