Page 11 of Undercover Hearts
MICHELLE
Michelle woke before her alarm, instantly alert. Pre-dawn light filtered through the curtains as she slipped from bed and moved to the window. The Phoenix Women's Collective headquarters was visible six blocks away, its distinctive purple Victorian front muted in the early light. Today they would cross that threshold, entering the belly of the organization connected to three deaths.
The sound of the shower running pulled her from her thoughts. Michelle moved to the kitchen, starting coffee and setting out breakfast items. As she measured coffee grounds, she caught the faint sound of Jenna singing something low and melodic. The unexpected vulnerability of it made her pause. Detective Walsh had shown only competent professionalism thus far. This glimpse of something more personal created an unwelcome connection that Michelle immediately tried to reframe as useful for their cover.
By the time Jenna emerged, Michelle had coffee brewing and was reviewing their cover details. She glanced up and momentarily lost her train of thought.
Jenna had transformed overnight from Detective Walsh into Jenna Wolfe. Her hair fell in soft waves, still damp from the shower. She wore slim black pants and a silky emerald blouse that matched her eyes. The recording device necklace rested against her collarbone. The entire effect was polished and feminine in a way Michelle hadn't anticipated.
"Morning," Jenna said with chipper enthusiasm, moving toward the coffee pot. "You're up early."
Michelle quickly returned her attention to the notes. "I wanted to review everything again. The first meeting is critical."
"Sienna Castillo will be there," Jenna said, pouring coffee in her mug and topping off Michelle’s. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Michelle felt a jolt of awareness she immediately suppressed. "Along with program director Alina Evans and possibly Kendall Buchanan."
Michelle nodded. "Kendall is the most dangerous. Former military and trained in detecting deception. She'll be observing our physical dynamics closely."
"Then we'd better make them convincing," Jenna said, settling across from Michelle. "We should practice before we leave."
"Practice?" Michelle repeated, then realized what Jenna meant.
"Hand on lower back when moving through doorways," Jenna suggested, her tone professionally matter-of-fact. "Arm touches during conversation. Standing closer than professional distance would dictate."
Michelle maintained her composure despite sudden awareness of how those touches would feel. "Better to establish patterns now rather than improvise there."
After breakfast, Michelle laid out two possible outfits, considering which would project the right image.
"The charcoal blazer," Jenna said from the doorway. "With that burgundy top. It’s perfect for Michelle Rodriguez, the successful consultant wanting to contribute to women's empowerment."
The casual assessment caught Michelle off guard—both its accuracy and the way Jenna leaned against the doorframe, observing her with thoughtfulness that felt almost intimate.
In the bathroom, Michelle changed quickly, trying to focus solely on the operation. But as she fastened the watch containing their emergency signal device, she found herself thinking about the way Jenna had looked at her—appraising but appreciative, the way a partner might look.
When she emerged, Jenna smiled something warm and genuine that reached her eyes.
"Perfect," she said, stepping forward to straighten Michelle's collar with casual intimacy before lightly brushing her hand down Michelle’s side and resting on her waist. The touch was brief but deliberate, establishing physical patterns they would need.
Michelle found herself unexpectedly reactive, her body registering Jenna’s warmth and proximity in ways that had nothing to do with their professional relationship. She controlled her breathing, maintaining external composure while internally acknowledging the complication: she was physically attracted to her undercover partner.
"Final equipment check," Michelle said, professional focus reasserting itself. They verified recording devices, confirmed emergency signals, and tested communications.
As they prepared to leave, Michelle felt the familiar shift that accompanied every undercover operation—the mental recalibration as Detective Captain Reyes stepped back, allowing Michelle Rodriguez to emerge. Beside her, Jenna had made a similar transition.
"Ready?" Michelle asked, hand on the doorknob.
Jenna nodded, stepping close enough that their shoulders touched, the natural proximity of an established couple.
"Ready," she confirmed, slipping her hand into Michelle's with easy familiarity.
Michelle squeezed once, a silent acknowledgment. Then she opened the door, and they stepped into their new reality, leaving the safety of the apartment as Michelle Rodriguez and Jenna Wolfe for the first time.
The Phoenix Women's Collective headquarters was even more impressive up close. The Victorian mansion had been meticulously restored, its gingerbread trim and wraparound porch freshly painted in bold purple with cream accents. Flowering gardens lined the walkway, carefully tended and blooming despite the season. It projected exactly the image the PWC wanted: progressive, established, and welcoming to women seeking community and empowerment.
Michelle assessed entry points and security measures as they approached. Two discreet cameras were positioned at the entrance, and she noted a keycard reader beside the heavy oak door. She filed the information away while maintaining the relaxed posture of Michelle Rodriguez, successful consultant simply attending her first PWC workshop.
"It's beautiful," Jenna murmured beside her, her hand finding Michelle's with natural ease. The touch steadied Michelle, a silent reminder of their shared mission.
The door opened before they reached it, revealing a tall woman with close-cropped silver hair and the unmistakable bearing of former military. Kendall Buchanan, head of security. Michelle recognized her immediately from the file photos.