Isabel’s heart hammered, the rush of adrenaline mixing with disbelief. Darcy had really done it—crossed the line, right under all their noses.
Victoria opened her door silently and stepped out, signaling Isabel to follow. The night air was cold against her skin, the scent of the sea sharper now. They moved behind a line of shipping containers, using the stacked metal for cover as they crept closer to the warehouse.
Through a gap in the steel, Isabel caught sight of Darcy shaking hands with the taller man. The warehouse door rolled open just enough for them to slip inside.
Isabel leaned close to whisper, “She’s going in.”
Victoria gave one curt nod. “Then so are we.”
She turned back toward her team, signaling with two fingers. The perimeter units began to shift—quiet and practiced, encircling the warehouse in near silence.
“Set up sniper overwatch on the north side,” Victoria ordered into her mic. “Alpha team to flank left. Bravo, cover the rear exit. No one moves until my call.”
Her tone was low and composed—but Isabel could hear the steel beneath it.
Victoria glanced over at her, eyes meeting hers for just a second. “Stay close to me.”
“I wasn’t planning on doing anything else,” Isabel whispered back, though her pulse was racing.
The final light inside the warehouse flicked on, spilling across the cracked concrete outside. Shadows moved through the gap in the door.
Victoria lifted her hand. Every officer froze in place, waiting.
And then, with the smallest movement—a sharp downward cut of her fingers—Victoria gave the signal.
The sting was in motion.
The moment Victoria dropped her hand, the night erupted.
“Phoenix Ridge PD! Hands in the air!”
Shouts echoed through the docks, overlapping with the sharp slam of boots on concrete. Flashlights cut through thedark as tactical lights snapped on. The metallic whine of the warehouse door rolling open scraped through the noise, and then everything happened at once.
Darcy spun, her gun drawn. The two men near the van shouted something in another language and bolted for cover. Isabel ducked behind a crate as gunfire cracked through the night. Sparks flew from the side of a shipping container inches from her head.
“Go left!” Victoria barked through the comms. “Bravo team, flank the south door—now!”
Isabel moved with the order, low and fast, her heart hammering against her ribs. The air was thick with gunpowder and adrenaline. She could hear Victoria’s voice, calm and measured, threading through the chaos like an anchor.
“Darcy’s moving west,” someone shouted.
“I’ve got her—” Isabel started, breaking into a sprint before she heard Victoria’s sharp, “Torres, wait?—”
Too late.
She rounded the side of the warehouse and collided with one of the gunmen. He was taller, stronger, and furious. He grabbed her by the arm, twisting hard enough to send her sidearm skidding across the ground. Isabel struck back—elbow, knee, anything—but he caught her by the throat and shoved her backward against a steel wall.
“Drop it,” he snarled, pressing the muzzle of his gun against her jaw.
Every sound around them seemed to blur—the shouting, the gunfire, the chaos. Isabel could only focus on the cold press of metal and the burning ache in her lungs.
Through the ringing in her ears, she heard it—Victoria’s voice, sharp and clear, somewhere behind the crates. “Put your weapon down!”
The gunman turned, dragging Isabel with him, using her as a shield. “Don’t come any closer,” he shouted. “You move, she dies!”
Victoria stepped into view, her gun raised and her expression utterly unreadable. “You’re surrounded. Look around you.”
The man hesitated, his grip tightening on Isabel. She caught a glimpse past him. Victoria’s eyes were locked on hers. Calculating. Focused.
