The diner on Fifth Street had seen better decades. Cracked vinyl booths, a perpetually flickering neon sign that read "O EN 24 HRS," and coffee that tasted like it had been brewed during the Clinton administration. But it was open, anonymous, and most importantly three blocks outside Sarah's usual jurisdiction.
She arrived at 4:52 AM, eight minutes early, and chose the corner booth that gave her sightlines to both entrances. Old habits from her patrol days. The waitress name tag reading "Deb," face suggesting she'd stopped caring around 1987 poured coffee without being asked and shuffled away without a word.
Sarah spread out her files, but her mind kept returning to the phone call. That electronically distorted voice, precise and cold: Pretty and posed and very, very dead.
Whoever had called knew exactly where she'd been. Knew about Alex Russo. Which meant either they'd been watching her, or Alex himself was compromised.
She pulled out her notebook and started a new page:
ALEX RUSSO VERIFICATION NEEDED:
• PI license appears legitimate, but verify with state board
• Sister Sofia's case confirm details, death certificate, investigating detective
• His timeline: says 5 years investigating, but that's a long time for a PI to work one case
• How does he fund this investigation? PI work doesn't pay that well
• Why approach me specifically? Dozens of detectives in the city
Sarah stared at the last question. Alex had walked into that café like he knew exactly where to find her, at 2 AM on a Tuesday. That level of knowledge suggested surveillance. Planning.
Maybe she wasn't the only one being watched.
The bell above the door chimed. Alex Russo entered, and Sarah's hand instinctively moved closer to her weapon. He looked different in the harsh fluorescent lighting older, more worn, with the kind of shadows under his eyes that came from years of sleepless nights. He carried a battered leather messenger bag and moved with the careful awareness of someone who'd learned to watch his back.
Their eyes met across the diner. He held up two fingers two minutes and went to the counter, ordering coffee and exchanging a few words with Deb. When he finally slid into the booth across from Sarah, he set down two cups.
"Black, right?" he said.
Sarah stared at the coffee, then at him. "How did you know that?"
"Lucky guess. You strike me as someone who doesn't waste time with cream and sugar." But something flickered in his expression a tell, barely visible. He'd known.
"You've been watching me," Sarah said quietly.
Alex didn't deny it. "For three days. Since I connected Maria Martinez to my missing persons case. I needed to know if you were actually investigating or just going through the motions." He met her gaze steadily. "You're investigating. You care about solving this. That's why I approached you."
Sarah should have been angry. Should have arrested him for stalking a police officer. Instead, she felt a cold sort of clarity settle over her. "What else did you learn in three days?"
"That you work alone more than you should. That you go to Café Luna at least four nights a week, always the same booth. That you had a meeting with your captain two days ago that left you frustrated enough to punch your steering wheel in the parking garage." Alex's voice was matter-of-fact, professional. "And that someone else has been watching you too. Black sedan, partial plate LKN-4, rotates through three different drivers. They've been on you for at least a week, probably longer."
Sarah's blood went cold. A week. She'd been under surveillance for a week and hadn't noticed. That was sloppy. Dangerous. Potentially career-ending sloppy.
"Why didn't you tell me this last night?" she demanded.
"Because last night was a test. I needed to see if you'd run to your captain, if you'd report our meeting, if you'd follow protocol." Alex leaned forward slightly. "You didn't. You went home, spent an hour on your computer researching something I'm guessing Meridian Holdings then you got a phone call that scared you. After that, you drove around for ninety minutes like you were trying to decide something important."
"Jesus Christ." Sarah's voice was low and furious. "You're either the best PI I've ever met or you're part of whatever conspiracy you're supposedly investigating."
"I'm neither. I'm just someone who learned the hard way that trust gets people killed." Alex pulled out his phone, swiping through photos. "The sedan that's been following you? It's registered to a corporate fleet owned by Sentinel Security Services. Want to guess who Sentinel's biggest client is?"
He turned the phone toward her. The screen showed a corporate website: Sentinel Security Services Protecting What Matters Most. And there, in the client testimonials section, was a familiar logo.
Meridian Holdings.
Sarah felt the pieces clicking together, the conspiracy taking shape. "They've been watching me since the Martinez case started."
"Probably since you first pulled the case file. Which means someone inside your department flagged you as a potential problem." Alex pocketed his phone. "That's why I've been careful. That's why I didn't go through official channels. And that's why you need to decide right now if you're willing to go off-book to solve this."
"I'm a police detective. I don't go off-book."
"Then more women will die, and you'll spend the rest of your career filing reports and closing cases you know are lies." Alex's voice was hard but not unkind. "I've seen it happen. Good cops who cared, who wanted to make a difference, who got buried by the system they trusted. Is that who you want to be?"
Sarah thought about her brother Marcus. Seventeen years old, shot three times in an alley behind a liquor store. The investigating detective had ruled it gang violence, case closed, don't waste resources on another dead Black kid from the wrong neighborhood. But Marcus hadn't been in a gang. He'd been a honor student, worked at the community center, was planning to go to college.
Sarah had become a cop to solve cases like her brother's. To make sure someone cared when the victims were poor, brown, undocumented, dismissed.
"Show me what you have," she said.
Alex pulled out organized folders from his messenger bag, but before he could open them, Sarah held up a hand.
"First, I need answers. Real ones, not the story you prepared." She pulled out her notebook. "Sofia Russo. Your sister. Tell me about her case."
Something painful flickered across Alex's face. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything you didn't tell me last night. Start with the truth."
Alex was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Sofia was my half-sister. Different mothers, same father. I was twenty-six when she died, working as a casino security supervisor in Vegas. She was twenty-one, pre-med at UNLV, brilliant and careful and everything good in the world." His voice remained steady, but Sarah saw his hands tighten around his coffee cup. "She called me three months before she died. Said she'd found a great job, waitressing at a new upscale restaurant, tips were amazing, she'd be able to pay for next semester without loans. I told her I was proud of her."
"What happened?"
"She stopped calling. Stopped answering texts.