Page 4 of Devil's Azalea

Do they seriously think we’re going to plant evidence? What do they take us for—corrupt cops from some B-grade movie?

“Not everything will stick,” my supervisor continues, “but while they scramble around to protect themselves and their assets, we might dig up enough damning evidence to lock them all in prison where they belong.”

“Yes sir,” I answer, and he ends the call. Slipping my phoneinto my pocket, I allow myself a moment to slowly glance around the club.

It’s pretty—objectively speaking. And yeah, I can be objectively proud of what Rafael has accomplished here… even as I work to destroy it all and take away his freedom.

I weave through the plush lounge chairs and intimate booths towards the glass stairs at the very back of the vast club. Eyes follow me the entire way—I can feel them burning into my back. A subtle glance confirms the manager glaring daggers at me as he trails behind me like an angry shadow.

I shake my head in exasperation but keep walking. He’s not worth my energy right now. My hand floats above the glass railing as I climb the stairs, careful not to make contact with it. Pretty as it might be, who knows how many germs are lurking on that seemingly spotless surface?

At the top, I turn to face the manager hovering behind me. “Where’s Rafael Moretti’s office?” I ask sweetly.

I know where it is. I’ve studied the blueprint of this place so many times before this raid that I have the whole building etched into my brain.

But I want to engage him, see if I can get him to crack and reveal something useful. I tilt my head and lift a hand to twirl a strand of hair around my finger, offering him my most charming smile.

His lips part slightly and he blinks at me, momentarily stupefied. Then he seems to remember himself. Shaking off the spell I tried to cast, he provides an indignant harrumph, spins on his heel and marches back down the stairs.

Whatever. At least I’ve lost my unwanted shadow.

I drop my hair and my act simultaneously, turning right and walking straight down the hallway past several open doors where my agents are busy stuffing evidence into boxes. We’ll sift through it all meticulously when we’re back at the base.

Stopping at the second-to-last door, I ignore the black paneldemanding fingerprint authentication. It’s already cracked open, and when I push it wider, I see why—Katherine is inside, rifling through papers.

She glances up, barely acknowledging me as she drops a few folders into the box on the table. “These guys are fucking cunny. You think they got tipped about our raid?”

“No.” I shake my head as I step into the office, closing the door behind me.

And then it hits me—the scent. His scent.

The familiar, warm cologne lingering in the air wraps around me in soft tendrils, and for a second, I freeze as memories come crashing in.

Rafael Moretti has been a lot of things to me over the years.

First, he was my savior—the man who pulled me from the wreckage of my life when I was too young, too broken to save myself.

Then, he was my lover—intense, consuming, the man I almost married.

Later, he became my enemy—the man responsible for my father’s death, the criminal I swore to bring to justice no matter the cost.

And now? Now he’s the ghost that haunts me, the ache I can’t seem to soothe no matter how many years pass.

I expel a harsh breath and hold it for a moment, as if oxygen deprivation might somehow keep the memories at bay.Focus, Emily. You’re here to do a job.

“You sure?” Katie shoots a glare around the office, oblivious to my internal struggle. “This place is too disgustingly clean. I smell foul play.”

“The raid was too sudden for them to get tipped,” I tell her, finally trusting myself to speak. Neither I nor the other agents knew we were going to raid the Nightshades until an hour ago. That’s how under wraps the operation was.

So unless they have a mole feeding them intel from the upperranks of the bureau, I doubt they saw it coming. They’re just really smart, meticulous criminals who know how to cover their tracks.

I push down the errant pride that fills me at that thought. It doesn’t matter what we once were to each other; we’re now on opposite sides of the law.

There’s a light knock on the door before it opens, and Agent Matt Powell sticks his head in. “We’re done with all the offices, Agent Rossi,” he informs me with that eager-to-please look that always makes me uncomfortable.

I exchange a glance with Katie, who nods and closes the box, lifting it to her chest.

Turning back to Matt, I say, “We’re done here too. Be right out.” He gives me a playful salute and leaves.