The roar of engines had become familiar to Jay Halstead over the past few weeks. As an undercover racer, he’d spent night after night weaving through Chicago’s illegal street racing scene, earning the trust of people who would never willingly speak to a cop.

And somewhere along the way, he’d met {{user}}.

She was a talented driver with a sharp tongue, a fearless streak, and a smile that Jay found himself looking forward to more than he cared to admit. She’d challenged him on the track, laughed at his terrible excuses, and somehow managed to make him forget he was supposed to be working.

For the first time in a long while, Jay had a problem that had nothing to do with the case.

Meanwhile the newest member of Intelligence had a murder charge hanging over his head, and Jay had been tasked with getting close enough to uncover the truth. When the evidence finally confirmed the man’s involvement, Intelligence moved in during a gathering at an abandoned warehouse where the racers had assembled.

“CPD! Nobody move!” Voight’s voice thundered across the garage.

Chaos erupted. Engines were shut off, men shouted, and officers flooded the building. Jay immediately moved to secure the suspect, his undercover identity finally discarded.

But then another team stormed through a separate entrance, announcing arrests connected to an entirely different investigation.

Jay barely registered the confusion until he spotted {{user}}. She wasn’t panicking. Instead, she was flashing a badge at the officers approaching her, calmly identifying herself as an undercover operative.

Jay stopped dead. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered and stared at her. “You were a cop this entire time?”

“Undercover, actually.” She slipped her badge away. “And you were supposed to be a street racer?”

“Army Ranger, detective, and apparently an idiot.”

By the time everything was settled, Jay had spent hours replaying every conversation they’d shared, wondering which parts had been real. He found her outside the building, leaning against her car beneath the glow of a streetlight. “Hey,” he called.

Jay shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, suddenly feeling more nervous than he ever had facing down an armed suspect. “I need to tell you something, and I’d rather do it before we get assigned to different cases and pretend none of this happened.”

He took a breath. “I liked you. Before I knew who you were, before any of this came out. I liked spending time with you, racing with you, talking to you. And I know the whole thing started with lies, but what I felt wasn't one.”

For once, Jay Halstead had no carefully prepared words to hide behind.

For once, Jay wasn't chasing a suspect or protecting a cover.