Darcy gave a curt nod. “Understood, Captain.”
Isabel hesitated, her dark eyes locking with Victoria’s. “Yeah. Understood.”
Victoria straightened, her voice firm. “Good. Then find me my mole.”
12
ISABEL
Isabel sat at her desk long after the bullpen had thinned out, the clatter of keyboards and phones replaced by the hum of the vending machine down the hall. A cold cup of coffee sat untouched at her elbow. The glow of her desktop monitor lit her face, the cursor blinking in a blank password field. She typed with practiced speed, unlocking the hidden file buried three folders deep, disguised as nothing more than an abandoned budget spreadsheet.
Once it opened, the title at the top reminded her why she’d started keeping it in the first place:For My Eyes Only.
Her fingers hovered before she began to type.
Today: spoke with every officer who knew about the cabin raid.
— Jenkins (swears she heard about it only after the fact, body language reads truthful).
— Miller (insists briefing details never left her lips, but too eager to defend herself).
— O’Connor (shrugged me off; dismissive, but maybe that’s just her).
She scrolled down, adding notes, her jaw tight as she replayed each interaction in her head. Nothing stuck out. Nobody slipped. Every answer sounded clean—too clean.
She leaned back, raking a hand through her hair. Déjà vu coiled in her gut like a sickness. She’d been here before. Different city, different badge, but the same stink in the air. At her last job, she’d been the one who’d raised the flag. The one who’d called out a decorated officer when no one else had the guts. She still remembered the way the room turned cold, how her so-called sisters in blue closed ranks—not around her, but against her.Whistleblower. Rat.
She shook her head and forced her eyes back to the screen.
I spoke to everyone who could’ve known. None of it adds up. Someone knew we were going in. Someone tipped them off. And I can’t see who it is.
Her fingers paused over the keys. For the first time in hours, she slumped forward, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. The frustration was eating her alive. It didn’t make sense. It never did, not until the trap snapped shut.
Isabel dropped her hands and started typing again, harder this time, the strokes sharp.
If there’s a mole here, I’ll find her. I won’t let this play out like last time.
She hit save, locked the file, and pushed her chair back with a weary creak. The knot in her chest didn’t ease.
The sound echoed too loudly in the near-empty precinct. She rubbed the back of her neck, rolling her shoulders, staring at the screen as if willing it to give her something more.
“You’re still here?”
The voice made her jolt. Isabel looked up to see Lieutenant Darcy leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at her mouth.
“Yeah,” Isabel said, forcing her tone into something casual. “Just finishing up notes.”
Darcy’s eyes flicked to the dark screen, then back to her. “You’ve been at it for hours. It’s late. You should go home, Torres. Get some sleep before you burn yourself out.”
“I’m fine,” Isabel muttered, a little sharper than she meant.
Darcy’s smile didn’t falter, but her gaze lingered—steady and unreadable. “Long days don’t get shorter by staring at a computer all night. Trust me on that.”
Something in the way she said it sent a ripple of unease down Isabel’s spine. She couldn’t pin it—tone? Expression? Just the wrong word at the wrong time? Her instincts buzzed, the same low hum that had been needling her all day, making every face in the bullpen look as if it might be hiding something.
But she caught herself. She was running on fumes, wound too tight after hours of suspicion that had gone nowhere. She couldn’t afford to start doubting everyone. Not Darcy. Not Victoria. If she didn’t trust them, she didn’t trust anyone.
She brushed it off and nodded, pushing herself to stand. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s been a long day.”
