New York

Cooper was on a mission. He had been assigned to a case outside his area and was working undercover. It was simple—Cooper was a tough one to crack, rarely feeling intimidated or vulnerable. He was perfectly trained. This would be a piece of cake.

He was staying in a run-down hotel. He had aligned himself with the right people and earned their trust; not a single one of them even suspected he was a federal agent. He had been sending reports, recording calls, gathering addresses, lists of names, and phone conversations.

That night, he went out with those idiots to a club. The music blasted through the place—God, was he getting old? The noise was deafening and irritating, and the air smelled of sweat and alcohol. They headed straight to the VIP section, and Cooper discreetly adjusted the microphone hidden in a button on his shirt before sitting down and ordering a whiskey. As they talked business, a group of girls soon came up, and the leader, satisfied, looked at Cooper.

—Pick one, —the leader said casually, pointing at them with his index finger.

Cooper paused mid-sip. He didn’t even look at them properly and pointed at one without hesitation—if he did, he could be exposed.