Chapter 2: The New Partner

Tiffany's POV 

Mercer fought back a smile. "Hale is one of the best detectives we have." 

"He already hates me," I countered. 

"He hates everyone. Don't take it personally." [Including me. Constantly.] 

Mercer leaned across his desk, his expression turning serious. "Tiffany, Hale has spent the last nine years trying to dismantle the Knight organization. This is deeply personal for him." 

I waited, sensing the weight of what he was about to say. 

"His father refused a bribe from one of Scars’s associates. Two weeks later, their house was set on fire while the family was asleep." 

I went still. Mercer kept his eyes locked on mine, making sure the words landed. 

"Hale was the only one who made it out." 

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. 

That explained the wall of anger I had felt downstairs. It wasn't just a bad attitude. It was a scar that had never properly healed. 

Mercer stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out at the busy bullpen below. "Hale wanted to take this assignment alone. He practically begged for it." [Still do.] 

"And let me guess," I said, leaning back. "You said no because he isn't exactly a team player?" 

Mercer snorted. "I said no because obsession is what gets cops killed. He’s too close to the flame. He needs a partner who can see the things he’s too angry to notice." 

"We've known each other for less than a minute," I reminded him. "We aren't exactly a matched set." 

"You challenged him immediately. That's exactly what I wanted to see." 

I blinked, surprised by his logic. "That’s your actual strategy?" 

"My strategy is to put two incredibly stubborn people in a room together and hope you don't kill each other before you kill the target." [Or fall in love. Either outcome works for me.] 

A short, disbelieving laugh slipped out of me. "Wow. Inspiring leadership. Really makes me feel..." 

"I'll take that as an agreement," Mercer cut in smoothly. 

Before I could argue, he reached for the intercom on his desk and pressed the button. "Hale. My office. Now." 

“Oh, boy. Here comes the storm,” I muttered under my breath. 

The speaker crackled with a short response. "On my way." 

A minute later, heavy footsteps climbed the stairs. Lucas walked into the office looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He stayed planted near the door, jaw tight, staring between Mercer and me like this meeting was already testing his patience. 

"Change your mind yet?" Lucas asked. 

"Not quite," Mercer said, leaning against the front of his desk. "I was just telling Detective Wren why you’re so charming. I filled her in on the family history." 

Lucas froze. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He turned his head slowly toward me, his eyes narrowing into slits. 

"You told her?" Lucas asked Mercer. His voice was dangerously low. 

"I needed her to understand the stakes." 

Lucas looked back at me. Whatever reaction he’d had to Mercer bringing up his past, he shoved it down fast. 

[Fantastic. Now she can pity me while she snoops around in my skull.] 

"I don't do pity," I said, my voice flat. "And I don't need to snoop to see you're pissed. You're radiating it like a space heater." 

Lucas scoffed and looked at the ceiling. "See? This is exactly why this is a bad idea. I don't want a partner who narrates my internal monologue. It’s a violation of privacy. It’s creepy." 

"It's part of her skill set, Hale," Mercer interrupted. "And you're going to work with it, not fight it." 

"I don't need a mind reader to do my job," Lucas snapped. "I’ve been tracking Scars for years. I know his patterns. I know his routes." 

"And you still haven't caught him," Mercer countered. 

That shut Lucas up. 

He didn't argue. Didn't snap back. He simply stood there, perfectly still, the muscle in his jaw working as he swallowed whatever response had been ready to fire. 

“Here’s the play,” Mercer said, opening a drawer and pulling out two sets of passports and ID cards. “Scars is taking The Scorpion into international waters Friday night. We intercepted chatter about a major meeting happening onboard. Could be weapons, trafficking, money laundering. We don’t know yet. That’s why I’m sending you in.” 

I picked up the ID card with my face on it. "Sofia Harper?" 

“And you,” Mercer looked at Lucas, “are Tyler Harper. You’re siblings. Rich, well-connected, and exactly the kind of people who belong in Scars’s circle.” 

Lucas picked up his card and stared at it like it was covered in plague. "Siblings? You’ve got to be kidding me." 

“It’s the best cover,” Mercer said. “I’m not sending Detective Wren onto that ship without protection. As her brother, nobody’s going to question why you stay close to her the entire time.” 

"I have to protect her?" Lucas asked, sounding genuinely offended by the concept. "She’s the one who can hear the bullets coming before they’re fired. Why do I have to be the shield?" 

“Because Detective Wren is the one selling this cover,” Mercer replied. “Scars isn’t going to pay attention to the protective brother. He’s going to pay attention to Sofia.” 

Lucas looked at me like Mercer had completely lost his mind. "She looks like a Sofia? She looks like she hasn't slept since the nineties. She's going to need a lot of makeup to pull off 'glamorous heiress'." 

I stood up and stepped into his space, tilting my head back to look him in the eye. "And you're going to need a personality transplant to pull off 'loving brother', but we all have to make sacrifices for the job, don't we, brother?" 

Lucas blinked, caught off guard as he stared down at me. 

For a second, neither of us moved. 

His jaw tightened like he wanted to fire back, but nothing came out. With a quiet scoff, he finally took a reluctant step back, snatched his new passport from the desk, and shoved it into his jacket. 

"Fine. But if she starts finishing my sentences, I'm throwing her overboard." 

"Try it," I said. "I'll know you're thinking about it before you even reach for me." 

Lucas shot me one last irritated look before storming out of the office without another word. 

I stayed behind, looking at Mercer. “He’s a lot.” 

Mercer smiled, a real, tired smile. “He’s a good man, Tiffany. Stubborn as hell, impossible to work with half the time, but good.” 

“Right,” I said slowly, letting the word hang in the air. “Good.” 

I gave a small glance toward the door Lucas had just slammed through. 

“That’s one way to describe a man who looks like he’d rather argue with a wall than breathe the same air as me.” 

Mercer let out a short laugh, like he genuinely didn’t expect that answer. 

“What?” I asked. 

He shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing. Just trust me, you’ll be fine. He’ll keep you safe on that ship. Even if he complains about it every second of the way.” 

I let out a slow breath and picked up my new passport. This assignment was either going to save my career or get me killed.