Chapter Text
She was laying on the couch in her apartment scrolling through Netflix to find new series to watch, crime documentary thumbnails slid past in endless rows – serial killers, missing persons, conspiracies she’d probably read classified reports about already.
Her day off had lasted exactly three hours.
The phone buzzed across the coffee table.
She ignored it once.
It buzzed again.
Only one person called twice.
M.CHOCK
She sighed and picked up.
“Have someone just bombed entire state or you’re calling me just to mess up my day off?”
“I wish, the federal transfer went wrong. Multiple escapees. Were forming joint task force with LAPD and we need you there. How fast can you make it to the office?”
Amber turned tv off and get up quickly.
“I’ll be there in forty.”
“See you” Madison hung up.
Amber crossed her apartment barefoot, already mentally reorganizing her day. Federal prison escape.
She grimaced.
“Great.” she muttered.
The bedroom was neat in the way of someone rarely home – bed made, surfaces clear, everything functional. A pull-up bar framed the doorway, and her running shoes sat precisely aligned beneath it.
She tied her blonde hair into a bun automatically, muscle memory guiding her hands while her brain worked through possibilities. Multiple escapees meant chaos. Media pressure. Jurisdiction fights.
And now she was in the middle of it.
Her wardrobe wasn’t large, but it was efficient: dark slacks, fitted shirts, suits, jackets in neutral colors. Nothing decorative. Nothing unnecessary.
She chose movement over appearance – black suite with straight pants and a black top that stretched slightly across her shoulders. The fabric settled neatly over muscle built from years of early-morning workouts and defensive training rather than vanity.
Badge. Holster. Phone. Wallet.
Each item checked twice.
In the bathroom she looked at herself in mirror, she paused.
She was glad she had done her makeup before going shopping that morning – now there wouldn’t be time, and feeling uncomfortable all day could cost her focus.
There was a faint scar near her jaw most people didn’t notice unless they were looking closely.
She looked awake now.
Focused.
The hallway smelled faintly of someone’s burnt toast. A neighbor’s dog barked behind a door as she passed.
Outside, California sunlight hit immediately – bright, unapologetic, already warm despite the early hour.
Her car sat where she’d left it, slightly dusty from city air. She tossed her bag into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, movements efficient, economical.
Engine on.
Local radio crackled to life mid-news report.
“...authorities have not yet released any details regarding this morning’s federal incident–”
She turned it off.
Silence was easier.
Traffic thickened as she merged onto the freeway, streams of cars moving like coordinated chaos. Palm trees blurred past concrete overpasses, sunlight flashing between buildings.
Her phone buzzed again through the car system.
A message from Madison:
Briefing in 20. Don’t be late. LAPD already here.
Amber huffed a quiet laugh.
“Of course they are.”
Joint operations always meant tension. Different rules. Different priorities. Cops who thought federal agents were arrogant. Agents who thought local police were reckless.
She’d done this before.
It never went smoothly.
Her grip tightened slightly on the wheel.
Good. A challenge.
The federal building rose from downtown like a block of glass and authority – guarded entrances, clean lines, controlled movement. Familiar. Predictable.
Amber parked, grabbed her bag, and stepped out into the hum of morning activity. Agents moved quickly across the plaza, phones pressed to ears, coffee cups clutched like lifelines.
Energy buzzed differently today.
Urgent.
Inside, security nodded her through without hesitation.
She flashed her badge automatically and kept walking.
The elevator ride was quiet except for the soft hum of cables pulling upward. She caught her reflection again in the mirrored wall – composed, unreadable.
Ready.
When the doors opened, the atmosphere hit immediately: voices overlapping, screens lit with surveillance photos, agents moving between desks.
A task force already forming.
Amber adjusted her coat, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward.
Work mode fully engaged.
The room settled slowly as Agent Chock stepped forward.
She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.
Conversations faded one by one until only the soft buzz of overhead lights remained. Screens behind her flickered to life, casting cold blue light across rows of agents and officers.
Amber shifted her weight slightly, arms folded, eyes already tracking the display.
Six photographs appeared.
Not mugshots.
Case images – sharper, more deliberate. Each face framed beside fragments of crime scene evidence.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Even the LAPD officers stopped whispering.
Madison let the silence stretch before speaking.
“At approximately four this morning,” she began, calm and precise, “six federal inmates escaped during a secured interfacility transfer outside Bakersfield.”
A satellite image replaced the photos – overturned transport vehicles, flashing lights frozen mid-chaos.
“This was not opportunistic. This was planned, coordinated, and professionally executed.”
