"This is good for us," Malone was saying. "Less heat, less pressure from the state. We can get back to actual police work instead of chasing paper for those suits in Albuquerque." He looked around the room, his gaze landing on me. "Chloe, make sure we've got all our files in order in case they need backup documentation. But honestly? I think we're in the clear."
"Yes, sir." My voice came out steady. A miracle.
He nodded and retreated to his office, already on the phone with someone. Shaw and Peters were huddled together, talking excitedly about the details of the bust. Margaret went back to her typing.
And I pulled my phone out of my desk drawer with trembling fingers.
Cobras went down. Task force got their win. We're clear. For now.
I hit send and waited, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Thank God. You okay?
I am now. Close call earlier but I handled it.
What kind of close call?
Tell you tonight. It's fine. Promise.
A pause. Then:
Come over as soon as you're off. We're celebrating.
I smiled at my phone like an idiot. Margaret glanced my way and I quickly schooled my expression, but my chest felt like it might burst.
We'd done it. We'd actually done it.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of paperwork and pretending to care about things that didn't matter. Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough.
When the clock finally hit the hour, I gathered my things with what I hoped was a normal amount of speed. "Night, everyone," I called over my shoulder, already halfway to the door.
"Hot date?" Peters called after me with a smirk.
"Something like that," I shot back, and pushed through the door into the late afternoon sun.
I made it to my car before my legs gave out.
I sat behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel, and let myself shake. Really shake, the way I'd been holding back all day. My whole body trembled like I'd just run a marathon in the middle of an earthquake.
"Holy shit," I whispered to the empty car. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit."
I'd done it. I'd buried a federal request, submitted a garbage report, and somehow—somehow—gotten away with it. The task force was busy with the Cobras. Malone thought we were "in the clear." Peters thought I had a thing for taco trucks.
And Finn was safe.
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel and laughed. It came out slightly hysterical, but I didn't care. There was no one to hear me lose my mind in the Edgewood Police Department parking lot.
After a few minutes, I pulled myself together. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I was Chloe Day, administrative assistant, totally normal person who definitely wasn't sleeping with the sergeant at arms of a motorcycle club and obstructing justice on a federal level.
Totally normal.
I started the car and pulled out of the lot, pointing myself toward the edge of town. Toward Finn's house. Toward whatever came next.
The New Mexico sunset was doing its thing as I drove—streaks of orange and pink and purple painting the sky. The mountains in the distance looked like they were on fire. It was beautiful, the kind of beautiful I usually ignored in my rush to get from point A to point B.
Tonight, I noticed.
