Page 1 of Undercover Hearts

1

MICHELLE

Michelle Reyes stared at the photographs spread across her desk, her coffee long gone cold in the mug pushed to the edge where it wouldn't spill on her meticulously arranged evidence. The late afternoon light filtered through half-drawn blinds, casting golden bars across the Phoenix Women's Collective membership roster. Outside her office, the Phoenix Ridge Police Department hummed with the usual end-of-shift activity, but Michelle had tuned it out hours ago.

Six months of surveillance. Hundreds of hours of intelligence gathering. A sophisticated network hiding in plain sight behind women's empowerment workshops and community outreach. And still, not quite enough evidence to move.

"Not yet," Michelle murmured, tracing a finger over Sienna Castillo's photograph. The elegant former corporate lawyer smiled confidently from the glossy print, her perfect posture and expensive clothing projecting success and legitimacy. Everything about her was calculated—from her progressive politics to her impeccable credentials. Nothing about her suggested she was moving designer drugs through a supposedly feminist organization.

Except for the bodies.

Three young women dead in the past year from a new designer stimulant flooding Phoenix Ridge's clubs. The connection had been tenuous at first—one victim had attended a PWC workshop, another had their newsletter in her apartment. But Detective Julia Scott's dogged investigation had uncovered more: all three victims had connections to events where PWC materials had been distributed.

Michelle gathered the photographs of the victims, placing them side by side. They were the reason she'd been working eighteen-hour days. The reason she couldn't walk away, even when Assistant Chief Gloria Winters suggested they might never get enough evidence to make charges stick against someone with Castillo's resources and connections.

Reaching for her notebook, Michelle adjusted her operation timeline again. The information from her confidential informant had been clear: a major shipment was coming in ten days. They needed to be inside by then, needed to have eyes and ears in the inner circle. Their previous attempts at infiltration had failed; the PWC's security protocols were too stringent, their background checks too thorough.

But Michelle had a plan. The membership records showed a pattern—couples were vetted less intensively, especially if one partner was already loosely connected to an existing member. With two officers working in tandem, establishing a cover relationship, they could navigate the social dynamics more effectively than a single operative.

Her ex-wife would have laughed at the irony—Michelle Reyes, whose marriage had crumbled under the weight of her dedication to the job, planning to fake a relationship for the sake of an operation. Taylor had accused her of being married to the department long before she filed for divorce three years ago. Michelle couldn't even argue the point.

The intercom on her desk buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts.

"Captain Reyes," she answered, voice crisp with authority.

"Captain, Detective Fleming is on line one. Says it's urgent."

Michelle's pulse quickened. Natasha Fleming was her chosen partner for the operation—experienced in undercover work, with the perfect background to establish their cover story. The operation was scheduled to begin in three days with their first appearance at a PWC public workshop.

"Put her through," Michelle said, already reaching for her pen to note whatever new information Natasha had uncovered.

The line clicked, and instead of Natasha's steady voice, Michelle heard pain-filled gasping.

"Captain," Natasha managed, "I'm at Phoenix Ridge Hospital. Had an accident on my bike. Hit and run."

Michelle's stomach dropped. "How bad?"

"Broken femur, concussion. Surgery tomorrow. I’m out of the operation.” Natasha's voice tightened. "I'm so sorry, Captain."

Michelle closed her eyes, absorbing the information. Natasha would be sidelined for months. The operation, meticulously planned around their particular dynamic and backstory, now hung in the balance.

"Don't apologize, Natasha. Focus on recovery," Michelle said, her mind already racing through alternatives. "I'll handle this."

She hung up and immediately pulled up the department roster. She needed someone who could adapt quickly, who had undercover experience, and who could believably partner with her as her girlfriend in the cover story they'd established. Someone who would understand the stakes.

A knock at her door interrupted her search.

"Come in," she called, not looking up from her screen.

"Michelle." Chief of Police Diana Marten's voice was serious as she entered, closing the door behind her. "I just heard about Detective Fleming."

Michelle glanced up at her superior, noting the concern in the older woman's eyes. At forty-eight, Diana Marten's silver-streaked dark hair and composed demeanor commanded respect throughout the department. More importantly, she'd given Michelle free rein on this investigation, backing her when others questioned the resources being poured into it.

"I'm finding a replacement," Michelle said, turning her screen slightly. "The shipment's coming in ten days. We can't wait."

Diana circled the desk, glancing at Michelle's evidence wall where photos of the three victims were prominently displayed. "Agreed. But finding someone who can step into this role with minimal prep time?—"

"I know." Michelle ran a hand through her dark hair, a rare display of frustration. "I need someone who can think on their feet, who has the right skillset for the cover we've established, and who I can trust not to blow the operation if things get dicey."