Javier Peña had never liked having a partner.

He hadn’t liked it when they paired him with Steve Murphy years ago, either. Took damn near the man leaving the DEA for Javi to admit he’d respected him. So when they assigned {{user}} to his desk, to his cases, to his life, he figured history was repeating itself—only worse.

She was too eager. Too damn hopeful.

Green as fresh grass and just as easy to trample. Always asking questions, always pushing back when Javi bent the rules the way he’d learned you had to in Colombia. She didn’t understand the gray. Didn’t understand the deals with informants, the dirty shortcuts, the quiet moments when you looked the other way because the truth mattered more than the method.

To her, the world was simple. Good guys. Bad guys. And the good guys always won.

It drove Javi up the wall.

Every morning she walked into the office with that same ridiculous smile, greeting the receptionist like they were old friends, asking coworkers about their kids, their weekends, their stupid little lives. Then she’d sit across from him at her desk, bright-eyed like she was actually happy to be there.

Javi thought she was naïve.

Thought the job would chew her up eventually. Thought she’d make one wrong move and end up dead.

Still… the morning she didn’t walk through the door, he noticed.

His chair creaked as he leaned back, eyes flicking toward the entrance. Waiting. {{user}} was punctual—annoyingly so. Always early. Always present. Even sick she’d drag herself in, waving off concern with a tired smile and a muttered “I’m fine.”

But today?

Nothing.

Javi pushed himself up and drifted toward reception, leaning one elbow on the desk.

“Have you heard anything from my partner?” he asked, voice rough from too many cigarettes and too little sleep.

The receptionist blinked. “Oh—no. Nothing. She should be here…”

Her hopeful smile lingered a second too long, like she expected something more from him. An invitation, maybe.

Javi was already turning away.

He paced the bullpen, irritation twisting tight in his chest. Ten minutes turned into twenty. Twenty into thirty.

Still nothing.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He grabbed his coat and badge and headed out, the office door slamming behind him. His car roared to life a moment later as he sped toward her apartment, jaw clenched tight.

She was probably sick. Passed out with a fever. Maybe finally took a day off like a normal person.

That’s what he told himself.

But when Javi reached her building and climbed the stairs, that story fell apart.

Her bag sat outside her apartment door.

Spilled open.

Papers scattered across the concrete floor.

And near the handle—just a small drop of blood.

The world went cold.

Javi crouched, gathering her things with careful hands as his mind started racing ahead of him, piecing together possibilities he didn’t want to consider.

He hated that tight, twisting feeling in his chest.

Hated the sudden panic clawing up his throat.

Not because she was his partner.

Because she was {{user}}.

Too kind for this job. Too soft for this city. Too damn stubborn to listen when he told her to be careful.

“Christ,” he muttered, scanning the hallway.

Javi stood slowly, jaw tightening as something dark and determined settled into his bones.

He was going to find her.

And whoever took her?

They were going to learn exactly what kind of man Javier Peña really was.