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Chapter 10

Seanna

Thebullpenfeelslikea cage today, constructed from stale coffee, unanswered questions, and the aggravating tick of a clock marking every wasted second. Being stuck at our desks, hands tied, waiting for Cruz to play nice is its own special brand of fucking torture. Patience has never been my strong suit, and right now it’s practically non-existent.

The PD narcotics team drew the short straw–well the only straw there was really since I gave the order–now tasked with babysitting Cruz and making sure Rivas keeps his mouth shut. Better them than us. The last thing I need is hours trapped in a surveillance van with nothing but stale donuts and cheap coffee.

Unfortunately, the other two names Diego coughed up—Mendoza and Navarro—aren't exactly offering us gold either. Jensen scowls at his screen, clicking through endless surveillance notes before finally shaking his head with frustration.

"Still nothing firm on Mendoza," he mutters, rubbing his temples. "His people are too spread out, and every lead circles back on itself."

I sigh heavily, glancing toward Matteo. "Anything better on Navarro?"

Matteo meets my eyes evenly, lips pressed thin. "Same story. He’s cautious. Low-level enough that he's off most radars, but high enough that taking him down would make a decent fallback if Cruz goes sideways. But nothing we can actually act on right now."

I lean back, fingers drumming impatiently against the edge of my desk. "Great. So we sit here spinning our fucking wheels."

Just then, a sharp voice cuts through the space. "Agent Darling, my office."

I glance over to find Assistant Special Agent in Charge Everett Ford standing in his doorway, his severe expression focused entirely on me. He jerks his head sharply, indicating I need to follow him immediately, before disappearing back inside.

Behind me, Eli quietly sings a dramatic little "dun-dun-dah," grinning into his coffee mug.

Jensen murmurs a sympathetic yet amused "good luck," his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Shut it," I mutter back, pushing out of my chair and feeling every set of eyes in the bullpen follow my steps across the room. Ignoring them, I stride forward with purpose, forcing a composed mask onto my face even though my gut tightens with uncertainty at what Ford might have waiting for me.

I step into his office, closing the door quietly behind me. His space is a study in meticulous order—files stacked in perfect alignment, not a single stray paper or pen out of place. Ford himself mirrors the strict orderliness of his surroundings, seated rigidly behind his massive oak desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin, piercing gray eyes locked onto me with laser precision.

"Take a seat," he says curtly, motioning to the chair opposite him with the barest flicker of his hand.

I settle into the stiff-backed chair, holding his gaze steadily as I wait for him to speak. Ford studies me silently for a moment that stretches just a little too long, a deliberate test meant to unsettle me. I keep my expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Finally, he breaks the silence, voice clipped and professional. "Give me an update on Reyes. What do you have?"

Taking a careful breath, I deliver a swift, clear rundown of the current state of the investigation—detailing our progress on Cruz, our limited intel on Mendoza and Navarro, the setup with Rivas, and our next planned moves. Throughout, Ford remains perfectly still, his gaze never wavering, absorbing every detail like a seasoned prosecutor waiting to cross-examine a witness.

When I finish, he sits back slowly, assessing me with cool calculation. Silence hangs thickly in the air before he finally nods once, decisively.

"I put a lot of trust in you with this, Seanna," he says, voice low but razor-sharp. "There are a lot of eyes watching this case—important eyes. Don’t make me regret giving you your own team this early in your career."

I hold his stare evenly, letting the weight of his words settle between us without flinching. "Understood, sir. I won’t."

His expression softens just a fraction—barely enough to register, but enough to feel like a subtle acknowledgment of approval. "Good. Now get back out there and make sure we get results."

I rise from my chair smoothly, offering a single nod before exiting his office. As I step back into the bullpen, I feel the charged anticipation in the air, the guys all watching and waiting at their desks.

I'm barely sitting when my phone vibrates insistently in my pocket. I pull it out to see Hydessa’s name flashing across the screen, and a brief stab of worry tightens my chest until I realize it’s been two days since our last check-in. Damn, how quickly worry has become my default setting with her off chasing shadows on that fucking island.

Stepping away from the bullpen, I quickly move toward a quiet corner near the windows, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Eli isn’t listening in—nosy bastard. Finding enough privacy, I answer the call, my heart rate already slowing at the sound of her breathing on the other end.

“If I hide…” comes Hydessa’s soft whisper, our familiar greeting instantly calming my nerves.

“Then I’ll seek…” I reply automatically, relief loosening the tension in my shoulders. Her voice always grounds me, even when we’re both stuck knee-deep in bullshit. "You know I worry about you, especially with you on this mysterious island. How’s the investigation going?"

I hear her pause and know she’s gathering her thoughts. It's so typical of her—careful, thoughtful, everything I struggle to be. I fight the urge to shake answers from the phone.

"It’s progressing, slowly. I’ve met some interesting people, but there are lots of pieces to this puzzle," Hydessa admits. Her hesitation makes me grit my teeth; she’s onto something, I can tell. "There’s something here, Seanna, something beneath the surface. I canfeelit."