And it wasn’t just about the sex. It was abouttrust.
Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, frozen mid-scroll, as her thoughts slipped backward to a different precinct, a different desk. Her last job — the case that ended it. She’d known something was off with Carson months before anyone else would even listen. A string of evidence room withdrawals that didn’t match the logs. Drugs seized on raids disappearing without explanation. She’d brought it up to her sergeant twice, both times getting the same tight smile and dismissive pat on the shoulder.
So, she’d called Internal Affairs herself.
The fallout had been fast and brutal. Carson was one of the department’s favorites — all charm and good arrest numbers — and suddenly Isabel was the one under suspicion. They put her on administrative leave “pending review.” A whole month with no pay, waiting while they combed through her cases for something they could pin back on her.
She remembered the hollow feeling in her stomach every time she checked her email for news. The way she’d stopped going out with the rest of the team after shifts, because she couldn’t stand the looks — the suspicion in people’s eyes, the way their voices dropped when she walked past.
When IA finally confirmed she’d been right — Carson had been skimming drugs and selling them through a cousin — she thought maybe she’d get her place back. She’d imagined the relief in her colleagues’ faces, the respect in their voices. Instead, she got a new nickname whispered behind her back.Narc.
She wasn’t the favorite detective anymore. She was the one you didn’t tell things to. The one you watched your words around.
So, she’d left. Packed up and moved to Phoenix Ridge for a clean start.
And now, she thought bitterly, she was managing to fuck this up, too.
She’d had something with Victoria — or at least she thought she had. Last night had felt like a shift, a crack in that perfect armor. The look in Victoria’s eyes when Isabel took control had felt like an invitation into a place no one else had been allowed.
And this morning, it was gone.
She dragged her eyes back to the files, forcing herself to skim another page, but her concentration was gone. The words and photos blurred into meaningless lines. The memory of Victoria’s sigh — that soft, unguarded sound — was louder than the hum of the precinct’s HVAC. The thought of her skin under Isabel’spalms, warm and tense and yielding all at once, made her pulse kick against her throat.
She wanted to believe last night had meant something. But Victoria’s cool detachment told her otherwise.
A spike of noise in the bullpen snapped her head up. Voices raised, the squeak of gurney wheels on tile. The suspect had arrived.
Isabel pushed back from the desk hard enough that her chair rolled a foot. She slapped her own cheek once, the sting snapping her focus.
Get over it, Torres. One more loss. One more person you thought you knew.
She straightened her jacket, smoothed the front with sharp, deliberate movements, and strode toward the interrogation wing.
They reached the interrogation room door at the exact same time.
Victoria’s hand moved for the handle just as Isabel’s fingers closed around it. Their knuckles brushed — a light contact, but it may as well have been a live wire.
Neither pulled back.
They stood so close Isabel could smell the faint trace of Victoria’s perfume under the sharper scent of coffee and the clean starch of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, the kind of static that made the tiny hairs at the nape of Isabel’s neck stand on end.
Their eyes locked. Blue against brown.
It was too much — too much history in less than twenty-four hours, too much that neither of them would say aloud. The silence stretched until it felt like a third presence between them, breathing with them, waiting for someone to break.
Victoria’s gaze was cool, steady, unreadable. Isabel’s fingers tightened on the handle, a silent dare.
She wanted to be the one to open the door, to take the lead for once. To prove that last night hadn’t been a fluke, that she wasn’t just someone who was allowed in for a single night before being shut out completely.
But Victoria didn’t budge. She didn’t yield an inch.
The moment turned into a standoff — not loud or dramatic, but one of those quiet, high-pressure points where neither side wants to give in first.
Finally, Isabel let go. The withdrawal felt sharper than she expected.
She took half a step back, lips quirking into something that hovered between a smirk and a grimace. “After you.”
Victoria didn’t thank her. Didn’t acknowledge it at all. She just pushed the door open and walked in, her posture crisp, her stride measured — as if Isabel’s small concession had been inevitable.
