The hospital room had settled into that strange quiet that only came after chaos. Machines hummed softly, nurses passed by in the hallway, and the sharp smell of antiseptic hung in the air.
Madeline Wuntch lay propped up against stiff white pillows, her right arm wrapped in a clean cast that rested across her torso. A faint bruise marked her temple, and her usually perfect hair was a mess. She stared at the cast like it had personally offended her.
"Just some scratches," she said, her voice dry as sandpaper while she shifted slightly in the bed. Her eyes flicked toward Ray, narrowing. "You do know how absurd that sounds, right?"
Ray stood near the foot of the bed, rolling his shoulder once before casually flexing his right arm. It was as if he were showing off and mocking her. There were faint cuts along his forearm and a bandage near his collarbone, but nothing that slowed him down.
"Look at the bright side," he said with a small smirk, tilting his head. "You get paid leave, full medical coverage, and sympathy from people who secretly hate you... except Holt. That's a rare triple win."
Wuntch let out a quiet scoff, though the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. "I was blown through the air and slammed into a car, Detective. I'm not on vacation."
Ray took a step closer, resting his hands loosely in his pockets as he looked down at her with that same calm, unreadable expression he carried at crime scenes. "You're alive, which is more than your kidnapper planned for you. I'd say that counts as a decent outcome considering the circumstances. And the FBI took over the case after the incident. So, who did you piss off this time? I mean, they put you in a hole, BDSM style and bombed your house. If it were anyone other than me on this case, you and the entire team would've been blown to bits."
Wuntch shifted against the pillows again, wincing as the movement tugged at her bruised ribs. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling tiles for a long moment before she answered, her voice low enough that it barely carried past the bed rails.
"It is a new syndicate trying to carve out territory in New York. They approached me six weeks ago with a straightforward offer. Cash, offshore accounts, the usual promises. All they wanted was safe passage through certain precincts and a steady drip of internal intelligence. Enough to stay three steps ahead of us every time. I told them to go to hell."
Ray stayed quiet, letting her words settle between them. He pulled the single visitor chair closer and sat, elbows resting on his knees, while he studied her face.
She sighed. "When I refused, they decided to stage the whole thing. Make it look like a clean kidnapping at first glance. Drag marks, the open safe, one shoe left behind like some sloppy amateur hour. The real plan was never ransom or leverage. They intended to bury me along with whoever came looking. One big spectacular message to every cop, detective, and captain in the city. Fear works faster than bribes."
Ray let out a quiet breath, his gaze dropping briefly to the cast on her arm before lifting again. "Terror tactic aimed at law enforcement morale," he said, almost to himself, then tilted his head slightly. "And I'm guessing you already know exactly who is running this show... You did, after all, open the door for him or her."
Wuntch finally met his eyes again. The usual venom was there, but it looked tired now, worn thin by pain and adrenaline crash. "Henry Colt. Former commissioner. He never forgave the department for forcing him out after that corruption probe. Turns out he did not crawl away quietly like everyone assumed. He built something new instead and came back for revenge."
Ray leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Colt always did like dramatic exits. My team once caught him and put him behind bars, then he fed money to the corrupt officers and escaped. Guess he decided to upgrade to dramatic returns. Explains the bomb. He would have wanted the whole precinct to feel it, not just you."
Wuntch's good hand curled into a loose fist. "He knows the system inside out. He knows how we respond, how fast we move, who leads the charge. Putting me in that shed with a ticking device was his way of making sure the best people walked right into the kill zone. You, Santiago, Boyle. All of us gone in one blast would have gutted morale for years."
Ray tilted his head, considering her. "He did not count on me sniffing the explosive residue before the timer ran out. Or on me being stubborn enough to check the shed instead of running straight for the street."
She gave him a long look, something close to grudging respect flickering behind the irritation. "No. He did not. And now he knows we are still breathing. He'll come for us again to finish the job."
Ray leaned forward with a cold glare. "Not if I kill them all."
"In your prime, I'd have no doubt. The present you..." She narrowed her eyes.
Ray moved from his chair so fast that Madeline couldn't even follow. In her eyes, he simply disappeared before reappearing in front of her face. He touched her chin, lifted a bit, and looked into her eyes. "...is far more focused than the man you once knew. That fucker put my friends and my girl in danger. I'll be damned if I let the FBI mess this up and let that bastard walk away. So, tell me, Madeline, where do you think he is hiding?"
Madeline's breath caught as Ray's fingers lingered under her chin, warm and steady, tilting her face just enough that she had no choice but to meet his gaze head-on. Up close like this, she could smell the faint trace of smoke still clinging to his clothes from the explosion. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, loud enough in her own ears that she wondered if he could hear it too.
"You always did know exactly how to push my buttons," she murmured, voice rougher than she intended. She tried to pull back an inch, but his thumb brushed the edge of her jaw in a slow, deliberate stroke that sent heat racing down her spine. Memories crashed in uninvited: tangled sheets in that dimly lit safe house, the cult's incense heavy in the air, his mouth on her neck while they both pretended it was only part of the cover. She hated how easily her body remembered.
Ray's lips curved into the smallest, most dangerous smile. "Good. Means I still remember what works." He leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched, voice dropping to a low rumble meant for her alone. "Tell me where Colt's hiding, Madeline. Give me the address, the alias, the bolt-hole he thinks is safe. You owe me that much after I dragged your ass out of a death trap and took the blast for you."
She swallowed hard, fighting the way her good hand wanted to fist in his shirt and pull him closer instead of pushing him away. "You think sex and proximity are going to make me spill classified details?"
"I think you're scared," he said softly, eyes never leaving hers. "Not of him. Of what happens if he gets another shot at you, at your loved ones, at the whole damn department. And I think you know I'm the only one crazy enough, mean enough, and fast enough to end this before anyone else gets hurt."
His free hand settled lightly on the cast covering her arm, thumb tracing the edge where plaster met skin. "So stop fighting me for five seconds and let me do what I do best."
Madeline closed her eyes for a beat, breathing him in despite herself. When she opened them again, the venom had softened into something rawer. "He has a place upstate. Old family compound near the Catskills, registered under his late sister's maiden name. Evergreen Ridge, mile marker 47 on Route 28. Looks like a hunting lodge from the road, but the basement was retrofitted years ago. Reinforced concrete, independent power, tunnel exit that comes out half a mile into the woods. And he has an entire group of mercenaries under his payroll. He always said if the feds ever came knocking, he'd go out like a king in his own castle."
Ray held her stare another long second, letting the information sink in, then slowly released her chin. He straightened but didn't step back, keeping that intimate bubble of heat between them. "That's my girl," he said quietly, the words carrying more weight than they should have.
"Don't call me that," she snapped, though the protest sounded weak even to her own ears. 'Shit! I can't believe I fell for his tricks again. Darn it! How can any 48-year-old single, lonely and depraved woman not fall for that... that gaze and lips...?"
He chuckled under his breath and finally gave her a little space. "Too late. You already gave me the keys to the castle. Now I just need to decide whether I walk in through the front door or come up through the tunnel and put a bullet between his eyes before he knows I'm there."
Madeline watched him move toward the door, every line of his body coiled and ready despite the bandages and bruises. She called after him just as his hand touched the handle. "Ray."
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"If you go in alone and get yourself killed, I'll never forgive you," she said, voice steady now. "And I'll make sure everyone knows exactly how stupid you were."
"Oh, look at the cold-faced devil showing human emotions. Aren't you adorable?" Ray winked at her. "Keep the FBI busy and buy me at least 12 hours."
He gave her a little wave.
"And try not to trip and break another arm."
He left.