NATE'S POV
The Los Angeles raid was a blur of frantic action, blinding stadium lights, and the terrified cries of people huddled in a container the size of a shipping truck. We secured the victims, arrested the skeleton crew, and confirmed the manifest, another perfect, bloody gift from Adrian. I had flown back across the country in a government jet, running on three hours of fractured sleep and pure, corrosive adrenaline.
I reported to the CSI office just after midnight, filing the initial reports, enduring the back-slapping congratulations from the few late-night officers, and fielding the initial barrage of panicked calls from the Department of Homeland Security. I was a hero, a genius investigator who had somehow exposed an international human trafficking route twice in three days.
