03

The club was dim, intimate, with soft music and golden lighting. Morgan wore a deep red dress that made Karadec's brain short-circuit for a moment when he first saw her outside the entrance.

"You're staring," she said.

"You're wearing red lipstick,"  Karadec replied, his gaze steady, arms loosely crossed as if trying to look unaffected.

"Wow," she teased, leaning in just a little, her voice laced with amusement. "Observant and brooding. Must be my lucky day." 

Inside, they took a table in the corner. Morgan looped her arm through his, laughing softly at something he didn't say. They're playing their part, not even looking like they're just pretending.

"Two glasses of martini?" the server asked.

Karadec hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly on the bar counter. "Just one."

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

He glanced at her. "You don't drink on stakeouts."

She blinked. Right. She didn't. She'd said that once, forever ago.

The fact that he remembered... she looked away, cheeks warm.

"How do you do that?" she murmured, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied his face.

"Do what?" he asked, glancing at her without turning his head.

"Pay attention. Remember things. Know when I'm lying." Her voice was soft, almost accusing, as if she'd just realized how closely he'd been watching all along.

He gave a shrug, trying to look casual. "Lucky guesses."

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

Hours passed with no sign of the man from the footage. They kept up the act. Karadec's hand resting casually on the small of her back, Morgan leaning in when she laughed. Every accidental brush of skin sent a jolt straight through her.

Once, when she reached to refill his water glass, her fingers grazed his. His hand didn't move.

He just... let it linger.

And when their eyes met—close, too close. Neither of them looked away.

Then: "He's here." Karadec's voice, low in her ear.

Morgan snapped back into focus. The man from the footage walked to the bar, ordering a drink. Alone.

They didn't approach. Just watched. Waited.

The man from the footage leaned casually against the bar, his tailored blazer just loose enough to conceal something at his hip. He looked comfortable. Confident. Too confident.

Morgan didn't break character. She tilted her head slightly, just enough for Karadec to catch it. A silent that's him.

Karadec sipped from his glass, low voice smooth. "Too calm to be new."

"He's been here before," Morgan murmured back. "Knows the room. Knows the rhythm."

They watched him for a while. He wasn't looking around nervously or checking his watch. But he was scanning—subtle, sharp. Looking for someone.

"He's waiting on a drop," Karadec said under his breath.

Morgan shifted in her seat, leaning toward Karadec as if whispering something flirty, but her eyes were fixed on the man's hands. "Or a pickup. He's not the buyer."

"Agreed."

Their server returned to refill their glasses. Morgan played along, smiling, resting her hand lightly on Karadec's arm. They looked like any other couple—just close enough to be interesting, just quiet enough to blend in.

Then a woman entered. Slick dress. Silver clutch. Eyes locked on the man at the bar.

"That her?" Karadec asked without looking.

Morgan nodded. "That's not Isabelle. But she's definitely in on it."

The woman walked past their table, barely sparing them a glance. Her clutch grazed the back of the man's chair as she passed. He didn't react, but the movement was precise. Intentional.

"Bag drop," Morgan said. "You catch that?"

Karadec nodded once. "She passed him something."

"We need eyes on both."

"I'll tail him."

"I'll take her."

They stood in sync, smooth and natural. A couple heading to the dance floor, or so it seemed.

Karadec peeled off toward the man as he headed for the side exit. Morgan followed the woman, weaving through the crowd without breaking pace.

Outside, the club's back alley was quiet, lit only by the hazy glow of a flickering lamp.

Morgan shadowed the woman from a distance, until the woman suddenly stopped. Turned.

"I know you," she said. Her voice was smooth. Calculated.

Morgan smiled, effortless. "A lot of people think that."

"I saw you at the precinct once. You're a cop."

Morgan didn't flinch. "You sure about that?"

The woman stepped closer. "You're not as undercover as you think."

Morgan's smile turned cool. "Neither are you."

Before the woman could respond, two plainclothes officers stepped out from the shadows behind her. Backup. Discreetly coordinated earlier.

Karadec appeared minutes later, holding a small USB drive between his gloved fingers. The man didn't put up a fight when Karadec cornered him outside the club. A quick pat-down revealed the tiny USB drive sewn into the lining of his coat pocket. A slick, professional move, but not slick enough.

Morgan, meanwhile, handed off the woman to their backup officers, who quickly secured her phone and clutch. One glance inside confirmed what they suspected—unregistered burner phones, one still active with a timestamped message: "Drop made. Transfer confirmed."

They ran the contents of the USB through decryption software. Karadec and Morgan stood side by side as the files opened one by one.

Bank statements. Offshore wire transfers. Encrypted spreadsheets listing names, dates, and coded exchanges. At the center: Isabelle's mystery man, now identified as Luca Moretti—alias specialist, suspected launderer, and professional ghost.

There it was, transaction trails linking Moretti directly to the missing casino funds, with dates that matched Isabelle's disappearance. Even better, one document held scanned contracts and a digital signature from Isabelle, coerced. Her name, her writing—next to his.

"He forced her into it," Morgan said, her voice low.

"Or threatened her," Karadec replied. "This proves he moved the money. The contract shows she was a pawn."

Moretti was booked on multiple charges within the hour: fraud, identity theft, conspiracy to launder. The woman, now identified as his handler, was tied to a larger ring that had been skimming casino funds for months.

The woman was cuffed. The man was already in custody. It all happened clean, fast, quiet.

Later that night, Morgan and Karadec sat on the steps outside HQ, the buzz of the city still humming around them. The case file was with the DA. Their job was done.

Morgan sipped from a paper cup. "Well," she said, stretching her legs out in front of her, "we cracked it."

Karadec nodded, arms resting on his knees. "With style."

"Admit it. You liked playing the charming boyfriend," she nudged him with her shoulder, a teasing glint in her eye.

Karadec glanced sideways at her, the corner of his mouth twitching before he looked away again. 

"I tolerated it," he said.

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she leaned back.

They fell into a quiet rhythm, the kind that didn't need filling. The kind that said more than words.

After a moment, Karadec glanced sideways. "You were right. About going undercover."

Morgan turned to him, surprised. "Wow. I wish I had that recorded."

He smiled faintly. "Don't get used to it."

She grinned. "Too late."

They sat there a while longer. No pressure. No case. Just two detectives, not pretending for once.