Page 60 of Undercover Hearts

Angela glanced up, years of tactical experience reflected in her knowing gaze. "Call it whatever you need to, Captain. Protecting your partner is never wrong."

The operations room door opened, and Jenna entered, her professional mask firmly in place.

"Surveillance equipment verification complete," she reported. "Backup recording systems operational despite potential interference."

"Good," Michelle replied. "We were just discussing position adjustments."

Jenna's eyebrow rose slightly. "What kind of adjustments?"

"I'm shifting your documentation center position to coordinate with warehouse inventory," Michelle explained. "The operational separation creates an unnecessary vulnerability."

Resistance flashed across Jenna's features. "With all due respect, Captain, that compromises our intel-gathering capabilities. The documentation center access is critical for financial evidence."

"The risk outweighs the benefit," Michelle countered.

"We need that evidence to connect PWC leadership to all three victims," Jenna insisted. "My position in documentation gives us direct access to those files."

"Kendall's suspicion has escalated," Michelle said quietly. "The documentation center has limited extraction routes."

"Which I've memorized," Jenna replied steadily. "This isn't my first undercover operation, Michelle."

The use of her first name in this professional setting didn't escape notice. Angela suddenly became very interested in her tactical gear, and she picked at an invisible loose thread.

"I understand the risks," Jenna continued. "Beatrice, Gabrielle, and Angelica deserve complete justice, not half-measures because we played it safe."

The invocation of the victims' names struck Michelle with physical force. The three young women whose deaths had launched this investigation deserved the strongest possible case.

"Twenty minutes," Michelle finally conceded. "You gather what evidence you can, then find a reason to relocate to warehouse inventory. Direct radio contact at all times."

Relief softened Jenna's expression. "Agreed."

At Michelle's vehicle, they paused. The privacy of the moment—likely their last before the operation began in earnest—hung between them.

"Whatever happens tonight," Jenna said, her voice soft but steady, "I want you to know that this mattered to me. All of it."

Michelle's carefully constructed professional distance threatened to crumble beneath the weight of those simple words.

"You don't have to say anything," Jenna added. "Just know that when this is over—when we've secured justice—we have a conversation waiting."

Michelle found herself nodding, unable to deny this truth despite every professional instinct urging caution.

"Be careful tonight," she managed, the words carrying more weight than their simplicity suggested.

Jenna's smile reached her eyes. "Always, Captain."

As they departed for Sienna's beach house, Michelle found herself memorizing details: the determined set of Jenna's jaw, the confidence in her movements, the way streetlights painted momentary patterns across her profile.

Tonight would bring justice or danger—perhaps both. What tomorrow might bring remained unspoken between them, a conversation deferred until justice was secured.

Sienna's coastal property materialized from the darkness like a modernist fortress. Michelle guided their vehicle through the private access road, gravel crunching beneath tires as they approached the security checkpoint.

"Identification," a guard requested, his tactical vest and earpiece suggesting military background.

Michelle handed over their PWC credentials. "Michelle Rodriguez and Jenna Wolfe. We're on Sienna's operational roster."

The guard verified their identities against a tablet, then gestured toward the circular driveway. "Main house for security screening. All electronics remain in vehicles."

Michelle parked alongside several other cars belonging to PWC's inner circle. The scent of salt air mingled with theearthier notes of coastal vegetation, and in the distance, foghorns sounded their mournful warning to ships navigating the treacherous coastline—a fitting accompaniment to the dangerous game they were about to play.