Page 45 of Undercover Hearts
"I've never been good at compartmentalizing," she said finally. "Separating the work from the feelings it generates. It's why I excel at undercover operations but struggle with the aftermath."
Michelle stepped beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "The aftermath is often more complicated than the operation itself."
"Because we return to who we were before, but not entirely." Jenna turned, studying Michelle's profile. "Parts remain changed by who we became during the assignment."
"And after this assignment?"
The question hung between them, laden with unspoken possibilities. Jenna felt a flutter of uncertainty that had nothing to do with their professional success and everything to do with what might happen when they were no longer Michelle Rodriguez and Jenna Wolfe—when they returned to Captain Reyes and Detective Walsh, with departmental hierarchies and professional boundaries restored.
"I think that depends on what parts of this experience we choose to carry forward," Jenna replied carefully. "And which parts we decide were just the cover."
Michelle's fingers found hers, the touch deliberate and gentle. "Not everything was just the cover."
The simple acknowledgment sent warmth cascading through Jenna's chest. Before she could respond, Michelle's phone buzzed with an incoming message.
"Morgan," Michelle said after checking it. "Final equipment verification. Tactical teams are in position around the port facility. They'll move as soon as we give the confirmation signal."
Just like that, they were back to operational focus. Jenna nodded, mentally shifting to mission parameters. "The final pieces we need are confirmation of Isabella Garcia's direct involvement and evidence linking Nicole to Beatrice's death."
"Nicole's spotlight interview is scheduled for tomorrow morning," Michelle noted. "But after tonight's gathering, it may not be necessary. We already have substantial evidence."
"Enough to bring justice for Gabrielle, Angelica, and Beatrice," Jenna agreed, the names of the three victims serving as a reminder of the stakes.
As they gathered their equipment, Jenna felt a curious mixture of emotions: professional satisfaction at the operation's imminent success, pride in their effectiveness as a team, and a distinct undercurrent of uncertainty about what came next. For eleven days, they had lived as partners in every sense of the word. The thought of that ending—of losing the intimacy they'd developed within their cover identities—created an unexpected ache.
"Are you ready?" Michelle asked, her hand on the doorknob.
Jenna checked her reflection one final time, ensuring every detail of Jenna Wolfe remained perfect. The woman who looked back at her seemed both familiar and strange, a construction that had somehow become genuine.
"Ready," she confirmed, stepping into the role as Michelle opened the door.
They moved through the apartment with synchronized grace, checking security systems before departing. At the threshold, Michelle paused, her expression momentarily unguarded.
"Whatever happens at Sienna's tonight," she said quietly, "know that this—us—it matters to me. Beyond the operation."
The words might have seemed small to anyone else, but from Michelle—who had fought their connection at every turn,who had built walls around her feelings—they represented a monumental shift.
"It matters to me too," Jenna replied simply, the truth of it resonating in her chest.
They stepped into the hallway together, fingers automatically intertwining as they moved toward the elevator. In a matter of hours, they would have the final evidence needed to bring down an international smuggling operation. By this time tomorrow, Phoenix Women's Collective would be dismantled, its criminal leadership facing justice, and their undercover personas no longer necessary.
But as the elevator doors closed, Jenna wondered which ending would prove more consequential—the culmination of their investigation or the conclusion of their cover relationship. And which beginning might follow in their wake.
Sienna's home glowed against the darkening sky, windows illuminated like a beacon. Unlike the previous gathering with dozens of attendees, tonight's celebration appeared exclusive—only a handful of cars belonging to the PWC inner circle lined the curved driveway.
Kendall opened the door before they could knock, her attire more security professional than party guest. "Michelle, Jenna. Perfect timing. Isabella has just arrived."
The mention of the cartel connection sent a pulse of anticipation through Jenna. Isabella Garcia's presence confirmed the shipment's significance.
The foyer opened to a grand living room where Jenna quickly cataloged each face: Sienna by the fireplace, Nicole and Alina at the bar, Mina in discussion with two women from the securemeeting. In the center stood Isabella, commanding attention without obvious effort.
In person, the cartel leader projected elegance wrapped around a core of steel. She turned as they entered, eyes finding them with predatory focus.
"The new leadership candidates," Isabella said, moving toward them. "Sienna has spoken highly of your contributions."
"Isabella," Michelle greeted her with professional warmth. "Your video presence doesn't do you justice."
Isabella's smile never reached her beady eyes. "Technology has its limitations. Some assessments must be made in person."