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As I skated the edge of oblivion, his hot breath fanned my ear. “That’s it. Let go, Quaid… I’m right behind you… So fucking close… I can’t… hold back much longer. Come on… Now.” He gritted his teeth as his body tensed and jerked with his orgasm.

With that simple command, as his cum filled and claimed me, I found my release too, biting the meaty part of his palm to prevent the cry of pleasure from ringing through the fourth floor of the department.

For a beat, as the blood roared in my ears, as my body sang with release, I thought Aslan smacked his hand against the door or kicked it, but that didn’t make sense.

Both of his hands were locked on me: one on my mouth, the other on my cock.

It wasn’t until the last shiver of orgasm faded that my questioning brain drew conclusions.

Ice water spilled down my spine. I sucked in a breath and froze, straining my ears, listening. All I heard was the steady pounding of blood still flooding my system.

Aslan also froze, and I assumed he must have heard the thunk on the door a moment ago.

Was it me? Had I slapped it without knowing?

“Did you pound on the door when you came?” Aslan hissed in my ear, his body still fighting residual tremors.

I opened my mouth to respond when a voice from the hallway answered instead.

“No, I knocked.” My partner, Jordyn Frawley, injected enough snark into her tone to tell me she’d easily deduced what was happening behind the locked storage room door, and she wasn’t impressed.

“If you’re quite finished defiling a public space that I will never use again, could you please get your ass out here… I… need your help.”

I wanted to say, My shift is over. I’m on leave, or We weren’t doing what you think we were doing.

But I’d been working with Jordyn for well over a year, and not only was she not stupid, but she would also never request my assistance with something she could handle on her own.

Ever . She was too proud for that, and she especially wouldn’t ask for my help, knowing I was technically off the clock for the following six months.

“I…” Had no words and no excuses. “We were—”

“Shut up, Quaid, and get your ass out here… Please.”

That tone again. Why?

“Okay… I’ll… be there in a second.”

Neither Aslan nor I moved. Ears perked, I listened for Jordyn to retreat, but she didn’t. What was she doing?

Aslan must have wondered the same thing and whispered, “Is she going to stand out there and wait for you?”

“Yes, I am,” Jordyn responded.

My gaze clashed with Aslan’s. Mortified, my cheeks flamed. The dawning realization hit us both simultaneously. Aslan spoke my thoughts. “This room is not as soundproof as I thought.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jordyn said.

Hustling, we righted our clothes, making poor use of a few paper towels Aslan found on a dusty shelf.

Wrinkled and with my hair in an unfixable disarray, I yanked the door open and glared death lasers at my partner, whose arms were crossed.

The disdain on her face rivaled mine, but I would not win this stare-off. I was in the wrong, and she knew it.

I tried lying through my teeth. “It’s not what you think.” It was exactly what she thought .

“You should be ashamed.”

“We weren’t—”

“Stop. How stupid do I look?”

“Fine. It’s exactly what you think, but it was his idea.” I thumbed at Aslan. “I wanted nothing to do with it.”

A hoot of laughter erupted from Aslan as he looped an arm around me from behind, yanking me against his chest. “Oh, hell no, hot stuff. That ain’t gonna fly.

You were the instigator this time. Not me.

You dragged me in here. You begged. Took me by surprise, to be honest.” He pecked a wet kiss on my cheek.

“Find me at my desk when you’re done with your reprimand. ”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“No you don’t.”

To Jordyn, Aslan offered a fist to bump. She might ordinarily oblige—they got along well—but not today. My husband earned the same caustic sneer I’d been giving him for our entire relationship, but he was no more affected by Jordyn’s animosity than mine.

Chuckling, he headed down the hall toward homicide, shamelessly belting out the opening lyrics to James Brown’s “I Got You,” ensuring both our departments knew he felt good.

Bastard .

Jordyn continued to glare, and I couldn’t help feeling two feet tall or like a guilty teen who had been busted by the cops having sex in the back of their parents’ car. It was an eerily similar experience, not that I’d ever been in that situation in my youth.

“Can we not lecture me about my poor decisions and move forward to whatever you need help with.”

“You’re disgusting.”

I had no defense. “Technically, I’m off the clock. ”

“Technically, you’re at work. That’s a violation of Criminal Code S.173(1).”

“It’s scary that you know those specifics by heart.”

“This isn’t the first time, either.” She motioned to the supply closet, and my guilt and shame deepened.

“How do you—”

“Quaid, I’m not a moron. There are signs.” She motioned to my state of dress, or rather, undress—my shirt wasn’t tucked in, and I was sure my hair was doing a thing.

“Are you reporting me?”

She rolled her eyes, and in a flash, our ten-plus-year age gap righted itself. Whatever revulsion she carried morphed into concern as she glanced down the hall toward MPU. “I’ve got bigger problems than you flaunting your disgusting sex life in my face.”

“I wasn’t flaunting.”

“Fix your clothes. I need… help.”

“Jordyn?” My skin prickled as I made myself presentable.

Uncertainty cut grooves in her forehead when she met my eyes. “I don’t have a temp partner yet. Your replacement doesn’t start until Monday. No one else is in the office, and although Travolta is on call…”

“What is it?”

“I know what I’m doing, it’s just…”

“I know you do. What’s going on?”

