A couple of days later, Ethan got out of bed.
—Shrrr—the rustle of the curtains being pulled aside broke the silence of the room.
The curtains flew open, revealing a white blanket outside. A snowplow crawled slowly down the avenue, pushing mountains of snow to the sides of the street.
Ethan stretched, yawned, and headed straight for the shower. The past few days had been quiet at the station; they'd only been monitoring a few gangs, nothing that really caught Intelligence's attention.
He exhaled slowly.
—System —he murmured.
A faint pressure ran along his temple. The interface appeared before his eyes, layered over reality like a transparent reflection.
INTELLIGENCE UNIT – MISSION PROGRESS
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
—Show it.
The information unfolded in front of him. The interface was new—more intuitive—but the system was still a bastard that refused to talk to him or explain anything.
Active objective: Joint operations with the Intelligence Unit
Progress: 3/4 cases completed
Status: INCOMPLETE
—Three out of four… —he muttered—. There's always one missing.
Ethan mentally slid open the details menu.
Reward upon mission completion: Special talent unlock
Category: MECHANICAL
Level: Intermediate
Status: LOCKED
His eyes narrowed.
—Mechanical… —he repeated under his breath.
Additional condition: The remaining case must involve real operational risk. Passive support or secondary tasks will not be counted.
—Of course… —he exhaled—
The interface flickered one last time.
Current progress: ████████░░ 75%
Just one more.
Ethan closed his eyes for a second, then opened them with resolve.
The interface faded away.
When he left his house, he went straight to the shed to grab a snow shovel and began clearing the path from the door to the iron gate. He liked the winter season, but the cleanup was a pain.
Then he got into his car and drove toward the precinct. With a coffee bought roadside in hand, Ethan moved along slowly. Pedestrians walked hunched over, breathing out white clouds.
As he turned his head, a van rounded the corner straight toward him. There was no time. The other vehicle was coming in too fast.
Ethan jerked the wheel on instinct and hit the gas, causing the other car to slam into the rear of his sedan and send it skidding to the side of the street.
¡Pum!
The impact shook everything. The Cadillac's window exploded into a thousand shards.
The passenger door caved in under the van's blow, and the car was shoved several meters backward with a metallic screech.
—Ah!
Shouts erupted all around. Pedestrians scattered in every direction.
—Damn it… Voight is going to kill me!
Ethan jumped out in a rage, drew his weapon, and immediately crouched, aiming at the van's driver. The crumpled hood blocked his view; only a narrow gap remained.
He shoved the door and stepped fully out.
At the sight of the gun, people ran even faster, phones raised.
Sirens were already closing in. The vehicle had been driving the wrong way. Patrol cars were chasing it. He wasn't the one they were after.
Ethan circled the car, raised his weapon, and shouted:
—Get on the groun—!
The words died when a white girl stumbled out of the van.
She was wearing denim shorts and the top of a bikini. As if it weren't the middle of a Chicago winter, but high summer in Miami.
Then he saw her abdomen—bleeding heavily. Long, deep cuts, skin laid open.
—Hey, are you okay… what happened to you? —Ethan asked.
He glanced inside the vehicle. Empty.
He didn't lower his gun.
The girl staggered, strips of skin hanging loose.
—Help me…!
She lifted her gaze. Her eyes were glassy, filled with pain.
Ethan figured she had to be under the influence of some kind of narcotic. Given how little she was wearing, she didn't seem to feel the cold—she wasn't shivering—and from what he could tell, she barely reacted to the pain.
Barefoot, she walked over the broken glass in the snow without stopping, her feet bleeding as she moved.
—Please… help me…
—Don't come any closer! —Ethan ordered—
Her expression was unnatural. Empty. Like a walking corpse. If she was high on something, he wasn't about to risk it—she could be carrying a weapon.
The hidden hand appeared suddenly.
A cold glint.
Scissors.
Smeared with blood.