The screen shifted again.
The first profile appeared.
A man in his fifties. Gray at the temples. Expression unreadable.
“Alexei Sokolov” Madison said. “Former paramilitary commander. Wanted for multiple war crimes in Eastern Europe before extradition. Known for organized civilian executions.”
A quiet murmur moved through the room.
Amber noticed several LAPD officers exchange looks.
Madison clicked forward.
A younger man. Eyes empty.
“Daniel Reyes. Former private military contractor. Convicted serial offender linked to seven confirmed homicides across three states. Tactical training. High intelligence. Extremely patient.”
Amber memorized the face automatically.
Another click. A woman this time.
“Lena Ward. Poison-based serial killer. Targeted medical patients over a six-year period. Psychological manipulation specialist.”
Another slide.
Scarred, severe-looking.
“Adam Rensen. Accused war criminal tied to insurgent operations. Expert in explosives and urban evasion.”
Madison changed slides again. A thin man with an unsettling smile.
“Marcus Hale. Ritualistic serial killer. Extensive forensic awareness. Previously evaded capture for nearly a decade.”
The final photo lingered longer than the others.
“Jonas Keller. Former intelligence operative turned contract assassin. Multiple international warrants.”
Madison lowered the remote slightly.
“These individuals are not connected by ideology, nationality, or prior cooperation – at least not officially.”
A brief pause.
“But they share one critical factor.”
She looked across the room, making sure everyone was paying attention.
“They are all highly intelligent, highly adaptable, and exceptionally dangerous.”
No one spoke.
Amber felt the tension settle deeper into the room – heavier now, personal.
These weren’t desperate criminals running blindly.
These were predators.
The screen shifted again, showing a map of California marked with zones.
“We are operating under the assumption that none of them will attempt immediate escape from the state.” Madison continued.
“They know every airport in California is under federal monitoring. Commercial departures are restricted, private flight clearances suspended, and international borders are operating under heightened federal security protocols.”
Images flashed briefly: TSA checkpoints, highway patrol units, border surveillance.
“They will lay low.”
Her tone hardened slightly.
“For at least the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
Amber nodded faintly to herself. That tracked.
Professionals disappeared before they ran.
“They will seek resources, safe locations, and information before making any long-term move. That window is our advantage.”
Madison clicked again.
Six colored team designations appeared beneath the fugitives.
“You will operate in joint FBI–LAPD task units. Each team focuses on one target to prevent overlap and maximize response speed.”
She gestured toward the screens.
“However – and this is critical – these targets escaped together. If you uncover any lead connected to another fugitive, you pass it immediately to the appropriate team.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“No territorial behavior. No information hoarding. We function as one task force.”
Several agents nodded.
A few LAPD detectives exchanged knowing looks – the warning clearly intentional.
Madison continued:
“They may separate physically, but assume intelligence overlap. Shared contacts, shared resources, shared planning.”
Amber’s attention sharpened at that phrasing.
Shared planning.
There it was again – that subtle implication something connected them.
Madison inhaled once before continuing.
“Team leads will coordinate strategy and reporting directly through me.”
She began calling names.
Clusters formed across the room as assignments were announced.
Amber listened without moving until-
“Agent Glenn.”
She straightened.
“With Detective Liu.”
Amber turned instinctively.
Across the crowd, the detective with the halo of brown-and-blonde hair looked up from her file at the exact same moment.
Madison advanced the screen.
Daniel Reyes’ profile expanded behind them.
“You’ll be managing the Reyes unit.”
A few agents shifted uneasily.
Madison didn’t soften her tone.
“He is disciplined, strategic, and unlikely to make mistakes. Treat every contact as potentially lethal.”
Amber stepped forward beside Liu, accepting the file handed to her.
The weight of it felt heavier than paper should.
Behind them, the six escapees’ faces briefly appeared together again on the screen – six strangers sharing the same frame.
Amber couldn’t shake the feeling that the image looked less like a lineup...
...and more like a team photo waiting to be understood.
Amber barely made it three steps away from the main briefing area before people started looking at her expectantly.
Their team had gathered instinctively – two FBI analysts, a younger agent already opening a tablet, few LAPD officers, and a sergeant who looked like he’d seen everything twice.
“Detective Alysa Liu.” Halo-haired woman offered her her hand, which Amber quickly shook.
“Agent Amber Glenn.”
Alysa just nodded in response and leaned against desk.
Amber dropped the Reyes file onto the table.
“Alright.” she said, voice clear and controlled. “We move fast, but we move organized.”
Alysa watched her with open curiosity, arms folded.
