Page 16 of Undercover Hearts

She moved to the window, gazing out at Phoenix Ridge's glittering nightscape. Evening light filtered through half-drawn blinds, casting long shadows across the unfamiliar space. Traffic sounds drifted up from the street below—car horns, the distant wail of a siren, the rhythmic bass from a passing vehicle. Ordinary sounds that somehow emphasized the extraordinary situation she found herself in.

Their first day undercover had been successful by any objective measure. They'd established their cover identities, gained entry to the Phoenix Women's Collective, and secured an invitation to Sienna's inner circle gathering. They should be celebrating this progress together.

Instead, Michelle had retreated behind walls of professional distance that seemed to grow higher by the hour.

Jenna replayed their interaction from the meeting. From the moment she'd rested her hand on Michelle's thigh during the workshop, she'd felt the immediate tension in Michelle's body and the subtle catch in her breathing. Yet afterward, Michelle had criticized the contact as "excessive" and unnecessary.

The contradiction was telling.

Jenna slipped off her shoes and changed into comfortable lounge pants, her mind still processing the day's events. Michelle's earlier words echoed in her thoughts: "Just coordinate with me before initiating that level of contact in the future." The request was reasonable on the surface, but the undertone—the strain in Michelle's voice, the way she'd avoided eye contact—suggested deeper issues at play.

This wasn't just about operational protocols. This was about Michelle's reaction to Jenna's touch.

Moving to the bed, Jenna sat cross-legged and tried to focus on reviewing her notes. But concentration proved elusive as her thoughts kept returning to the mysterious woman on the other side of the wall. Captain Michelle Reyes—respected leader, dedicated officer, driven by justice for three dead women—who couldn't seem to reconcile her professional ethics with her body's responses.

The sound of Michelle's bedroom door closing carried through the apartment. Then silence.

Jenna checked her watch—barely nine o'clock. Too early for Michelle to be retiring, given her dedication to the case. More likely she was reviewing evidence in private, creating additional distance between them after the tension of their debriefing.

With a sigh, Jenna stood and moved to her own door. Perhaps a glass of water might help clear her thoughts. She opened the door quietly, expecting to find the living room empty.

Instead, Michelle stood at the dining table, back to Jenna, shoulders rigid with tension as she stared down at their case notes. Something in her posture—the isolation of it, the controlled stillness—made Jenna pause in the doorway.

"I thought you were resting," Michelle said without turning, obviously sensing Jenna's presence.

"Couldn't settle," Jenna replied, keeping her voice casual as she moved toward the kitchen. "Thought I'd get some water. Want some?"

"No." The single syllable carried weight beyond its brevity.

Jenna filled her glass, watching Michelle from the corner of her eye. She seemed rooted in place, her focus on the papers in front of her almost unnaturally intense.

"The operation is proceeding well," Jenna offered, seeking neutral conversation.

"Yes."

The lack of engagement was deliberate—a wall being constructed brick by verbal brick. Jenna leaned against the counter, sipping her water while studying the woman across the room. Michelle's profile was striking in the apartment's soft lighting—the determined set of her jaw, the elegant line of her neck, the controlled rise and fall of her chest.

"Is there something specific bothering you about my performance today?" Jenna asked, opting for directness.

Michelle's shoulders tensed further. "I've already shared my feedback. We need to maintain operational focus."

"That's not really an answer," Jenna observed.

"It's the only one relevant to this assignment." Michelle began gathering the papers with sharp, efficient movements. "We should both get some rest. Tomorrow will be intensive."

Jenna set down her glass. "Michelle, we need to be able to communicate openly for this operation to succeed."

"We are communicating." Michelle finally turned, her expression carefully neutral. "About the operation. About our objectives. About maintaining appropriate professional boundaries. Everything else is irrelevant."

"Is it?" Jenna challenged, moving closer. "Because the tension between us affects our cover. If we can't navigate it honestly?—"

"There is no tension." Michelle's denial came too quickly, her voice too forceful to be convincing. "There's only your misinterpretation of normal operational stress."

"That's not true," Jenna said quietly. "And I think you know it."

Something flashed in Michelle's eyes—vulnerability quickly masked by anger. "This conversation is inappropriate and unnecessary."

"I disagree," Jenna replied, maintaining her calm. "I think it's essential. Three women died, Michelle. Their justice depends on our ability to work together effectively. If something is interfering with that?—"