—Hey! —Ethan aimed steadily—. Drop that. Now.
She didn't respond.
She kept coming.
The sirens arrived right on top of them. A patrol car screeched to a halt. Two officers jumped out fast, guns raised.
—Drop the weapon! —they shouted in unison.
Ethan froze for a second.
Then he understood.
He turned his head and recognized the officer—the same one who had called Tony the night before.
—Drop the weapon or we'll fire! —the other one warned.
—I'm a detective! —Ethan replied—. Intelligence Unit, District 21. Badge 99527. Lower your weapons.
Tony blinked.
—Where's your badge?
The girl was muttering incoherently, getting closer by the second.
—In my pocket! —Ethan shouted, taking a step back.
—Tony —the other officer said sharply—what do we do?
—Shit!
Tony tightened his finger on the trigger.
—Last warning. Drop the weapon.
Ethan clenched his teeth.
He knew how these situations ended when everything escalated: badly. Damn it, he hated feeling helpless. And having a nervous cop aiming a gun at him didn't sit well at all.
One mistake.
One shot was enough to end him.
Against every survival instinct he had, he slowly raised his hands.
The gesture tasted like defeat.
He stepped down carefully, keeping his palms open and visible. With extreme care, he bent slightly and placed the gun on the ground, nudging it away with the tip of his foot.
—Easy… —he added, this time with clear irritation—. There's no need for this to end badly.
He took another step back.
Every movement was measured, controlled, even though inside he was boiling. He hated giving ground. Hated being at someone else's mercy. But he hated dying even more—especially because of someone with a shaky trigger finger who couldn't tell the difference between a real threat and fear.
Another patrol car arrived immediately.
—Detective Morgan, what the hell is going on here? —Burgess asked.
The girl, seeing the opening, lunged with the scissors raised.
—Don't shoot! —Ethan shouted.
The cold glint sliced through the air.
He felt the cut and reacted, grabbing the girl's arm.
—Fuck!
He slipped, almost fell.
She was stronger—far stronger than her build suggested.
Ethan regained his balance and twisted her arm brutally.
—Ahhh!
She screamed but didn't drop the scissors.
The officers hesitated. No one knew how to react.
Something very serious had happened to that girl.
Ethan looked up, alarmed.
—What are you staring at? Come help me!
Burgess and Atwater snapped out of it and rushed in to assist.
The cuffs snapped shut. Together they pinned her down in the snow.
—An ambulance! Now!
Ethan slapped Atwater on the shoulder as he passed.
He pulled out his badge, clipped it on, and walked straight toward the patrol officers.
—What the hell is wrong with you? What precinct are you from?
Tony lowered his Glock.
—I'm sorry, detective.
—And that attitude? —his partner snapped—. We were following protocol.
—Did I point a gun at you? Didn't I identify myself?
He smacked the walkie-talkie on Tony's shoulder.
—Is this just a fucking decoration? If you're unsure, call it in and verify the information.
The officers fell silent.
—Detective… —Burgess stepped in, approaching calmly.
—What is it, Burgess? —Ethan snapped, turning on her.
—They didn't do it on purpose.
Surprised by his look, Burgess hurried to add:
—Jenny and Tony are good cops. Do you think you could let this slide?
Ethan narrowed his eyes and asked coldly:
—Why should I? If this had escalated, someone would be dead—and it wouldn't have been me.
The look completely rattled Burgess, who shut her mouth. A moment later, Ethan looked away, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
—Be more careful next time, —he said at last, deciding not to make trouble for them—.
Hearing that he wasn't going to push it further, the two patrol officers breathed a sigh of relief and glanced gratefully at Burgess. By procedure, they hadn't technically done anything wrong.
But with a detective's connections, it was always easy to make their lives difficult.
Burgess smiled, still a bit tense.
Detective Morgan was usually all smiles when he wasn't working a case, so she didn't quite understand why he'd gotten so angry so fast.
