Late evening had settled over Northvale, the barracks quieting as lights blinked out one by one. Frank sat on the bench outside, cigarette glowing red in the dark. He wasn't pacing. He wasn't tapping. Just waiting. Waiting for Zoey to return.
But Zoey wasn't in the base.
Her story about "resting a headache" had been nothing more than a cover. In truth, her path to this moment had been laid months before she even partnered with Frank.
Back then, she'd been working a case that had gone cold — a weapons smuggling ring that the department couldn't crack. Zoey had wanted results, not excuses. She'd reached out where no cop should: to the Nightshade Cartel.