“A man showed up. His son went missing three days ago. His daughter is with him. He’s exhibiting signs of shock. I haven’t gotten the whole story out of him, but—”

“Wait. Three days ago? That’s—”

“I know. Outside the ideal window of recovery. There’s more.” She handed me a slip of crinkled, cream-colored paper inside a clear evidence bag .

I took it, eyeing my partner as oily tendrils of dread slipped through my veins. It wasn’t often that a case upset Jordyn. Despite her young age, she was stoic and unshakable. Levelheaded. It was why we got along so well.

Glancing at the note, I read, If you ruin me, I’ll ruin you. The truth, or you’ll never see him again. No police!

“Jesus.” Hollywood made it seem like child abductions were done for monetary gain.

Ransom notes gave a plot substance, but in reality, receiving them was rare.

Having any contact with an abductor was unusual.

In all my years working as an MPU detective, I’d dealt with one case of ransom, and it was at the beginning of my career.

I read the note again, focusing on keywords and reading between the lines despite its minimal substance. On instinct, I created a mental action plan and listed questions that needed to be answered and jobs that needed to be filled.

“We need to fingerprint this.”

“I know. I will. Quaid, I’ve never worked a ransom case.

” Jordyn’s meek tone broke into my thoughts.

“I’ve studied them. I know the logistics, but…

I don’t feel comfortable with this. Not on my own.

Technically, I should start a file since I’m here and the father is sitting in the bullpen coming apart at the seams, but… ”

She blew her long black bangs off her face and paced, hands on her hips.

“It should go to the next team in the rotation, who I thought was Travolta, but he and Keller took a call earlier that may or may not amount to a case, so they aren’t available.

I’m up next. Me , but I’m alone until Monday or Tuesday.

Edwards is still sorting out paperwork.”

“Come on.” I took Jordyn’s arm and steered her toward MPU.

“Quaid, you’re on leave.”

“I haven’t walked out of the building yet. I’ll help you get started.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Nothing is fair in MPU. You haven’t learned that yet? Talk to me. Give me your thoughts out loud.”

“It’s a ransom, I guess. Right?” She motioned to the note in the plastic bag. “Don’t these perps usually ask for money?”

“Sometimes. Based on what’s written, this is a case of extortion. You work it the exact same way as a ransom.” I handed her the note. “What is one indisputable fact you can draw from this?”

Jordyn didn’t hesitate. “It’s not a stranger abduction. It’s familial.”

“Correct.” I smiled at Jordyn’s visible swell of pride. “The best approach is for us to find out all their dirty little family secrets because this note tells us a lot more than you think.”

I had hundreds of cases under my belt. Some wins, some losses, and some that might never be solved.

Those hurt the most. The faces of the missing decorated the wall beside my desk.

No answers meant no healing. No moving on.

It left a gaping, insidious wound in a family that slowly destroyed its foundation. I had experienced it firsthand.

Every child abduction jabbed a tender spot beneath my ribs, reminding me of a time long ago when my family had been torn apart in the same way.

The irreparable damage had changed the course of my life.

I’d followed in my father’s footsteps for a reason.

For justice? For answers? For comfort? I didn’t know for sure, but it was something I had to do.

Help others who had suffered the same thing.

In all the cases I’d worked—except my sister’s—I’d managed to keep a professional distance.

It was required. Necessary. Too much empathy could destroy a career. A person. My father had warned me on the day of my promotion to keep a level head and not let it get personal. I’d heeded his advice as much as possible.

Today, I was to be tested .

The man in the bullpen, with rumpled clothes and messy hair, face buried in his hands and elbows planted on his knees, was the picture of grief and heartache.

I’d seen it plenty, and I empathized. His misfortune echoed inside me on a cellular level.

Thankfully, I’d developed an immunity to its crippling effect.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to do my job.

The little girl sitting at his side, however, was a different story.

With her pale complexion and wide, terrified eyes, she sat motionless, gaze flicking about as though alert for monsters.

The container of chocolate milk clutched in her tiny hands seemed long forgotten.

Her tangled auburn hair looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in days.

The stains on her clothes reflected neglect.

Her shoelaces were untied. I’d have assumed poverty, except the father’s business attire and the child’s trendier wardrobe told a different story.

The girl, no more than five or six, was a shadow beside her father. A wisp. In the frenzy that followed a child abduction, this little girl had been unwillingly forced to ride the roller coaster of her parents’ emotions without a safety harness.

I knew that ride intimately. Every winding curve. Every unending loop. Every sudden jolt when the tracks changed direction without warning. The yelling. The blaming. The gut-wrenching tears.

“Quaid?” Jordyn touched my arm, jolting me from the past.

I wasn’t sure when I’d stopped walking. The nauseating swoop of an unexpected hill reminded me that I’d never gotten off that ride and had only learned to manage it better as an adult. Therapy had been a curse and a blessing. Dredging up the past was both healing and excruciating.

This child, the little girl with the chocolate milk, was six-year-old me, and I was her .

When her pale blue eyes found mine from across the bullpen, her rosy lips parted a fraction.

I see you , I wanted to say. You aren’t invisible. But she knew. Somehow, despite her age, I sensed she recognized a kinship in me. Her little shoulders sagged with what looked like much-needed relief.