Tony stepped aside, picked up the Beretta, and brushed the snow off it.
—Detective, here's your weapon.
Ethan, calmer now, took the pistol and holstered it.
—I got a little worked up earlier. I don't like having a gun pointed at me.
Then he added seriously:
—Next time, don't jump to conclusions so fast. Situations like this escalate easily, and someone can get hurt.
—Understood —Tony nodded quickly.
Ethan looked at his car. Half of it was wrecked; he'd need to call a tow truck.
He'd barely driven it, and it already needed major repairs.
—Bang!
Good thing it was a police car. If it had been his Challenger, it would've broken his heart—not because of the money, but because of how attached he already was to it.
He grabbed his belongings from the vehicle and transferred the police gear from the trunk into Burgess's car.
Shortly after, the ambulance arrived.
Ethan rode with the girl to the hospital. He vaguely remembered this case—no specific details—but if he wanted to complete the system's mission, he'd have to take the initiative.
Besides, he was concerned about having been exposed to blood, so he needed some tests done as well.
Chicago Hospital, Emergency Room.
After the blood work was completed, Ethan waited outside the operating room.
A short while later, a surgical nurse came out. Seeing him sitting there, she asked:
—Are you the officer who came in with her?
—Yes.
Ethan stood up.
—What happened to her?
—Apparently she swallowed several balloons filled with cocaine. One ruptured inside her stomach. And in her delirium, I think she tried to get them out —the nurse replied quietly from behind her mask—. You might want to call in a few more colleagues.
—I understand. Thank you.
When the nurse returned to the OR, Ethan pulled out his phone to text Hank so they could take over the case.
The surgery ended not long after.
The girl was moved to a room. Ethan went through her belongings—she really only had a very small pair of denim shorts.
The bikini covered nothing. There was no ID.
Just a crumpled plane ticket. Reading it, he grasped the general outline of what had happened.
—Detective —the ER doctor greeted him as he came in, accompanied by a nurse carrying a stainless-steel basin.
She set it down on the table, and the doctor frowned.
—Here they are. Thirty in total.
Using forceps, Ethan picked up a torn, crumpled condom. It was smeared with blood and stomach acid—disgusting.
Footsteps approached quickly. Hank Voight came in first, followed by Erin and Antonio.
Erin flashed him a mischievous smile.
—Hey, I heard your car got wrecked.
Ethan rolled his eyes, resigned.
—What did you find? —Voight asked, looking at the item in his hand—
Ethan shook the forceps.
—Looks like she was trafficking cocaine —he said—. She swallowed thirty latex balloons. The one I'm holding here ruptured. That's probably what caused her condition.
—Exactly —the doctor nodded—. Twenty-nine were intact and filled with cocaine. The one that burst released its contents. The drug was absorbed through the digestive system and entered her bloodstream, causing severe mental confusion.
Ethan set the forceps down.
—When I saw her, she didn't feel cold or pain, and she had incredible strength. Can cocaine cause that?
—With the dose she absorbed —the doctor shook her head—, it doesn't surprise me at all.
—The truck didn't have plates. Burgess checked and found no registration for the vehicle —Ethan continued, pointing at the unconscious girl—. She wasn't carrying any ID either, she only had this.
He raised the plane ticket.
—She arrived from Mexico this morning. She got off the plane not long ago.
—Alright —Voight said—. Have Jin contact the TSA to confirm the flight and identify her.
—Got it.
Ethan took a photo of the ticket and sent it to Jin.
Antonio put on gloves, picked up the torn bag, and examined it carefully.
The doctor stepped closer and took a sample.
—Purity is eighty-nine percent. That's the highest I've ever seen.
—A new cartel in the city? —Erin asked seriously—
—No —Antonio said, shaking his head—. It's not.
—How do you know?
Ethan stepped closer, fighting off the nausea.
—Look —Antonio pointed to small air bubbles in the balloons—. A cartel wouldn't make this mistake. With purity like that on the streets, it'd be worth a fortune. This was done by a rookie.
