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The door closed with a soft click, leavingJulia alone with the implications of Ivy's words. Professional distance. Optimal security. Protection protocols. The familiar tenets of her training repeated like a mantra, drowning out the echo of Ivy's breath against her skin.

She had made a mistake. She would not make it again. No matter what it cost.

The journey to Lavender's Café involved three vehicle changes and a circuitous walking route—Julia's paranoia vindicated when Ivy spotted the same face twice in different locations.

"Three o'clock. University sweatshirt," Ivy murmured, not breaking stride.

Julia's pulse quickened, though she kept her expression neutral. "You noticed." She allowed a hint of approval to color her words, the first warmth she'd shown all day.

"I notice patterns," Ivy replied.

Surveillance confirmed what Julia had suspected: Knox was casting a wider net. She led them into a vintage record store, maintaining a casual browsing posture. The backdoor deposited them into an alley behind Victorian-era buildings. At the third doorway, Julia knocked in their established pattern.

The door opened to reveal Lavender Larwood, tall and imposing with her silver hair and evaluating eyes. A community fixture in the Heights district and an unofficial department resource for years.

"Detective Scott," Lavender acknowledged. "Morgan's waiting upstairs."

"Thanks, Lavender." Julia motioned Ivy through before taking a final sweep of the alley. "Any problems?"

"Nothing obvious," Lavender replied, securing multiple locks. "But the city feels…attentive lately."

Julia understood the subtext. Lavender's network of informants throughout Phoenix Ridge was detecting the same escalation she'd observed. Knox was mobilizing resources outside his usual pattern. The question was whether that indicated desperation or confidence.

She followed Ivy up worn stairs into the private room above the café. Built into the Victorian's eaves, the space featuredoptimally positioned windows that satisfied Julia's tactical requirements—clear sightlines without exposure.

Morgan sat at an antique table, laptop open, her dark hair in a practical braid. Her quick assessment of the careful distance between Julia and Ivy was noted but thankfully not commented upon.

"You made it," Morgan said. "Any pursuit?"

"Possible surveillance. A man wearing a university sweatshirt." Julia conducted a perimeter check from habit, measuring distances between exits and obstacles. "Ivy spotted him."

Morgan nodded. "The doctor has sharp eyes."

"Sharp enough to notice the leak patterns in your department," Ivy replied.

"That's why we're here." Morgan gestured toward the table where encrypted tablets waited alongside Lavender's distinctive shortbread. "Lavender, this is Dr. Ivy Monroe, the financial forensics expert taking down Vincent Knox."

Lavender's handshake was firm and brief. "About time. My community's watched himbuy up properties for years, driving out women-owned businesses."

"The Heights district has been particularly targeted," Ivy acknowledged. "His syndicate identifies women-owned businesses, creates problems through proxy companies, then swoops in with below-market offers."

Julia watched Ivy's explanation, struck by the professional confidence that replaced any trace of the morning's awkwardness. The woman who had slept in her bed last night—vulnerable, passionate, uninhibited—was now all crisp analysis and precise observations. The transformation shouldn't have been attractive, but it was.

"Let's focus," Julia said, abruptly cutting off that dangerous line of thought. "What do we know about the leak?"

Morgan activated a tablet displaying the Phoenix Ridge Police Department's organizational chart. "Chief Marten has been running controlled information streams. Different details to different units, tracking which intel surfaces in Knox's operations."

"And?" Julia leaned forward, forcing her mind into analytical mode.

"It's not good. The leak is coming frominside the Detective Division. All three test pieces made their way to Knox's people within hours."

Julia's stomach dropped, though she kept her expression neutral. Detective Division—her division. Her team. A betrayal from the unit she'd served her entire career.

"How high up?" she asked, voice steady despite the pressure building in her chest.

"The highest level stream surfaced first." Morgan met her gaze directly. "Within Detective Division, only one person receives that level of information."

"Lieutenant Harper," Julia supplied, the name feeling like ash in her mouth.