Page 79 of Undercover Hearts
"Captain, Detective," she greeted them, professionalism not quite masking her eagerness. "The financial records you recovered have been absolutely crucial. The judge has already denied three motions to suppress."
"Evidence was properly obtained during a sanctioned operation," Michelle said, her voice carrying that precise balance of authority and collegiality Jenna had come to admire. "Everything should hold."
The courtroom doors opened, and they entered the wood-paneled space that would frame the next chapter of justice for Beatrice, Gabrielle, and Angelica. Jenna's gaze swept across the gallery, cataloging familiar faces: Chief Marten in the front row, Lieutenant Hodges beside her, Detective Scott taking notes in the corner. At the defense table, Sienna Castillo sat in an expensive cream suit, her perfect posture betraying nothing of her current circumstances. Isabella Garcia had been transported from federal custody, her presence commanding attention despite the prison-issued outfit.
"They look smaller somehow," Jenna observed quietly.
Michelle nodded. "Power stripped away reveals what was actually there all along."
Their conversation ended as the bailiff called for attention and Judge Margot Parrish entered. For the next hour, testimony unfolded, swift and sure. Michelle went first, her account of the operation crisp and authoritative despite the physical discomfort Jenna could read in the tight lines around hereyes. She detailed the organization's structure, the shipment verification, and the direct evidence connecting leadership to distribution.
When questioned about her injury, Michelle answered with professional detachment, as if discussing someone else entirely. "The bullet entered below my left clavicle, damaging the subclavian artery. Tactical teams secured the suspects while medical evacuation was arranged."
Only Jenna recognized what this clinical account omitted: the terror of watching Michelle's blood soak through her fingers, the helicopter's desperate flight to the hospital, and the days of uncertainty that followed.
When Jenna took the stand, she felt a calm confidence settle over her. This was familiar territory; she had testified dozens of times in her career. But today felt different, weightier. She described the financial evidence in detail, explaining how the records directly linked PWC leadership to hush money payments to the victims' families.
"The documentation center contained spreadsheets tracking every payment," Jenna explained, her voice steady. "Each victim was assigned a code name, but the amounts and dates corresponded exactly to bank records we've subsequently obtained from their families."
From the defense table, Sienna's gaze locked onto hers, cold hatred radiating through her composed exterior. Jenna met her stare without flinching. Six weeks ago, this woman had commanded an organization that operated behind a veneer of women's empowerment while distributing lethal drugs. Today, she was simply a defendant whose empire had crumbled.
"And were you able to connect these payments to specific members of the Phoenix Women's Collective?" the prosecutor asked.
"Yes," Jenna confirmed. "Sienna Castillo personally approved each payment with her electronic signature. Isabella Garcia authorized the offshore accounts used to obscure the source of funds."
Her testimony continued for another thirty minutes, each answer strengthening the case that would eventually lead to justice. Throughout, she was aware of Michelle watching from the gallery, offering subtle nods of encouragement when questioning became particularly technical. Despite the professional setting, the connection between them remained undeniable—a thread of something genuine woven through their official roles.
When the judge called for a recess, Jenna returned to her seat beside Michelle, their shoulders brushing briefly as they arranged their notes.
"Excellent testimony," Michelle murmured. "Clear, authoritative, impossible to challenge."
"I had a good teacher," Jenna replied, the simple compliment carrying layers of meaning.
"The judge's face when you detailed those payment records," Michelle said with quiet satisfaction. "This case is solid. They won't escape justice now."
Chief Marten approached, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in its characteristic knot. "Outstanding work, both of you. The DA is already talking about upgrading charges based on your testimony."
"We have everything we need to connect them directly to all three deaths," Jenna confirmed. "Plus the additional victims identified through the financial records."
"This investigation will likely expand to include their entire West Coast network," Chief Marten added. "Seattle PD has already requested your consultation on related cases there."
The court reconvened shortly after, with the defense presenting weak challenges that crumbled under the weight of evidence Jenna and Michelle had gathered. By afternoon's end, the judge had bound all defendants over for trial, denying bail for both Sienna and Isabella due to flight risk and the severity of charges.
As they gathered their materials after the ruling, Caroline Marks approached again, her expression triumphant. "The DA wanted me to extend her personal thanks. Your undercover work provided the most comprehensive evidence we've seen in a drug trafficking case in years."
"The victims deserved nothing less," Michelle replied simply.
They exited the courthouse together, descending the same steps Jenna had climbed that morning. The light had shifted, afternoon sun casting longer shadows across the plaza. Something had shifted within Jenna as well, a sense of closure beginning to form around the operation that had changed everything.
"Dinner?" Michelle asked as they reached the parking area, her voice dropping to the softer register she reserved for moments when they weren't captain and detective.
"Definitely," Jenna replied with a smile. "My place or yours?"
The question carried none of its former uncertainty. In the weeks since Michelle's release from the hospital, they had fallen into a rhythm that felt both new and strangely familiar, a natural extension of the connection that had begun during their undercover assignment.
"Mine is closer," Michelle said, "and I believe we were in the middle of reorganizing your bookshelves last night."
"A project I'm not convinced needed tackling quite yet," Jenna teased gently, referencing Michelle's determination to catalog Jenna's extensive book collection despite her limited mobility.