Amber clicked, open the file and turned it so everyone could see.
“Daniel Reyes. Former contractor. Methodical offender profile. He plans before he moves, which means he already has fallback locations.”
She glanced at the analysts.
“I want financial activity, known associates, burner phone patterns – anything within the last year, if you don’t find anything, then within last five years and if there’s still nothing I want all informations and records about him since he was born. We need to know everything.”
The younger agent nodded immediately.
Amber turned to the LAPD officers.
“We start with physical connections. Family, friends, old addresses. Anyone he trusted enough to risk contact.”
Alysa tilted her head slightly.
“Jumping straight to interviews?” she asked.
Amber met her gaze. “Yes.”
Liu hummed thoughtfully, like she was considering disagreeing purely on principle.
“Federal approach,” she said lightly. “Very structured.”
Glenn caught the tone instantly.
“And LAPD prefers... improvisation?”
Alysa’s mouth curved faintly. “We prefer reality. People talk more before lawyers wake up.”
A few officers hid smiles.
Amber ignored them.
“We do this cleanly.” she said. “No contamination of evidence.”
Alysa pushed off the desk, stepping closer.
“Relax, Agent Glenn. I know how warrants work.”
Amber raised an eyebrow. “Good. Then you can help me get them faster.”
Detective grinned – quick, amused.
“Oh, you’re bossy.”
“I’m efficient.”
“Same thing with better branding.”
Amber turned back to the table before she reacted to that and flipped through Reyes’ profile.
“Reyes has a sister in Glendale, former roommate in Long Beach, and an ex-partner listed as emergency contact from five years ago.”
Alysa leaned beside her, close enough that Amber noticed faint traces of citrus soap and coffee.
“Family first.” Liu said. “If he’s laying low like Agent Chock thinks, he’ll test emotional connections before logistics.”
Amber paused.
It was exactly what she’d been thinking.
She nodded once. “Agreed.”
Alysa glanced sideways at her.
“Did we just agree without arguing?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Halo-haired woman smiled wider.
Amber addressed the team again.
“Officer Ramirez and Gray, you two are going to Reyes’ parents, Liu – you’re with me. We’ll start with the sister.”
Alysa lifted a finger slightly.
“Detective Liu.” she corrected casually. “You only get to downgrade my title after we bond over shared trauma.”
Amber blinked once.
“Noted.”
The sergeant in the back snorted quietly.
They moved quickly toward the elevators, energy shifting from briefing-room tension into operational focus.
Amber was already dialing her phone.
“Glenn.” she said as the call connected. “I need expedited warrants drafted for three residential searches tied to federal escapee Daniel Reyes.”
Pause.
“Yes, probable cause incoming. I’ll forward documentation within ten.”
She hung up and immediately began typing notes into her tablet while walking.
Alysa watched her for a second.
“You always move this fast?”
“We’re hunting a serial killer trained in combat tactics.”
Detective shrugged. “Fair.”
A beat passed.
Then–
“You always this intense off the clock too?”
Amber didn’t look up. “I was off the clock this morning.”
Alysa laughed softly under her breath.
“Yeah. That tracks.”
Sunlight hit them as they exited the building.
Police vehicles lined the curb. Radios crackled. The city moved normally around a situation most people didn’t even know existed yet.
Amber stopped beside an unmarked SUV.
“You driving or am I?” Liu asked.
“I’ll drive.”
Alysa tossed her keys into the air.
“Control issues?”
“Efficiency.”
Detective slid into the passenger seat, clearly entertained.
As Amber started the engine, Alysa opened the Reyes file again.
“He won’t go somewhere obvious.” she said, more serious now. “Guys like him test safety first. Quick visit. Short stay.”
Amber nodded.
“Which means interviews matter more than searches initially.”
Liu glanced at her again.
“You actually listen.”
Amber frowned slightly. “Of course I listen.”
“Some federal agents don’t.”
Amber pulled into traffic smoothly.
“Well,” she said, eyes on the road “some detectives don’t follow plans.”
Alysa leaned back, satisfied.
“This is going to be fun.”
Amber didn’t answer.
But for the first time since the call that morning, she felt something unfamiliar settle beneath the urgency.
Not comfort.
Not yet.
But alignment.
Like working beside someone whose thoughts moved just half a step ahead – and somehow matched her own.
The apartment complex looked ordinary enough to disappear in memory the second you left it.
Three floors. Sun-faded paint. Potted plants lining narrow balconies. The kind of place where neighbors minded their business because life was already complicated enough.
Amber parked along the curb and checked the address again.
