Another pause. Then: "Come to my office at 0800. Bring everything you have evidence, theories, connections, all of it. And Morrison?" Webb's voice dropped lower. "If you're right about this, if there really is corruption at that level, then you've just painted a target on your back. Be careful who you trust."
He hung up before Sarah could respond.
She stood in the alley, watching early morning light break through the clouds, trying to decide if she'd just made a brilliant tactical move or signed her own death warrant. Webb had sounded genuine, concerned, protective. But he'd also been deliberately vague about his connection to Dr. Chen.
Sarah returned to the booth where Alex was waiting, tension evident in every line of his body.
"Problem?" he asked.
"Someone used my access codes to steal evidence from the Martinez case. Made it look like I'm tampering with the investigation." She slid back into her seat. "My captain wants a full briefing at 0800."
Alex's expression went hard. "Don't. If your captain's compromised"
"Then I'm already finished. They can frame me, suspend me, bury me in bureaucracy until the case goes cold." Sarah met his eyes. "But if he's clean, if he's really on our side, then he might be the only chance we have to investigate this with official resources."
"Or he might be setting you up for something worse than suspension."
"That's a risk I have to take." Sarah gathered the photographs Alex had laid out. "But before I meet with Webb, I need you to tell me everything you're not telling me. Because I know there's more."
Alex was quiet for a moment, studying her face like he was trying to decide if she could handle the truth. "Three years ago, I had a similar case. Different city, different network, but the same pattern young women disappearing, high-level protection, evidence mysteriously vanishing. I took everything I had to a reporter at the Las Vegas Review-Journal. Her name was Jennifer Walsh."
Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. "What happened to her?"
"She published one article. Got national attention, federal task force formed, real momentum." Alex's voice went flat. "Two weeks later, she died in a car accident. Brake failure. Ruled mechanical malfunction, case closed."
"You think they killed her."
"I know they did. Because three days before she died, Jennifer called me. Said she'd been followed, that someone had broken into her apartment, that she'd received threats telling her to back off." Alex's hands clenched into fists. "I told her to go to the police, to get protection. She said she'd already tried the detective she spoke to told her she was being paranoid. Four days later, she drove off a mountain road at seventy miles per hour."
Sarah absorbed that, understanding now why Alex operated in shadows. "You blame yourself."
"I gave her a story that got her killed. I didn't protect her, didn't take the threats seriously enough, didn't understand how far these people would go." He finally looked up, and Sarah saw the guilt carved into his features. "So yes, Detective Morrison, I'm careful now. I don't trust official channels. And I don't bring civilians into this fight unless I'm absolutely certain they can handle what's coming."
"I'm not a civilian. I'm a cop."
"Jennifer Walsh was a investigative reporter with ten years of experience exposing corruption. It didn't save her." Alex leaned forward. "If you go to your captain, if you give him names and evidence, you need to be prepared for the possibility that he's not who you think he is. And you need to have a backup plan for when this all goes to hell."
Sarah understood. She'd need insurance, evidence stored somewhere safe, contacts outside the department who could investigate if she disappeared. Standard procedure for working a corruption case, except this time she'd be investigating potentially her own captain.
"What do you need from me?" Alex asked.
"Keep investigating. Talk to your contacts, follow leads on Carmen Delgado, see if you can find where they're keeping these women." Sarah pulled out a burner phone, sliding it across the table. "But be smart about it. Assume your regular phone is compromised. Assume you're being watched. And Alex? If you find something if you find Carmen alive you call me before you do anything else. No heroics."
"Heroes get people killed. I learned that lesson." He pocketed the burner phone. "What about the tattoo? The partial marking on Maria's wrist?"
"I'm running it through our databases gang identifiers, prison markings, trafficking indicators. If INA seven means something, I'll find it." Sarah checked her watch. "I've got two hours before my meeting with Webb. I'm going to pull everything I can on Meridian Holdings, Dr. Chen, and Sentinel Security Services. You?"
"I'm going to talk to Carmen's family again. There's something her mother said that's been bothering me about Carmen mentioning a man who gave her the job application. A man with 'kind eyes and a nice smile.'" Alex's expression darkened. "Traffickers know how to make victims comfortable. I want to know if any of the other families remember seeing this man."
They stood simultaneously, the partnership solidified through shared purpose and mutual desperation. Sarah watched Alex leave first, waiting five minutes before exiting herself. The morning was cold and gray, rain finally starting to fall in light sheets that turned the city streets reflective and dangerous.
She got in her car and started driving toward her apartment she'd need to shower, change into clean clothes, look professional for her meeting with Webb. But as she drove, her mind kept returning to Alex's story about Jennifer Walsh.
Brake failure. Mechanical malfunction. Case closed.
