[Emma's Apartment – Living Room]
The place was tidy, though not obsessively so, with books stacked on a low table near the couch and a half-burned candle on the counter that still carried the faint scent of vanilla. She checked the locks on the windows, tested the latches, and crouched to study the baseboards for scuffs. Nothing screamed forced entry, which was unsettling in itself. Whoever had slipped inside had done so without leaving visible damage, which meant planning, practice, and confidence.
Still, Amy's attention lingered on the small things: the faint scuff on the window frame, a slightly shifted rug near the hallway.
Emma leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. "Find anything?"
"Not yet," Amy replied, crouching to inspect the lock on the balcony door. "Whoever came in here knew how to leave without a trace. That means your stalker is more than just an overzealous fan."
Emma sighed, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "That's comforting."
Amy stood, brushing her hands off, then walked back toward her. "Can I ask you something personal?"
Emma tilted her head with a curious look. "Go ahead."
Amy's eyes softened. "So, you know Ray?"
Emma gave a short laugh. "That's one way to put it. I thought I did, once."
Amy asked while studying her expression. "Close?"
Emma's jaw tightened, and she let out a soft laugh that wasn't funny at all. "I thought so. He was… different. Charming, confident, and most of all... easy to talk to. And we spent some time together before he simply vanished without a word. I tried to call him, but... he never picked up or called back." She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what that's like? Thinking someone mattered, only for them to simply ghost you. And after six years, I found out he's a cop in Brooklyn."
Amy listened quietly. She wanted to defend Ray but knew it wasn't her place. Instead, she asked carefully, "How much do you know about what Ray does? His actual job."
Emma blinked at her. "He was a painter back then when we first met. Later, he bought a small gallery. And now, he's a cop. That's a big change."
Amy hesitated, weighing her words carefully. "Yeah. About that." She looked away, voice lowering. "Let's just say I don't think the gallery was the whole story."
Emma's brows knitted. "What are you saying?"
Amy shook her head. "It's not my place to reveal. But… Ray's job, the real one, is a lot more complicated than you realize. And I think I know what happened to him back then, why he cut off contact. But it isn't my place to explain. That has to come from him."
Emma stared, searching Amy's face for a clue. "So you're saying he had a reason?"
Amy gave the faintest nod. "Yes. A big reason."
Emma looked away, her fingers tightening on the countertop. "That's almost worse than not knowing."
Amy glanced toward the hallway again, unease prickling at her skin. Something about the apartment still bothered her. "He'll tell you when he's ready. And now, let's talk about this stalker and break-in situation. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask some questions."
"Yeah, okay," Emma nodded.
"Do you live here alone?" Amy asked.
"Yes," Emma said as she sat on the couch. "Just moved in a couple of weeks back. Needed some personal space."
Amy nodded, filing the detail away in her little pad. She crossed the room toward the hallway. "Would you mind if I check the bedrooms?"
"Go ahead," Emma replied.
Amy stepped into the hallway. The bedroom was neat, almost meticulous. The bed was perfectly made, the closet closed, no clutter on the nightstand. Yet something felt staged. Amy noticed the faint chemical tang in the air. She knelt, sniffed near the carpet fibers, then frowned. It was faint, but familiar. Something sprayed. Something to sedate. She wrote it down, lips pressed tight.
When she returned to the living room, Emma was still sitting with her arms folded. She looked smaller than the confident woman Amy had seen at the precinct earlier. Vulnerable in a way Amy hadn't expected.
Amy took the chair opposite her.
"Nothing obvious," she reported. "But someone definitely got in here before. That smell in your bedroom? It's not a cleaning spray. It's something stronger. Probably how they made sure you wouldn't wake up."
Emma's jaw clenched. "So I wasn't imagining it."
"No," Amy said quietly. "You weren't."
For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the revelation pressing between them.
"So, you dating him?" Emma asked, breaking the silence.
"Wha-" Amy tried to laugh, but stuttered a little. "Me? No. No, we aren't dating. But he's dating someone." She quickly stood up and asked, "Can you show me the roof?"
'Looks like you like him too,' Emma thought as she stood up and then said. "Sure."
[Emma's Apartment – Roof]
Amy scanned the edges of the roof, her eyes moving to the corners, the vents, the water tanks. Nothing out of place. No broken locks, no rope fibers, no sign of anyone climbing up here.
She crouched by the service door and checked the lock. It was still secure. Whoever had gotten inside the apartment hadn't come through the roof. Amy made a slow circle before returning to Emma, who leaned against the wall with her arms folded tight.
"Nothing unusual up here," Amy said.
Emma exhaled sharply, as though she had been hoping for something concrete. "So that means they got in through the front door. Without breaking it."
Amy nodded. "Either with a copied key or a lock pick set. Which means they've been close enough to study your habits." She pulled out her notepad again. "We're going to have to check everywhere. Next, I need to see the garage."
Emma gave a small nod, then pushed off the wall and led the way down the stairwell.
...
[Garage]
Amy's eyes swept across the space, cataloging everything: security cameras in the corners, stacks of boxes, a couple of paint cans, and Emma's BMW.
