Page 9

I forced a tight smile, keenly aware that we weren’t alone. “Just peachy, Morrow. The chief and I are discussing...operational matters.”

Morrow’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press further. With a curt nod, he melted back into the crowd, his gaze lingering on me for a beat too long. Morrow was a veteran, all knuckle and sneer after decades of navigating the seedy underbelly of law enforcement. I felt a prickle of unease but pushed it aside, my mind already racing ahead.

An hour. That’s all I had to compose myself before my showdown with Reynolds. I scanned the dwindling crowd until I located Valentina standing beside the refreshments table, a paper cup of stale coffee clutched in her hand.

“Val,” I said, closing the distance between us. “I need you to cover for me. I’m going to see Reynolds, and I feel it will get ugly.”

She eyed me warily, no doubt taking in the fire burning in my eyes. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you, Nat? Because I don’t want to go to another funeral next week.”

I shook my head, mustering what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Have a little faith, would you? I’m just going to get some answers. That’s all.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I had no choice. If Val knew I wanted to go undercover, she would have a fit.

Val’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she reluctantly nodded. “Fine. But you’d better loop me in after, you hear me? I’ve got your back, partner.”

Her words sent a pang of gratitude through me. Despite the maelstrom of grief and anger swirling within, I knew I could count on Valentina. She was my rock, my anchor in the madness that had become my life.

“You know it,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

I stormed into Chief Reynolds’ office, the door slamming shut behind me with a resonating thud that echoed the pounding of my heart. He looked up from his paperwork, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me.

“Ramirez,” he said. “This better be good.”

“I want in,” I declared, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “I want to go deep undercover into the Reyes cartel. I owe it to Matt.”

Reynolds sighed, setting his pen down with deliberate slowness. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over me with an infuriating mixture of sympathy and condescension. “Agent Ramirez, we’ve been over this. You’re not ready for such a high-stakes operation. Not after what happened.”

My jaw clenched, frustration boiling over into my words. “I’m more than ready. I’ve been training for this my entire career. Matt was my partner, and it’s my responsibility to bring his killers to justice.”

“It’s not about what you owe,” Reynolds retorted, his voice firm. “It’s about making smart decisions. You’ve been through a traumatic event and need time to heal.”

I shook my head vehemently, the movement whipping my loose hair around my face. “I don’t need time. I need action. I need to do something.”

“You will,” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly. “But not now. Not like this.”

I stared at him in disbelief as he delivered the crushing blow. “You’re forcing me to give you a leave of absence. Six weeks,” he stated as if there were no arguing.

“Six weeks?” I echoed, my voice rising in pitch. “You can’t be serious. I’m fine, Reynolds. I can handle?—”

“You’re not fine, Ramirez,” he interrupted, his eyes hardening. “You’re running on fumes and adrenaline. You need to step back, clear your head, and return when you’re at full strength.”

My mind raced, searching for a counterargument, a way to change his mind. But he was unyielding, a fortress of bureaucratic bullshit that I couldn’t seem to penetrate.

“I’ll file an official protest,” I threatened with a growl.

“You do that,” he said, leaning forward to meet my gaze. “But it won’t change a thing. This is for your own good, whether or not you realize it.”

Defeated, I turned on my heel and stalked out of his office. The door slam made a hollow sound that seemed to mock my helplessness. As I stepped into the hallway, I nearly collided with Morrow, who was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Rough meeting?” he asked casually.

I glared at him, my anger still simmering. “He’s benching me, Morrow. Six weeks. Can you believe that?”

Morrow’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something—interest? Curiosity?—in his eyes. “I can help you,” he said, glancing around to ensure we were alone.

“Help me?” I scoffed. “What are you going to do? March into Reynolds’ office and tell him he’s making a mistake?”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Morrow’s mouth. “Not exactly. Listen, Natalia, I have some experience training undercover operatives from… let’s call it an unofficial department. I could help you prepare for your mission.”