And maybe it had.
Isabel followed a few paces behind, the disappointment settling low in her chest. Every step into that room was another reminder:Victoria would always take control.Always keep that distance. Always keep the temperature just cold enough to keep Isabel’s hands off the flame.
It made Isabel want to break that control even more.
The gunner sat cuffed to the table, her wrists chained to the bolted ring in the middle. Her hair was limp, her face pale from blood loss and whatever painkillers the hospital had pumped into her system. But her eyes were alert — hard.
Victoria took the seat directly across from her, her posture perfect, her hands neatly folded on the table. Isabel stayed standing, leaning against the wall to the suspect’s left, watching.
“You were at the warehouse,” Victoria began, her voice cool and deliberate. “You fired at officers. Now you’re going to tell me why.”
The woman’s chin tipped up. “Lawyer.”
Victoria’s expression didn’t change. “Of course. You’re entitled to one. In fact, I just had a court-appointed attorney called for you.” She let that hang for a second. “But it could be a few hours before she gets here. And you don’t have to talk without her present. That’s your right.”
She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping. Hardening. “But I will.”
The woman blinked, uncertain.
Victoria’s hands unfolded. She set them on the table, palms down as if pinning the suspect in place. “Let me tell you how this is going to go. When that attorney gets here, she’s going to tell you not to say a word. And then you’ll sit in a holding cell until we have enough to charge you — which we already do. And when we do, it won’t just be for attempted murder of a police officer.”
Her eyes locked on the woman’s. “It’ll be for your ties to the Iron Fang Syndicate. For every weapon, every shipment, every extortion we can link to your name. And trust me, there’s a lot. We’ve been building cases for years. I can bury you so deep in charges, you’ll forget what sunlight looks like.”
The suspect shifted in her chair, the first crack in her mask.
Victoria didn’t stop. “And you know what the worst part is? You’re a small fish. Which means when your friends find out you talked to us, they’ll write you off as disposable. And when they think you’re a liability? They won’t send flowers.”
She leaned back slightly, and that’s when she said it. “You were in that warehouse when Detective Torres was shot.” Hergaze sharpened. “You’re lucky she’s alive. Because if she wasn’t, we’d be having a very different conversation.”
Isabel’s heart gave a hard, unexpected thud. Hearing her own name in Victoria’s voice — low, edged with steel — sent a rush through her that she didn’t want to think too hard about.
She smirked to cover it. “Just a graze,” she said lightly, the words slipping out like they meant nothing. But she didn’t miss the quick flicker of Victoria’s eyes toward her or the way her pulse was suddenly loud in her ears.
The suspect glanced between them, clearly picking up on the tension, but Victoria was already turning the knife.
“You’ve got one chance to make this easier on yourself,” she said flatly. “And right now, you’re wasting it.”
The woman stayed silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. The air in the room was thick — too much staring, too much steel. Isabel decided it was time to change the temperature.
She pushed off the wall, crossing to the table with an easy, almost careless gait. “You want something to drink?” she asked the suspect, tilting her head. “I wouldn’t recommend the precinct coffee — tastes like it’s been filtered through motor oil. But if you’re lucky, maybe the captain will let us dip into her private stash.”
Victoria’s head turned sharply, her gaze like a blade. Isabel felt the sting of it but didn’t look away.
“Collins,” Victoria said without breaking eye contact with Isabel. “Bring three cups from my personal stash.”
Isabel grinned at the suspect. “You have no idea how rare that is. Most of us have to sell our souls for a cup of that coffee.”
The woman huffed something that was almost a laugh.
Isabel leaned casually against the wall again, feeling Victoria’s presence on the other side of the table — that contained, controlled force that made her so damned compelling. It was impossible not to think of those same handsscratching at her back, her voice rough in her ear. She shoved the thought away before it could show in her expression.
When Collins returned with the coffee, setting the cups down, Isabel watched the suspect take a cautious sip.
She smirked. “Everything from the captain tastes good.”
It was subtle, the way Victoria’s shoulders stiffened — but Isabel caught it.
The captain turned her back to her and refocused on the suspect. “Who made that ransom call?”