Amy took out her flashlight and crouched on the ground, trying to look under the car.
Emma frowned. "What are you looking for?"
"Tampering," Amy said simply. "Bugs."
Emma's arms folded tighter across her chest. "Doesn't sound good."
Amy stood and met her gaze evenly. "I don't like to speculate without evidence. But if they got into your apartment once, they might have had time to mess with your car. That's probably how they knew where you were going and kept tabs on you. We'll need the forensics unit to comb through it."
Emma exhaled slowly, trying to keep calm. "So I can't even drive my own car without wondering if it's safe?"
Amy softened her tone. "Not for now. Just until we know more." She scribbled a quick note in her pad. "Alright. Nothing else obvious here. Let's get back upstairs."
...
[Living room]
By the time they returned, it was already evening. Emma sank onto the couch, shoulders hunched, clearly worn down.
Amy lingered by the window, keeping her gaze on the street below. "We'll keep surveillance on the building. If they try again, we'll catch them."
Emma rubbed her temples. "Feels like I'm in some weird thriller movie I didn't audition for."
Amy turned, her expression softening. "I know this is a lot. But you're not alone in it. We'll figure it out."
Soon...
The low growl of a motorcycle engine echoed from the street below, rolling to a stop outside. Amy moved to the window and looked out. It was Ray. He looked up at the window and waved his hand.
Just then...
A black SUV shot from the side alley like a charging bull.
"Shit," Ray cursed, twisting just as the vehicle tried to pin him against the brick wall. He flipped sideways, body slamming the ground hard, as the SUV crushed the bike with a metallic crunch that echoed up the block.
From above, Amy yelled. "Emma, stay inside!" She was already racing down the stairwell, Glock in hand.
The SUV screeched to a halt, gears grinding, before lurching back into position. Its headlights blazed at Ray like twin predators' eyes. He had just reached for his sidearm when the driver floored it again.
Ray rolled, gravel scraping his palms, as the vehicle screamed past inches from his ribs.
Before he could get his gun out, the whine of another engine split the chaos. A motorcycle blurred past, rider masked, one hand steady on the throttle, the other clutching a compact Uzi.
"Son of a—" Ray hissed as the bullets tore the air around him. Concrete chipped as he dove flat and rolled on his side, shielding his head to avoid critical hits. There was nowhere to hide there which made things worse. "Fuck!" One bullet got his left thigh, the second one to his left arm, and the third one straight to his stomach. The force of the hits rolled him across the pavement. His jaw clenched as he fought to breathe.
Amy burst through the doors, gun raised. She fired twice at the biker, her shots sparking against the back fender. The rider swerved, straightened, then tore off into the night, engine screaming.
The SUV braked hard, tires burning rubber. Amy turned her sights on it, squeezed off two rounds, but they ricocheted uselessly against reinforced glass.
The vehicle idled for a beat, engine growling low like an animal warning off prey. Its message was clear: stay out, or worse will come. Then the driver slammed the gas and began reversing to line up for another strike.
Ray's hand slid into his jacket, blood dripping down his fingers. He pulled out a magnetic micro tracker and flung it underhand. The device clung to the SUV's undercarriage.
"Got you," Ray muttered under his breath.
The SUV revved once more, then spun its tires and bolted down the street, vanishing into the dark.
Amy dropped to her knees beside Ray, one hand pressing on his stomach wound, the other already at her radio. "Control, this is Detective Santiago. Officer White down, gunshot wounds, multiple assailants. SUV, black, late-model Chevy Suburban, bulletproofed, tinted glass, heading east from Franklin and Baltic. Motorcycle rider heading same direction. No number plates. I repeat, they don't have any number plates. Get all available units tracking now."
Ray coughed, blood bubbling in his throat, but still managed to talk. He pointed at the cruiser. "Go! Go! I'll be alright."
"Stop talking!"
"Detective, go... Don't lose this chance to get them!"
Emma came out running.
She froze in the doorway, eyes wide, her pulse pounding as she saw Ray bleeding out on the pavement. "Ray!" she cried, starting forward.
Ray's voice cut sharply through the pain. "Stay inside. Keep your head down. There could be more shooters."
She hesitated, torn between panic and defiance. "I'm not leaving you like this!"
He yelled, pointing his bloody finger at the door. "NOW!"
Emma flinched. For a second, she saw not the charming man from six years ago but a hardened cop. Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard and forced herself back into the building, slamming the door shut behind her.
Amy was already halfway to her cruiser. She spared one last glance at him with a worried expression. "Don't die," she said firmly before chasing after the assailants.
Ray let out a breath that might've been a laugh if not for the blood pooling at the corner of his lips. "Haha... Rosa will kill me if I die," he muttered, dragging himself upright against the brick wall and taking out his gun. There could be more shooters. 'What the hell is going on here? What have you gotten yourself involved with, Emma?"
His left arm trembled from the hit, his thigh throbbed like fire, and the wound in his stomach was bleeding worse than he liked. But Ray White had walked away from worse. Bullets were just… inconveniences.
He growled under his breath. "Damn it! Mom and Rosa are gonna be worried."
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