My phone buzzed twice within the span of twenty minutes, both messages from Vincent. The first was typical intel about a shipment at Pier 47, midnight. Standard undercover work that had become routine over the past few months. The second message made me pause: Need to talk. Meet me at the usual place in an hour. Important.
Vincent never used the word "important" lightly.
I stared at my reflection in the SCU break room's cracked mirror, trying to shake off the lingering unease from last night's raid. Something had felt different about the warehouse operation, not just the way it had gone sideways, but the way that man had looked at me. Marco Salvatore. Even thinking his name made my skin crawl.
Those silver eyes had tracked my every movement with an intensity that went beyond criminal sizing up law enforcement. There had been something almost... recognizable in his gaze, like he'd seen something in me that I didn't even know existed.
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the parking garage. The "usual place" was a twenty-four-hour diner on the outskirts of downtown, the kind of establishment that asked no questions and served coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Vincent and I had been meeting there for months to exchange information, though I was starting to wonder if I really knew anything about my partner at all.
The drive gave me time to think about the past six months since my transfer from Homicide to the Supernatural Crimes Unit. It had been a difficult adjustment learning to work cases involving werewolves, vampires, and other creatures I'd only read about in fiction. Vincent had been patient with my learning curve, always seeming to know exactly what information I needed and when I needed it.
Maybe too patient. Too knowledgeable.
I pulled into the diner's parking lot and spotted Vincent's sedan already there, tucked into a corner spot with a clear view of the entrance. Old habits from his undercover work, he'd told me once. Always know your exits.
The bell above the door chimed as I entered. Vincent was sitting in our usual booth, his back to the wall, nursing a cup of coffee that looked like it had been sitting there for a while. His phone lay face-down on the table beside him, and when the waitress approached to refill his cup, he instinctively slid the device closer to himself with protective precision. His normally composed expression showed cracks of tension I'd rarely seen before.
"You look like hell," I said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"Thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel better." His smile was forced, not reaching his eyes. "How are you holding up after the last?"
"I'm fine." It was partially true. Physically, I was unharmed. Mentally, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed during those few moments when Marco Salvatore's gaze had locked with mine. "The whole operation felt off, though. Like we were being led into something."
Vincent's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his free hand moved to rest near his phone. "What do you mean?"
"The timing, the setup, even the way his people scattered when we arrived. It felt staged." I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Like they wanted us there for some reason."
"Why would they want a police raid?"
"I don't know. But something about that man..." I trailed off, not sure how to put my instincts into words. "Marco Salvatore was studying me, Vincent. Not like a criminal assessing a threat, but like... like he was trying to figure out a puzzle."
Vincent's knuckles went white around his coffee cup. "Did he say anything to you directly?"
"No, but he didn't need to. It was all in the way he looked at me." I shook my head, frustrated with my inability to articulate the strange connection I'd felt. "Forget it. It sounds crazy when I try to explain it."
"It doesn't sound crazy." Vincent's voice was quiet, almost gentle. "Your instincts are usually right, Sarah. If something felt off, it probably was."
The waitress refilled our cups without being asked, a practiced routine that gave us both a moment to collect our thoughts. When she moved away, Vincent leaned forward, his expression serious.
"There's something I need to tell you," he said. "Something about tonight's operation."
"The pier shipment?" I pulled out my notebook. "What kind of numbers are we looking at?"
"Sarah, listen to me." Vincent's hand shot across the table, covering mine with surprising warmth. "This isn't just about the shipment. Marco Salvatore has taken a personal interest in you."
The words hit me like cold water. "What do you mean, personal interest like how?"
Vincent's eyes darted around the diner before settling back on my face. "My source inside his organization says he's been asking questions. About your background, your family, where you live." His other hand moved protectively over his phone. "I have... documentation of his interest in you."
"Your source?" I studied Vincent's expression, looking for tells I was only beginning to recognize. "How good is this intelligence?"
"Good enough that I'm worried." Vincent's grip on my hand tightened. "Sarah, I think you should request a transfer. At least temporarily, until we can figure out what Salvatore wants."
"Absolutely not." I pulled my hand free, anger flaring hot in my chest. "I didn't transfer to SCU to run away from dangerous criminals. And I'm not about to let some werewolf gangster dictate my career."
"This isn't about your career, it's about your safety."
"Then we make sure tonight's operation goes smoothly and we put him behind bars where he belongs." I closed my notebook with a sharp snap. "End of discussion."
Vincent sat back, running a hand through his hair in a gesture I'd seen him make when he was fighting some internal battle. There were moments like this when I felt like I was only seeing the surface of Vincent, like there were depths to him that he kept carefully hidden.
"There's more," he said finally. "The warehouse raid wasn't a failure from their perspective. It was a test."
"A test of what?"
"Of you." Vincent's dark eyes met mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "Sarah, werewolves have... instincts about people. Connections that go deeper than rational thought. If Marco Salvatore is fixated on you, it might not be something he can control."
The diner suddenly felt too warm, too small. I pushed my coffee away, my stomach churning with implications I didn't want to consider.
"You're talking about mate bonds," I said quietly. "I've read the files, Vincent. But those are rare, and they're based on mutual recognition. I didn't feel anything like that."
"Are you sure?"
The question hung between us like a challenge. I wanted to say yes immediately, to dismiss the entire conversation as paranoid speculation. But honesty forced me to examine those few moments in the warehouse when Marco's silver gaze had seemed to see straight through me.
There had been something. A recognition I couldn't name, a pull I didn't understand. But acknowledging it felt dangerous, like admitting weakness.
"It doesn't matter what I felt," I said finally. "What matters is stopping his operation and getting justice for his victims."
Vincent studied my face for a long moment, then nodded. "Tonight, then. But we do this carefully, and we watch each other's backs." He pocketed his phone with deliberate care, like it contained something valuable.
"Always do." I slid out of the booth, leaving money for my untouched coffee. "Send me the full briefing when you have it. And Vincent?"
"Yeah?"
"If your source is as good as you claim, maybe it's time I met them. This case is getting too personal for secondhand intelligence."
Something flickered across Vincent's expression: fear, maybe, or guilt. "I'll see what I can arrange."
I left the diner with more questions than answers, but at least now I understood why the warehouse raid had felt like a trap. Marco Salvatore hadn't been trying to evade us. He's been studying us, learning about us.
Learning about me in particular.
The drive back to headquarters gave me time to process Vincent's warnings and my own growing suspicions about my partner. His intelligence was always too good, too detailed. His explanations for how he gathered information were vague, and there were gaps in his background that didn't quite make sense. The way he guarded his phone tonight, the detailed intelligence he always seemed to have there were pieces of this puzzle I was definitely missing.
But right now, Vincent Torres was the only ally I had in a case that was becoming more dangerous by the hour. Whether I could trust him completely was a question I would have to answer later.
Tonight, I had a shipment to intercept and a werewolf crime boss to arrest. Everything else would have to wait.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text from Vincent: Full briefing in your email. Be careful tonight, Sarah. More careful than you've ever been.
I deleted the message and drove toward headquarters, carrying the weight of secrets I didn't fully understand and the growing certainty that my life had just become infinitely more complicated.