He counted quickly.
—There's about fifty thousand dollars' worth of product here.
—Looks like we've got a new player, and from the looks of it, there could be more victims —Voight growled—.
He looked at the doctor.
—When will she wake up?
—She should wake up soon. She should be conscious in about three hours —he replied—.
—Thanks.
Voight put his hands on his hips.
—I don't like new players. They always bring chaos, violence, and blood.
—I want a patrol detail watching the girl 24/7. If she works for someone, they'll try to silence her so she can't talk. Antonio and Ethan, follow the lead on the plane ticket.
As they left the hospital, Ethan casually tossed his jacket into the trash, then climbed into Hank's truck. His car wouldn't be repaired anytime soon—if it was even fixable—so he'd have to squeeze into another vehicle for the rest of the trip back to the precinct.
When they entered the station, he saw Platt behind the desk. She recognized him right away and greeted him; Burgess had probably already told her everything.
—Hey, cowboy. You okay?
Platt had been eating when she saw the group come in and immediately asked Ethan.
—Yeah, I'm fine.
Ethan waved a hand.
—The car's wrecked.
Platt looked him over; he was only wearing a sweater.
—Want me to get you something to wear? A police jacket—it's cold out.
—No need. I've got spare clothes in the locker room.
Ethan smiled and nodded as he headed that way.
He was undercover; it didn't make sense for him to walk around in a police jacket.
On the way, they ran into Atwater and Burgess. Atwater greeted him warmly, while Burgess looked away.
She'd been pretty shaken earlier.
Ethan took another shower, changed clothes, grabbed a new jacket, and went back to the Intelligence Unit on the second floor.
—Wow!
Olinsky clapped, chewing on a twisted piece of candy.
—Guys, Mr. Morgan just broke a record —he announced—. He's the agent who managed to total an Intelligence Unit vehicle in the shortest time on record. A round of applause.
—Ha, ha.
—Not bad —Antonio added, clapping.
—And you, Erin?
—Five months and still intact.
—Thank you, thank you… I'm glad my misfortune brings you joy.
Amid the teasing, Ethan made an exaggerated bow, mimicking something he'd seen on TV.
—Ethan.
Hank Voight stepped out of the Sergeant's office, waving an arm.
—New car. SUV. You don't have to wait for that Cadillac to get fixed.
Just the last seizure alone had topped ten million dollars.
Besides, outside the garage there were more than a dozen unmarked vehicles ready for operations. The Intelligence Unit's budget was more than sufficient.
He wasn't about to let his right-hand man be limited by a car.
A set of keys flew toward Ethan. He caught them midair. They belonged to a 2017 Chevrolet Tahoe PPV—slightly shorter than a Suburban but built on the same platform. Shorter, more agile, perfect for city driving, with a 5.3-liter V8 engine. Specially modified for police use, it was ideal for pursuits.
Ethan smiled. It was exactly what he needed.
—Damn it…
Rusek clutched his chest, faking pain.
—Boss, when do I get my own operational vehicle?
—You'll have to ask Olinsky about that.
Voight brushed off his sleeves and went back into his office.
Rusek immediately turned, batting his eyes at Olinsky.
—When I say you've graduated, then we'll talk.
Olinsky had his feet up on the desk, calmly staring at the ceiling.
Ignoring the commotion, Ethan turned the keys in his hand and went back to his seat.
The flight information would still take some time; for now, all he could do was wait for Jin's message.
As soon as he sat down, he was surprised to see that his desk had completely changed.
The tower was bigger. The monitor too. Jin had replaced all his equipment while he was at the hospital.
Ethan powered up the computer immediately and opened Steam.
It even had Bluetooth installed.
A few minutes later, seeing everyone else focused on their work, he clicked the icon.
When Jin needed someone, he turned on the lights. That way, no time was wasted.
—Ethan, go see him —Antonio shouted.
