Stone slumped in the windowless van opposite Selina's main salon, junked cups piling up around him while monitors blinked wild on the dash.
He'd sat there half a day. His backside felt dead. Eyes scratchy, like sandpaper. The other guy split earlier muttered stuff about Stone fixating way too hard.
Maybe he was.
The pictures lay scattered on the front seat blurry security images of Selina's main crew.
Bishop, tough and quiet, slipped through spaces unseen. Then Kira, behind the wheel, vanishing from chases before they even started. Malik handled routes, served time in uniform years back. Plus heaps more faces tied into her setup that Stone hadn't fully pieced together yet.
He grabbed his camera a Nikon fitted with a long lens pricier than what he paid for rent each month then focused it on the shop's doorway.
Quiet. It was Sunday, early light through the windows. Most folks on duty weren't due till later still about sixty minutes off.
Yet Selina's vehicle sat parked in the lot.
She'd shown up at six AM. Stone was already around by five-thirty just hanging back, keeping an eye out.
This was his life these days stuck in vans, sipping bitter coffee, chasing someone likely shady but totally stuck in his head like a song he couldn't turn off.
His phone vibrated message from the boss: Stone. Office. Monday at nine. Got things to go over about your file.
Shit.
That wasn't good. "We need to talk" in cop speak usually meant "you're in trouble" or "shut this down" or "internal affairs wants a word."
He'd been testing limits. Pouring team funds into monitoring allowed by rules, yet way too intense. Piecing together clues with little solid proof. Chasing tips that fizzled out.
Nearly stepping right into it, almost touching without meaning to.
He stared at the picture stuck to his dash Selina walking out of the salon days back, sharp and distant in a dark suit worth more than his ride.
She wasn't wrong. It hit close to home.
She began her career looking legit. A stunning lady, way too lucky lately whispers said she was tied to narcotics. Hanging out where trouble shows up. Just another case like any other.
Yet later, he ran into her. Spoke a few words. Got caught by those deep eyes something inside pulled at him. Sharp mind. Tough spirit. Someone who fought hard to rise from zero and wore it proud.
Yep, sure he felt drawn to her. That much he'd own up to now, if only in his head.
He kept getting pulled toward someone he had to take into custody.
A regular officer's story headed for disaster.
His radio crackled. "All units, we've got a 10-54 at Broadway and…. "
He said no. Then shifted attention to the shop.
Motion spotted. Rear door opened. The bishop stepped out, glancing left and right then climbed into a dark SUV that drove off fast.
Stone grabbed his radio. "Unit 7, this is Stone. Got a possible suspect vehicle heading south on Madison. Black Escalade, plate number …" He rattled it off. "Can you follow? Don't engage, just observe."
"Copy that, Stone. We got him."
Stone kept his eyes on the salon again. That's how stakeouts usually were long stretches with no action, broken up by quick bursts of activity now and then.
His phone vibrated once more. A note came through from someone he'd been talking to up north Bronx side. Mentioned your woman. Apparently, Dante Cruz had flowers delivered. Dark ones. Didn't say much else, though it's a move, no doubt.
Stone shifted, sitting more upright.
Dante Cruz, big name. When he set his sights on Selina, things shifted overnight. One move from him? Whole game flipped.
Typed back: When?
Last night. Got dropped off at the shop. Whole thing was a scene.
Stone muttered a curse. Dante operated way above him feds were involved, global ties, gear that made city cops seem like store guards.
If Selina hooked up with him, she was further in than Stone figured.
Maybe someone was after her.
Whichever way you look at it, it's a bummer.
He brought the camera closer to the salon door once more. Spotted Selina inside, walking back and forth in her room. From this distance, her tight muscles stood out clear. How she shifted - like something trapped behind bars.
Something was wrong.
His work gut feeling told him to stay put in the van. Hold back a bit instead. Keep things clear headed no matter what.
Something inside told him to go see how she was doing.
He gave in a little. Took his phone instead. Messaged her, Hope you're alright?
Three dots showed up fast. After that, they were gone. A moment later, there they were once more.
Finally: Define okay.
Still breathing so far no bullets flying.
Then yes. Barely.
He grinned without meaning to. When things got tough, she still cracked quick jokes.
Got word about the blooms.
The three dots moved around slowly. After a while, Wait, how'd you hear this?
I'm a cop who digs up facts. Because that's exactly what I get paid to do.
Your job's to catch folks like me not shoot off messages checking if I'm alright.
Perhaps I don't do well in what I handle.
Perhaps you're just as poor at it as you prefer to be.
This struck a nerve more than he cared to show.
His radio crackled again. "Stone, this is Unit 7. Subject Bishop just pulled into an apartment complex in Spanish Harlem. Looks like he's doing surveillance on someone."
Stone grabbed the radio. "Can you get eyes on who?"