“Unit 214,” she said.
Alysa nodded, already scanning windows, entryways, people passing by. Her posture shifted subtly – less relaxed now, more alert.
Field mode.
Amber noticed.
Good.
They climbed the stairs together, footsteps echoing faintly against concrete.
Before knocking, Amber turned slightly.
“I’ll lead,” she said.
Alysa raised an eyebrow. “You always announce that?”
“Yes.”
Alysa smiled faintly. “Alright, Agent Glenn. Impress me.”
Amber ignored that and knocked.
A moment passed.
Lock clicked hesitantly.
The door opened just enough to reveal a woman in her early thirties, tired eyes, confusion already forming.
“Yes?”
Amber held up her badge smoothly.
“FBI. Agent Amber Glenn. This is Detective Alysa Liu, LAPD. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your brother, Daniel Reyes.”
The woman’s face drained of color.
“What did he do?”
Amber softened her tone a little.
“May we come in?”
The apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something cooking earlier in the day. Family photos covered the walls – birthdays, holidays, normal life.
Alysa noticed Amber clock them all in one glance.
They sat at a small kitchen table.
The sister – Elena – twisted her hands together nervously.
“I haven’t seen Daniel in years.” she said quickly. “If this is about money, a prison fight or something–”
“It’s not,” Amber said gently. “Your brother escaped federal custody this morning.”
Silence slammed into the room.
Elena shook her head immediately. “No. No, that’s– he wouldn’t–”
Alysa leaned forward slightly, voice calm but firmer.
“He did. And we need to know if he might come here.”
The difference between them became clear instantly.
Amber’s tone invited trust.
Alysa’s demanded honesty.
Elena swallowed hard.
“I swear, I don’t know anything. We barely talk. After... after everything came out, my parents cut contact. I only hear from him on birthdays sometimes.”
Amber nodded slowly.
“When was the last time he contacted you?”
“Six months ago. Maybe longer.”
Amber asked careful, structured questions about phone numbers, emails, mutual friends, financial help or unexpected visits
Every answer led nowhere.
Alysa watched instead of speaking, eyes tracking micro-reactions – hesitation, breathing patterns, eye movement.
After ten minutes, she leaned back.
“She’s telling the truth.” Alysa said quietly, almost conversationally.
Amber glanced at her.
“You’re certain?”
Alysa shrugged lightly. “If she’s lying, she deserves an Oscar.”
Elena let out a shaky laugh despite herself.
The tension eased slightly.
Amber closed her notebook.
“If Daniel contacts you,” she said gently “you call this number immediately. Do not warn him. Do not meet him alone.”
Elena nodded quickly.
“I will call. I promise.”
They stepped back into the warm afternoon air.
Amber exhaled slowly.
“Dead end.”
Alysa shook her head.
“Not completely.”
Amber looked at her.
“She confirmed emotional distance.” Alysa continued. “Which means he won’t risk family first. He’ll go somewhere transactional.”
Amber considered that.
“Someone who still feels loyal.”
Alysa snapped her fingers once. “Exactly.”
Amber flipped through the file again as realization clicked. “The ex-girlfriend.”
Alysa grinned, clearly proud of herself and her idea and her smile grew even wider when Amber smiled a little.
“Now you’re speaking LAPD.”
They walked toward the car.
Amber was already dialing.
“Glenn,” she said when the line connected. “We’re requesting pickup authorization for civilian questioning – Reyes’ former partner, Megan Alvarez. Workplace interview.”
She paused, listening.
“Yes. Voluntary for now.”
She hung up.
Alysa leaned against the car door.
“You really think she knows something?”
Amber nodded. “Reyes plans. People like him maintain contingency relationships.”
Alysa watched her a moment.
“You do profiling?”
“Now mostly for fun but I started as behavioral analysist.”
“Explains the scary observation skills.”
Amber opened the driver’s door.
“You noticed?”
Alysa smirked. “You cataloged every object in that apartment in under thirty seconds.”
Amber paused.
“Occupational habit.”
Alysa slid into the passenger seat.
“Good.” she said. “Because I read people.”
Amber started the engine.
“And?”
Alysa glanced sideways, amused.
“And you’re trying very hard not to like working with me.”
Amber pulled into traffic.
“I don’t form professional opinions this early.”
Alysa laughed quietly.
“Sure you don’t.”
Amber had just started the engine when her phone buzzed through the car system.
P.RAMIREZ flashed across the screen.
She answered immediately. “Glenn.”
Static crackled briefly before Officer Ramirez’s voice came through.