Ethan sighed, switched screens, and paused the game.
The case had started with him; it made sense that he'd keep following it.
When he reached the tech lab, Jin was working.
—Hey, what do you think of the new setup?
Ethan smiled and held out his hand. They bumped fists.
—Perfect. I love it.
—Good. Let's get to it.
Jin brought a pen to his mouth and pulled up a file.
—The Transportation Security Administration sent the information. According to the passenger list, the girl who crashed into your car is named Amber Morris.
—She arrived in Chicago this morning —he continued—. You already know that.
—Was she traveling with anyone else?
Ethan followed him deeper into the lab. It was a key question.
—Yeah, I thought of that too.
Jin pulled up a chair and sat down.
—I checked her credit card records. She bought four plane tickets.
Security footage from the airport began playing on the screen.
Soon, the girl in the bikini appeared alongside three other young women.
All four were pushing suitcases, laughing as they exited the corridor.
—Shit…
Ethan's face hardened.
He could imagine the contents shifting inside their stomachs.
They were willing to risk their lives for a bit of easy money.
Jin tagged the photos, closed the file, and handed it to him.
—Do you think they all used their bodies to transport contraband?
—That's exactly what we need to find out.
Ethan patted him on the shoulder.
—Thanks. You came through at the perfect time.
—I'm confirming addresses —Jin replied without looking up—. I'll let you know as soon as I have something.
Ethan gathered the information and headed upstairs immediately.
He knocked on the Sergeant's office door, went to a corner, grabbed a board, and pinned up several security camera stills.
—Amber Morris.
—Sarah Haynes.
—Megan Benson.
—Allison Davis.
The names were placed next to the photos. All white women, in their early twenties, youthful-looking and unassuming—the kind of people who usually don't draw police attention.
—Amber Morris —Ethan circled the main name—. This morning she was driving a pickup with no plates, recklessly. That triggered a pursuit, she crashed into my vehicle. You already know what happened next. The doctors found thirty packets of cocaine in her stomach.
He paused.
—The bad news is she wasn't traveling alone. Three other girls were with her.
Ethan capped the pen and read Jin's notes.
—It's the second time in three months she's traveled to the same destination. The first time she went alone. This time, there were four of them.
Antonio frowned as he studied the photographs beneath Amber Morris's name.
—Driven by money, she contacted a few friends —he said—. They traveled to Mexico, specifically to the port of Acapulco, Guerrero. They thought they could leave the country, buy drugs, and sell them here with a huge margin.
Antonio looked up.
—So since the first trip went clean, this time she decided to invite her friends?
—Exactly —Ethan spread his hands—. All four are students at Central Chicago University. So far, there's no proof they knew they were taking part in a trafficking operation.
Hank stood and spoke gravely:
—Until we find the remaining three girls —Hank said seriously— we'll assume they also swallowed the cocaine. That means they're at risk, and we need to locate them before the condoms rupture. Amber Morris survived by pure luck; the others might not be so lucky… move.
The last word needed no explanation; everyone knew what it meant.
With one person already compromised, it was likely the traffickers would resort to less gentle, more brutal methods to recover the merchandise.
To them, the substance hidden inside the girls' bodies was worth far more than their lives.
—Bzzz!
Hank's phone vibrated. He pulled it out to check it.
—Jin just sent the addresses for all the girls; they all live on campus.
At that, the intelligence team stood up and grabbed their weapons.
—Yours or mine?
Ethan looked at Erin as she jingled the keys.
—Yours —she replied, grabbing her coat and moving quickly—. New car… how could I resist?
Seeing her expression, Ethan simply tossed her the keys.
Erin slid into the driver's seat, visibly delighted.
The spacious interior let Ethan stretch his legs comfortably as he gave Erin a playful smile, watching her move the seat forward.
—I know what you're going to say —she said bluntly as she pressed the electronic switch—. If you dare make fun of my height, I'll kill you.
