"Cork." Declan's voice drops to a growl. "The trafficking shipment you've been tracking."
"Twelve children." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "Manifest lists them as livestock with ventilation holes and restraint systems. Destination listed as private collector, undisclosed European location. If she's cross-referenced those records with missing persons reports, she knows what she's looking at."
"Then she's already dead." Jax's statement carries no emotion, just cold assessment. "The syndicate won't risk exposure. They'll send professionals. Multiple teams. They'll make it look like an accident, but they'll be thorough."
"We can't let them kill her." Eliza stands, moving to Declan's side. "I know she's a threat, but murdering a police chief will bring so much heat down on this island that none of your operations will survive the scrutiny."
"Agreed." Declan looks at me directly. "Which means you need to handle this, O'Donnell. She's your problem. Your exposure. Your responsibility to manage before the Russians decide to act."
"There's another issue." I run my hand through my hair, frustration building. "The interception operation is at risk. If she keeps digging, she'll stumble onto evidence of the brotherhood's activities. Coast guard raids that aren't in official records. Shipments that disappeared without proper documentation. She'll start connecting dots that lead straight back to us."
"She could expose your cover." Finn's ancient voice carries quiet certainty. "The syndicate will realize you've been playing them. Two years of intelligence gathering, gone. And they'll kill everyone you've helped."
The weight of that reality settles over the room. My double agent status has saved lives. Children freed from trafficking. Cursed objects destroyed before they could claim more victims. Intelligence that led to the dismantling of smaller operations across Scotland.
If Catriona exposes what I am, what the brotherhood does, the syndicate will burn it all down.
"How am I supposed to manage a cop who can't be bribed or scared off?" The question comes out harsher than intended. "She's not going to ignore evidence. She's not going to accept island politics as an excuse for criminal activity. And she's definitely not going to trust a known smuggler who disappeared into a swirling mist right in front of her."
"You shifted in front of her?" Finn's ancient voice carries something between curiosity and concern. "Broke the first rule?"
"I didn't have much choice. She was watching from concealment. I sensed her but couldn't confirm position. Shifting and getting out was safer than staying visible."
"She saw the transformation?" Grayson leans forward. "The mist? The change?"
"Probably saw the mist. Maybe caught a glimpse of a shape moving. Doubt she understood what she was seeing." I run my hand through my hair, frustration building. "But she's smart enough to know something impossible happened. And cops who believe in impossible things are dangerous."
"I could watch her," Rafe offers, his voice quiet and deadly. "Shadow-walk, monitor her movements, report back on what she's investigating. We'd have advance warning if she gets too close to anything that can't be explained."
The beast within rejects that suggestion with a possessive snarl that nearly chokes me. The thought of Rafe anywhere near her, watching her, following her through shadows, makes my animal want to tear through my skin and establish dominance in the most violent way possible.
"No." The word comes out too sharp, too aggressive. I force my tone to something more reasonable. "She's trained in surveillance. If she catches anyone watching her, it'll make her more suspicious, not less. Better to let her investigate openly than drive her underground where we can't predict her actions."
Declan studies me with those eyes that see too much. "You're volunteering to handle this personally."
The statement isn't a question but an observation that feels like a trap I'm walking into willingly.
"I'm the one she saw. I'm the one the syndicate contacted. Makes sense for me to manage the situation before it escalates." The logic sounds good. Professional. Strategic. It almost conceals the fact that the tiger won't let anyone else near her.
"Managing doesn't mean killing," Eliza says, her voice carrying warning. "We don't murder people, Kian. Even cops when they're inconvenient."
“I’m aware. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, and some I am." I meet her gaze directly, letting her see enough truth to make her uncomfortable. "I've killed people who deserved it and some who probably didn't. I've moved cargo that would make her sick to her stomach if she knew the details. But killing a cop who's trying to stop child trafficking?" I pause, feeling my tiger's snarl beneath the words. "That crosses a line even I won't touch. Not because I'm noble—I'm not. But because some prey you don't hunt without becoming the monster everyone already thinks you are.”
"Then help her." Declan's words cut through the tension. "You want to protect her? Give her what she needs to build a case against the human operatives. Feed her intelligence that takes down the syndicate's mainland network without exposing what we are."
"You're suggesting I work with a cop." The idea should horrify me. Instead, the tiger settles slightly, recognizing the path forward.
"I'm suggesting you find a way to keep her alive and keep our operations secure." Declan's alpha command settles over the room. "The Cork shipment comes through in three days. If she's alive and investigating, she'll be watching the harbor. If she catches you moving cargo, your cover is blown permanently. But if she catches you intercepting cargo and freeing victims, she might see you as an ally instead of a criminal."
"Or she arrests me for vigilante justice and the syndicate kills us both."
"Then you'd better be persuasive." Eliza's voice carries something between sympathy and challenge. "You've spent two years lying to the syndicate. Surely you can manage one honest conversation with a cop who's trying to do the right thing."
"What way?" Jax's skepticism bleeds through every word. "She's not going to ignore what she saw. She's not going to dropthe investigation. And she's definitely not going to trust you long enough for manipulation to work."
He's right. Every option I can think of ends badly. Scare her off, and she brings more cops. Bribe her, and she arrests me. Ignore her, and the Russians kill her. Explain what I am, and she runs screaming to authorities who'll dissect me in a laboratory.
"I don't know yet." The admission tastes like failure. "But I've gotten through worse situations through careful planning. I'll figure something out."
