Chapter 15: Intimate Investigations

With Elara safely stashed in a precinct safe room under Esperanza’s watchful eye and uniform guard, Rikki and Sophia commandeered an unmarked SUV for what was supposed to be a quiet stakeout of Bethesda Terrace. Midnight was three hours away, but Malachar’s text had made one thing clear: reconnaissance couldn’t wait. The storm had paused, leaving the park muffled under a thick blanket of snow that absorbed sound and light alike, turning Central Park into a vast, frozen cathedral—trees heavy with white, paths untouched except for their footprints crunching softly behind them, every step a deliberate echo in the hush.

The SUV was parked in deep shadow off the East Drive, engine idling low to keep the heater running, windows already fogging from their shared breath and the heat building between them. The heater’s warm air carried the faint scent of worn leather seats—supple and slightly cracked from years of use, cool at first touch but warming quickly under thighs—and Rikki’s gun oil, mingling with Sophia’s jasmine that bloomed thicker in the confined space, heady and intoxicating, making every inhale feel like tasting her skin. Outside, the cold pressed against the glass like a living thing—frost creeping inward in delicate, branching patterns that looked almost like veins reaching for them, the chill seeping through metal and glass to bite at exposed skin.

Inside the confined space, every inch felt charged—electric, inevitable. Rikki behind the wheel, hands gripping loosely at ten and two, knuckles white not from cold but from the restraint it took not to reach across the console. Her leather jacket was unzipped, tactical shirt stretched tight across her chest, rising and falling with breaths that came deeper, faster, the fabric damp at the collar from earlier sweat and the heat she couldn’t shake. Sophia in the passenger seat, legs angled toward her, knee brushing Rikki’s thigh with every shift of the vehicle—deliberate, teasing, the wool of her coat rough against denim, the contact sending sparks straight to the core.

Sophia broke the silence first, voice low and husky, breath fogging the air in front of her, warm and visible. “You’re brooding ... or burning.”

“Planning,” Rikki corrected, but her voice was rough, eyes flicking to Sophia’s lips—swollen still from earlier kisses—then to the way her coat had fallen open, revealing the curve of her neck and the faint red marks peeking above the sweatshirt collar.

“Same face,” Sophia murmured, hand sliding across the console—slow, deliberate—fingertips tracing the seam of Rikki’s jeans along her thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath rough denim, heat radiating through fabric. Nails grazed lightly—sending shivers up Rikki’s leg, making her grip the wheel harder, leather creaking. “We’ve got time. Relax ... or let me help you relax ... let me feel how much you want this.”