Faced with the threat, Ethan wisely chose to stay quiet.
—Wasn't going to say a thing, sweetheart.
The engine roared, and the six of them, split among three cars, sped toward the residential area of Central Chicago University.
Upon reaching the dorm area, campus police—as agreed—guided them separately.
Watching the lively college students, Ethan couldn't help but look and remember his days in the Beta fraternity.
What a shame. If it were summer, the view would have been even better.
—Please —Erin said, irritation edging her voice— wipe the drool —she added, punching his shoulder with her free hand.
—What?
Ethan instinctively brought his hand to his mouth, then lowered it at once.
—Men! —Erin shook her head, though a smile slipped through.
—Hey, I was just looking at the campus —Ethan replied, leaning against the window as he watched women walk by on the sidewalk—. Besides, you're a thousand times prettier… and sexier than any of them.
Erin arched an eyebrow and hit him again, this time more lightly.
—Sure… the campus —she repeated—. Keep staring like that and I'll gouge your eyes out.
Ethan smirked.
—You're jealous, Lind.
—Keep dreaming. —she shot back—
A short while later, the campus patrol car stopped in front of a dorm building.
—207.
The officer pointed inside but didn't move.
He wasn't stupid; this was serious, and he wasn't about to get himself into trouble.
Ethan and Erin entered the building and climbed the stairs.
—Hello.
Along the way, Ethan experienced firsthand the burning enthusiasm of Central Chicago University's students. Flirtatious looks followed him, quickening his pulse.
The police badge on his belt was clearly visible.
A young, attractive detective was irresistible to those college girls.
—Do you need a few minutes? Go ahead, I can wait. —Erin snapped sharply, without slowing her pace.
Ethan said nothing and turned his gaze back to her with a grin; he knew he was only doing it to tease her.
Erin scoffed, though a smile curved her lips—she knew he'd pay for it later.
At the door, Ethan knocked.
—Sarah Haynes, Chicago Police Department. Open up.
A few seconds passed. No answer.
They exchanged a look. Ethan drew his pistol; Erin grabbed the doorknob.
She turned it carefully. The lock gave without resistance.
With a shove, Ethan burst into the room, weapon ready.
The room was no more than ten square meters: a single bed, rock band posters on the walls, and a suitcase beside the desk.
Ethan holstered his gun and moved closer to the bed.
—Her luggage is still here. Looks like she hasn't been back long —Erin said, taking a pen and checking the suitcase tag—. She hasn't unpacked yet.
—Hank.
Ethan ran his hand under the sheets; they were still warm. He keyed the radio.
—No one here, but Sarah Haynes couldn't have left the dorm long ago.
—I'm not finding anyone here either —Olinsky replied over the earpiece.
Hank didn't respond.
—Something's wrong.
Erin stepped out immediately.
Then Hank's urgent voice cut in:
—I found the dorm supervisor tied up in his room.
—Two white males took Alyssa Davis. Probably the other two girls as well. They're still nearby—find them now.
Hearing that, Ethan and Erin ran downstairs and rushed back to the car.
Ignoring the stunned campus police, Erin floored the accelerator. The Chevrolet roared toward the building Hank and Antonio had just reached.
—To the underground garage, now! —Antonio shouted through the headsets.
Chaos erupted instantly.
—Go.
A Volvo pulled up alongside them. Olinsky raised a hand and sped toward the garage entrance.
Erin jerked the wheel; the Chevrolet skidded, leaving tire marks across the concrete before following.
Ethan rolled down the window, ready to act.
—Shrrr, shrrr!
The cars surged between concrete pillars, racing side by side at full speed.
—Left turn!
Ethan spotted Antonio in the distance; he leapt between vehicles and ran toward the exit.
—Got it!
Erin's face remained impassive as she turned the wheel with precision.
—Black minivan.
Noticing the Chevrolet accelerating behind them, Antonio shouted urgently:
—Hurry, follow them!