Bella's POV - Five Years Later
The bullet misses my head by two inches.
I hit the ground hard, rolling behind a car as another shot rings out. My partner Luis drops beside me, breathing hard.
"This was supposed to be a simple witness interview!" he shouts over the gunfire.
"Since when is anything simple?" I pull out my gun, checking the magazine. "Cover me. I'm going left."
"Bella, wait—"
I'm already moving.
I sprint low and fast, using parked cars as shields. The shooter is on a fire escape three buildings down. Amateur position—too exposed. I reach the building entrance and kick the door open.
My radio crackles. "Detective Hartley, stand down! Backup is two minutes out!"
Two minutes is forever in a gunfight.
I take the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding but my hands steady. This is what I'm good at now—being calm when everything's chaos. Being strong when others panic.
Being everything Bella Hartley could never be.
I burst onto the roof. The shooter spins toward me, gun raised. Young guy, early twenties, scared eyes. His hands shake.
"NYPD! Drop the weapon!" I aim at his chest, my voice hard as steel.
"You don't understand!" he screams. "They're going to kill me if I talk! I can't—"
"Who's going to kill you?"
"I can't say! They're everywhere! They own the police, the judges, everyone!" His finger tightens on the trigger. "I'm already dead!"
"Not if you let me help you." I lower my gun slightly, showing trust I don't feel. "Tell me who you're afraid of. I can protect you."
"No one can protect me from them." Tears stream down his face. "Not even Detective Hartley, the miracle worker."
He knows my name. That's not good.
"Then tell me anyway," I say quietly. "Die knowing the truth got out. Make it mean something."
For a second, I think he'll do it. His mouth opens.
Then his head explodes.
I dive for cover as another shot rings out—not from him. From somewhere else. A sniper.
The young man's body crumples, blood pooling around him. I scan the surrounding rooftops, but the shooter is already gone. Professional. Clean.
Luis bursts onto the roof, sees the body, and curses. "What happened?"
"Someone killed our witness before he could talk." I stand up, holstering my gun. My hands don't shake. They never shake anymore. "Call it in. And Luis? Find out everything about this kid. Who he worked for, who wanted him dead, everything."
"On it." He's already pulling out his phone. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
It's not a lie. I am fine. I watched a man die three feet away, and I feel... nothing. No tears. No horror. Just cold calculation about what it means for the case.
The old Bella would have cried. Would have broken down.
But she died five years ago in a hospital alley.
Two hours later, I walk into Crimson Bay Police Station covered in someone else's blood.
Other detectives glance at me, then quickly look away. They're used to this. Detective Hartley always comes back from crime scenes looking like she fought a war. And she always wins.
"Rough morning?" My partner Luis catches up to me, holding two cups of coffee. He hands me one—black, no sugar, exactly how I like it.
"Just another Tuesday." I take a long drink. The coffee is terrible, but it's hot and caffeinated. "Did you ID the victim?"
"Tommy Chen, 22, worked as a courier for various businesses in the city." Luis pulls out his phone, showing me a file. "No criminal record. Seemed like a regular kid. Until someone put a bullet in his brain."
"What was he going to tell us?"
"That's the million-dollar question." Luis leans against my desk. "But here's the weird part—three different lawyers called in the last hour, all asking about the case. Rich lawyers. The kind who charge a thousand dollars just to answer the phone."
I frown. "Someone's worried about what Tommy knew."
"Very worried." Luis hands me a folder. "Speaking of worried, the Captain wants to see you. Something about a new case."
I'm about to respond when I see him.
A man in an expensive suit, standing by the Captain's office. Dark hair streaked with a bit of silver now. Sharp features. And steel-gray eyes that I haven't seen in five years.
Damien Crowe.
The coffee cup slips from my hand.
It hits the floor and explodes, hot liquid everywhere. Everyone in the station stops and stares.
"Bella?" Luis grabs my arm. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I have. The ghost of the man who saved me. The man who might have betrayed me. The man who disappeared without a trace five years ago.
And he's looking right at me like he's been waiting for this moment.
"Detective Hartley." The Captain calls from his office. "My office. Now."
I can't move. Can't breathe. Damien stands next to the Captain like he belongs there. Like he has every right to be in my station, in my life, in my world that I built without him.
"Bella." Luis shakes me gently. "The Captain called you."
I force my legs to work. Force myself to walk toward that office like I'm not dying inside.
Damien's eyes track every step I take. There's something in his gaze—recognition, satisfaction, maybe hunger. Like he's been hunting me and finally found his prey.
I step into the Captain's office. Damien follows and closes the door behind us.
"Detective Hartley," the Captain says, "this is Damien Crowe, CEO of Crowe Industries. He's offered to consult on a case."
"We've met," Damien says quietly. His voice is exactly the same—deep, dark, dangerous. "Though Detective Hartley might not remember."
"I remember." My voice comes out cold as ice. Good. Let him think I'm unaffected. "What's he doing here, Captain?"
The Captain slides a file across his desk. "There's been a murder in the elite district. Victim is Jeremy Walsh, photographer. Found in his studio this morning with a letter 'R' carved into his chest."
My blood turns cold. Jeremy Walsh. The photographer who took the fake pictures that destroyed my life five years ago.
"Why does this require a consultant?" I manage to ask.
"Because Mr. Crowe's parents were murdered fifteen years ago with the same mark," the Captain explains. "He's an expert on this type of killing. I want you two to work together."
No. No, no, no.
"Captain, I work alone—"
"Not on this one." His tone is final. "This could be a serial killer. We need all the help we can get. Mr. Crowe has resources we don't. Use them."
Damien smiles slightly. "I promise to stay out of your way, Detective."
It's a lie. Everything about him screams danger and hidden agendas.
I grab the file and stand up. "Fine. But we do this my way. You follow my rules. And if you interfere with my investigation, I'll have you arrested for obstruction."
"Fair enough." He stands too, towering over me. "Should we start at the crime scene?"
"I'll meet you there." I need distance. Need air. Need to think.
I'm almost out the door when Damien says quietly, "It's good to see you again, Bella. You've changed."
I stop but don't turn around. "My name is Detective Hartley. And yes, I have changed. I'm not the broken girl you found in an alley anymore."
"No," he agrees. "You're much more interesting now."
I walk out before I do something stupid like punch him or cry. Luis is waiting at my desk with a new coffee and a worried expression.
"Want to tell me what that was about?" he asks. "You know that guy?"
"It's complicated." I down the entire coffee in three gulps. "Come on. We have a murder scene to process."
"Bella, seriously, are you okay? You're shaking."
I look down. He's right. My hands are trembling.
Damn it. Damien Crowe walks back into my life after five years of silence, and suddenly I'm falling apart again?
No. I won't let him have that power.
I grab my jacket and head for the door. Luis follows, still asking questions I don't answer.
But as we drive to the crime scene, one thought keeps circling my mind:
Jeremy Walsh—the man who helped destroy me—is dead. Killed the same way Damien's parents were killed fifteen years ago. And now Damien is back, offering to help investigate.
That's not coincidence.
Which means either Damien is the killer...
Or he knows who is.
And somehow, I'm connected to all of it.