"Stand by."
He waited. Then he stared at the shop across the street. Her shape moved behind the glass Selina, pacing slow. The light caught her outline now and again.
"Stone, subject Bishop is watching a male Hispanic, late twenties, coming out of apartment 4B. Guy looks nervous. Bishop's staying in his vehicle, just observing."
"Get me a photo if you can. Run the apartment through the system."
"Copy."
Stone jotted something down in his notebook. While Bishop tailed a person, that person headed into Spanish Harlem. The neighborhood belonged to the Boricua Kings a crew getting louder these days, though still minor league.
Could Selina have been struggling inside? Maybe team troubles?
Maybe she had a plan. Or perhaps not.
His phone vibrated. Message from Selina gotta meet me tonight. At your apartment. Eight thirty sharp.
He looked at the text. Warning signs flashed through his mind. That move went too far. It was way over the edge
Okay.
He wrote it without thinking twice.
Thank you.
Just two words. Plain, really. Yet inside them? A quiet ache. Raw, almost.
She wanted him around though he didn't know why. Still, she counted on it. Yeah, she depended on that.
He'd show up too count on it.
No matter what it did to his job. Regardless of how bad it messed up his investigation. Even if people called him the lousiest cop ever in NYPD's books.
His radio crackled. "Stone, got that info. Apartment 4B is registered to Ricardo 'Rico' Martinez. No priors. Works at … " The officer paused. "Works at one of Selina Vega's salons. Employee records show him as head of inventory management."
Stone jerked upright. "Run that by me once more."
"Rico Martinez. Works for your suspect."
Selina had someone from her team under surveillance.
Why?
Looking inside? Maybe someone stole something? Could it be a friend who did it?
Maybe she wanted to cause him harm? Or perhaps her mind was set on something worse?
Stone's chest clenched. That's just how things stood. She wasn't only the smart, stunning woman he liked. She was also a mob leader someone who handled issues without office meetings or firing notices.
His phone vibrated. Message popped up - informant again: The Vega hit? Not some spur of the moment thing. Turns out Eastside Scorpions got hired for it. A higher up pulled the strings. Rumor says those guys only did the shooting.
Who paid them?
Nobody can say for sure. Yet the cash arrived from beyond town. Done by someone skilled.
Stone glanced at his phone. After that, he looked toward the salon. Meanwhile, his case files lay scattered on the seat.
One person paid the Scorpions to take out Selina. A well connected individual. This figure needed her gone without leaving a trail leading back their way.
Dante Cruz had started texting her outta nowhere.
She kept tabs on her crew, too.
She'd be arriving at his place later that evening.
This was linked somehow had to be true but what tied it together?
His radio crackled. "Stone, subject Rico is on the move. Looks like he's heading toward a check cashing place on 116th."
"Stay on him. I want to know everywhere he goes."
"Copy."
Stone grabbed his camera once more, focusing on Selina's office window from a distance. Instead of rushing, he adjusted the lens slowly, watching through the viewfinder with quiet intent.
She stared at her screen, moving back and forth clearly worked up.
He had this urge to see her. Like, just show up and say he sensed things weren't right so he'd stick around till they were.
Yet he failed since aiding her would mess up his case, swapping duty for loyalty.
But he still hadn't prepared himself for picking it.
Not yet.
His phone vibrated again. Message from his boss Stone. No kidding. Next day. Nine sharp. Show up, otherwise hand over your badge.
He looked at the text. Either do it now or walk away.
Tomorrow, he'd need to clarify his actions. The reason behind all those hours poured into this investigation. How come he ended up so involved with someone under suspicion.
But then again, he'd need to fib.
Speak up honestly then walk away empty handed.
He glanced back at the shop. Toward Selina's shadowy shape. A lady who might've been hurt maybe dangerous even a mix of both.
He figured it out his mind heavy and saw he'd picked his path without meaning to.
He meant to keep her safe.
Even when it led to his own downfall.
His radio crackled one final time. "Stone, this is Unit 7. Subject Rico just met with two males, Hispanic, known Boricua Kings associates. Looks like they're having an intense conversation. Want us to move in?"
Stone gripped the steering wheel. "Negative. Just observe. Get photos. I want documentation of everything."
"Copy that."
He leaned back, staring at the clues piling up. Each bit he'd collected stared right back. Everything fit slowly clicking into place.
He was nearly there. Just near enough to sense it. Near enough to spot a pattern bigger than Selina Vega smuggling dope through hair studios.
Something shady went down here. A tangled setup, one move leading to another.
Selina stood smack in the middle of everything.
Wondering was she the one trapping others, or the one getting caught?
He sensed something was coming his way.
Tonight. Around nine. His place.
As she entered his place, things shifted all at once.
He only wished they'd make it through together.