How many other convenient accidents had there been? How many other people who'd gotten too close to the truth?
Sarah pulled into her apartment complex and noticed immediately that something was wrong. Her parking spot the one she'd left empty at 4:30 AM now had a car in it. A dark sedan. And on her windshield, held down by the wiper blade, was a white envelope.
She approached carefully, hand on her weapon, scanning for threats. The sedan was empty, engine cold, no plates. Abandoned or placed there deliberately.
Sarah pulled the envelope free and opened it with gloved hands.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Rachel, her roommate, leaving their apartment building this morning for her daily run. The image was recent maybe an hour old, judging by the light. And written across the bottom in neat block letters:
BACK OFF OR SHE'S NEXT
Sarah's blood turned to ice. They knew where she lived. Knew Rachel's routine. Had been close enough to photograph her roommate without being noticed.
She pulled out her phone, dialing Rachel's number with shaking hands. It rang once. Twice. Three times.
"You've reached Rachel, leave a message"
Sarah hung up and tried again. Same result. She fired off three texts: Where are you? Call me ASAP. Are you okay?
No response.
Sarah ran for the building entrance, taking the stairs two at a time to their fourth-floor apartment. She fumbled with her keys, finally getting the door open, and rushed inside.
"Rachel?" she called out, hand on her weapon. "Rachel, are you here?"
Silence.
The apartment was exactly as Sarah had left it Rachel's running shoes missing from by the door, her keys and phone gone from the counter. She'd left for her run. But where was she now?
Sarah checked Rachel's room, the bathroom, the kitchen, finding nothing disturbed. Then she noticed something on the coffee table that hadn't been there this morning: another white envelope.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside was a second photograph. Rachel, jogging along the waterfront trail she used every morning. Behind her, barely visible in the frame, was a dark sedan. Following her.
And underneath, in the same neat block letters:
WE CAN REACH ANYONE. ANYTIME. ANYWHERE. CLOSE THE MARTINEZ CASE OR WATCH EVERYONE YOU LOVE DISAPPEAR.
Sarah sank onto the couch, phone clutched in one hand, photograph in the other, trying to control the panic threatening to overwhelm her training. They had Rachel. Or they were following her. Or they were about to grab her.
She needed to find her roommate. Needed to warn her. Needed to….
Her phone buzzed. Text from Rachel: Sorry, phone died mid-run. Stopped at Java House for coffee and to charge. You okay? Your texts sound panicked.
Relief flooded through Sarah so intensely she felt lightheaded. Rachel was okay. Safe in a public coffee shop, probably chatting with the barista she had a crush on, completely unaware that she'd just been used as a threat.
Sarah's fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to decide what to say. She should tell Rachel everything about the case, the threats, the danger. Should tell her to pack a bag and stay with her parents for a while.
But if Sarah did that, if she let these people see that their threats worked, would they just escalate? Find another pressure point? Another person to threaten?
She typed: I'm fine. Work stress. See you tonight?
Rachel's response came immediately: Pizza and terrible reality TV? It's a date.
Sarah set down her phone and looked at the photographs spread across her coffee table. Evidence of surveillance. Proof of threats. And a clear message: back off or people die.
She should listen. Should close the Martinez case, file it under "insufficient evidence," and move on to something safer. Should protect Rachel, protect herself, protect everyone she cared about.
Instead, she gathered the photographs, placed them in an evidence bag, and checked her watch. She had ninety minutes before her meeting with Captain Webb.
Time enough to stop by her safety deposit box and secure copies of everything. Time enough to send encrypted files to three different email accounts she'd set up years ago for exactly this kind of situation. Time enough to prepare for the possibility that she was about to become the next inconvenient person who needed to disappear.
Sarah looked at Maria Martinez's case file, at the photograph of a young woman who'd just wanted a better life. She thought about Carmen Delgado, still missing. About Sofia Russo, found in a drainage ditch. About all the women who'd vanished because no one with power cared enough to fight for them.
Then she thought about Rachel, safe in a coffee shop, completely unaware of how close she'd come to being collateral damage in a war she didn't even know existed.
Some choices, Sarah realized, weren't really choices at all.
She was going to bring down this network. Was going to expose everyone involved, no matter how powerful, no matter how protected.
And if they came for her or Rachel or anyone else she loved?
Well, they'd learn what happened when you threatened someone who had nothing left to lose.
Sarah gathered her files, locked her apartment, and headed back to her car. As she drove toward the bank to secure her evidence, she noticed the dark sedan three cars back.
Still following.
Still watching.
Let them watch, she thought grimly. Let them see her preparing. Let them know she wasn't backing down.
By tonight, Captain Webb would know everything. And by tomorrow, this case would either break wide open or bury her completely.
Either way, Sarah Morrison was done playing it safe.
The war had officially begun.