“Agent Glenn, we just cleared Reyes’ parents’ residence.”
Amber put the call on speaker without asking. Alysa adjusted slightly in her seat, listening.
“Anything?” Amber asked.
A pause.
“House is clean.” Ramirez said. “Too clean, honestly. Parents claim no contact in years. Checked phones, recent visitors, neighbors – nothing unusual.”
Another voice cut in – deeper.
“That’s Gray.” Ramirez added.
Gray continued, “But the father slipped once. Said Daniel used to send postcards before he went to prison. Always from different cities. No return address.”
Amber’s mind clicked immediately into pattern mode.
“He maintained symbolic contact.” she murmured. “Minimal traceability.”
Alysa glanced at her, impressed despite herself.
Gray continued, “Yeah. Guy sounds careful.”
“He is.” Amber said. “Did either parent seem fearful?”
A beat.
“No.” Ramirez admitted. “More resigned than scared.”
Amber nodded to herself.
“Thank you. Upload everything to the shared drive. Flag anything handwritten.”
She ended the call.
Alysa turned toward her slowly.
“You did that again. You do that a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Ask emotional baseline questions instead of tactical ones.”
Amber pulled out of the parking space and her phone buzzed again almost immediately.
M.CHOCK
Amber answered without hesitation.
“Glenn.”
“Status?” Madison asked.
Amber summarized efficiently as she drove – sister interview, parental residence clear, emotional distance confirmed.
Alysa watched quietly, noticing the shift in Amber’s tone.
Less formal.
More natural.
Madison sighed faintly through the speaker. “Reyes’ team was always going to be difficult.”
“We’re moving to question the ex-girlfriend,” Amber said.
“Good. Keep me updated.”
A pause followed.
Then Madison added, softer. “And Amber? Eat something today.”
Amber rolled her eyes slightly. “Yes, mom.”
Alysa’s eyebrows shot up.
Madison laughed faintly. “I heard that. Call if anything escalates.”
The line disconnected.
Silence filled the car for exactly two seconds.
Then–
“You call your supervisor mom?” Alysa asked, incredulous.
Amber grimaced. “I’ve known Madison for years.”
“That still feels illegal.”
Amber shrugged lightly. “She recruited me into field work. We worked cases together before she got promoted.”
Alysa shook her head slowly.
“I can’t imagine being friends with my captain. The man communicates exclusively through disappointment.”
Amber huffed a quiet laugh before she could stop herself.
Alysa noticed immediately.
Score one, she thought.
Traffic slowed as they merged onto a busier street.
“So.” Amber said after a moment, “Were you originally assigned to this task force?”
Alysa leaned back, resting her arm near the window.
“I was.” she said. “But I was juggling two homicide investigations and I thought I wouldn't be able to join.”
Amber glanced at her briefly.
“What changed?”
“My partner didn’t make the task force cut.”
Amber waited.
Alysa continued, tone softer now.
“Isabeau Levito. She’s covering my cases so I can focus on this one.”
“Close friend?”
Alysa nodded. “Yeah, since we were little. She told me if serial killers start escaping federal custody, I’m not allowed to miss it.”
Amber smirked faintly. “Supportive.”
“She also said if I die doing something dramatic, she’s stealing my parking spot.”
Amber let out a small laugh.
The ease between them settled more naturally now – less friction, more rhythm.
Amber checked the address on her tablet.
“Megan Alvarez. Works at a veterinary clinic.”
Alysa nodded. “Good cover environment.”
Amber glanced at her.
“Low-stress workplace. Predictable routines. Reyes might assume she feels safe there.”
Alysa tilted her head.
“You already building psychological models?”
“I never stopped.”
Alysa watched her for a second longer than necessary.
“You know,” she said casually, “you’re less intimidating when you laugh.”
Amber almost missed a turn.
“I’m not intimidating.”
Alysa smiled to herself.
“Sure.”
They pulled into a small commercial plaza, the clinic’s sign visible ahead.
People moved normally outside – pet owners, families, ordinary life continuing completely unaware that somewhere nearby a trained killer was free.
Amber parked but didn’t get out immediately.
Her expression shifted – focused, analytical again.
“If Reyes contacted her,” she said quietly, “she may not even realize she’s helping him.”
Alysa nodded, seriousness returning instantly.
“So we go gentle first.”
Amber met her gaze.
“Good cop?”
Alysa grinned.
“After the sister I thought that was your job.”
Amber allowed herself the smallest smile.
“We’ll see.”
They stepped out of the car together and headed toward the clinic doors.
Partners now – whether either of them had agreed to that yet or not.