“One chance. Five million. Cryptocurrency. Instructions to follow.”
The words were clipped, deliberate. No threats. No names.
But there was something underneath — a faint hum, almost like an air conditioner cycling. And… was that…? She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, closing her eyes to listen. There — a hollow metallic clang, so faint she had to turn the volume up until the distortion hissed in her ears.
She was halfway through replaying it when her office door opened without a knock.
“Morning, Cap.”
Collins stood in the doorway, a file folder tucked under one arm, her other hand holding her own mug. She stepped inside without waiting for permission, setting the folder on the desk.
“Prelim from tech on the audio. Nothing groundbreaking — the distortion’s layered, so no voice match possible. And Lily swears up and down it’s the first she’s gotten.”
Victoria’s mouth tightened. “She’s lying.”
Collins nodded, unsurprised. “Figured you’d say that. Anything jump out to you?”
Victoria tapped the space bar to pause the playback. “Background noise. Could be HVAC in an old building, could be industrial fans. There’s a clang — maybe metal on metal. And something about his pacing…”
The bullpen door opened again, and Isabel stepped in.
Victoria’s first reaction wasn’t visible — she’d trained herself too well for that — but inside, it was as if someone had knocked the breath from her.
Isabel wasn’t smiling.
She was dressed sharply in dark jeans and a fitted black button-up under her leather jacket. Her hair was swept back, revealing the line of her jaw. Usually, she brought a restless energy into a room, a half-smirk ready, a comment already loaded. Today, she was stripped of that warmth, her presence all clipped focus.
She gave Collins a small, polite nod. “Lieutenant.” The tone was friendly enough, but there was a shadow where her usual easy humor lived.
Then she turned to Victoria. The temperature dropped another degree.
“I’d like to hear the ransom call,” she said, her voice level. No greeting. No teasing. Just business.
It shouldn’t have stung.
It did.
Victoria gestured toward the speakers. “You’re just in time. We were reviewing it.”
She pressedplayagain. The static filled the space, followed by the flattened voice delivering its short demand. Isabel stood beside Collins, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed in concentration.
When it ended, Isabel stepped forward. “Again.”
Victoria replayed it.
The second pass, Isabel’s head tilted slightly, the movement pulling Victoria’s attention like a hook. The line of her throat was visible where she’d left the top two buttons undone. Her gaze was fixed on the speaker, her brows drawn, her whole posture sharpened toward the sound.
It hurt to look, but Victoria found herself doing it anyway — until Isabel shifted, catching her eye for half a second. No spark, no softness. Just acknowledgment.
Victoria looked back to the screen.
On the third play, Collins leaned forward. “That clang. Could be a shipyard. Or a loading dock.”
“Too clean for a dock,” Victoria murmured. “Doesn’t have the layered ambient noise you’d get near the water. No gulls, no wave wash.”
“Could be an indoor facility,” Isabel said. Her voice was even. Clinical. “Metal shelving, maybe. Large space, minimal insulation.”
Victoria glanced at her — just a glance — but her mind betrayed her, replaying the sound of that same voice last night, low and rough in her ear.
