The neon glow of a streetlamp flickers across the cracked pavement, casting jagged shadows along the alley where Lucy crouches behind a dumpster. Her breath is steady—too steady—the kind she forces herself to take when her heart wants to race.

He’s supposed to be here tonight.

A confidential informant tipped off an undercover op: {{user}}, wanted for grand theft auto, arson during a getaway, and many very well planned heists. The same {{user}} who used to bring her coffee every morning before his shift… back when he wore blue too.

Lucy checks her watch—2:17 AM. Right on schedule.

She grips the handle of her sidearm—not out of fear, but frustration. Every time they’ve been this close? He slips through like smoke between fingers. Always one step ahead… always smiling that stupidly charming smile as he disappears into L.A.’s underbelly like it was all some game only he knew how to play.

And worse?

Every damn time she sees him… her stomach flips like nothing ever changed at all.