They combed the file for another fifteen minutes, slowing it down, reversing it, isolating background layers. They tried to identify the hum’s rhythm, to hear anything human in the gaps between the clipped ransom words. But there was nothing — no voices in the background, no identifiable location noise. Just that damned hum and the clang.
Finally, Victoria sat back in her chair. “We’re not getting a location from this. Not without something else to compare it to.”
Collins blew out a breath. “Well. That’s frustrating.”
Before Victoria could respond, her desk phone rang. She snatched up the receiver.
“Langley.”
A woman’s voice crackled over the line. “Captain? This is St. Brigid’s. The female suspect from the warehouse shooting — she’s conscious.”
Victoria straightened. “Condition?”
“Stable enough to talk. She’s asking for a lawyer, but she’s coherent.”
“I’m on my way.” Victoria hung up, already standing. “Collins, get her moved to Interrogation One as soon as she’s cleared for transfer.”
Isabel’s voice cut in, sharp. “I want to take the lead.”
Victoria turned to her. “That’s not how this works. I’m the one with the most history on the Iron Fang Syndicate. I know their methods.”
Isabel stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. “And I’m the one who got shot taking one of them down. I’ve earned a crack at her.”
The air in the office thickened. Neither woman looked away.
Collins raised a hand, deadpan. “I could cut this tension with a butter knife.” Laughing she chopped down, making a whooshing sound. She looked between them, and after a pause she continued. “Or, you know, you could just both go in. Play good cop, bad cop. Might rattle her faster.”
Isabel’s eyes rolled so hard it was almost audible. “Right. And clearly, I’m the good cop here.”
Victoria arched a brow. “That remains to be seen.”
Isabel’s lips curved just slightly — not a smile, but somewhere between a grimace and a smirk — before she turned toward the door. “Let’s find out.”
8
ISABEL
Isabel had rolled over in the early morning light to find only the rumpled dent in the pillow where Victoria had been. No note on the nightstand, no quiet word before slipping out — not that she’d expected tenderness, but still. It had been a night worth remembering, worthsomething. She’d thought she’d gotten under that perfect armor, that for once Victoria had trusted her enough to let someone in.
Apparently not.
After they’d decided who was going, she didn’t wait for more — just turned and walked out, not trusting herself to keep her face straight any longer.
At her desk, Isabel logged into the precinct database and typedIron Fang Syndicateinto the search bar.
The screen flooded with results — neatly categorized files, mugshots with blank eyes, lists of known operations, suspected fronts, shipping manifests tied to shell companies. She scrolled with quick, practiced efficiency, scanning for anything she could use to pry open the woman they had in custody.
Her eyes moved fast. Her mind didn’t.
With every click, her anger rose. Not at the syndicate — though God knew they deserved it — but at her. AtVictoria. At the way the captain had looked at her this morning as if last night had been an afterthought, like it hadn’t happened at all.
Isabel clenched her jaw. She knew the truth — anger was just the shield she pulled up to keep the real thing from gutting her. Beneath it, sadness pooled heavy and gray, dragging at her ribs. Even the colors on her desk — the red precinct memo pinned to her monitor, the bright yellow of Collins’ coffee mug on the next desk — seemed duller somehow.
For one night, she’d thought she’d made Victoria feel.
She could still feel the ache in her hands from gripping those sharp hips, the delicious tension in the captain’s body when Isabel had tightened her hand at her throat. She’d loved watching that icy control melt away under her touch, loved the sound of the sighs Victoria tried to swallow. She’d felt like she was guiding something rare and precious — that the other woman had trusted her to take control, to give pleasure, to push her exactly where she needed to go.
It had been intoxicating.
