"Where are we?" my handler asked, glancing around with a confused look plastered across her face.
We were standing in front of what could only be described as the last place on earth anyone would expect the Secret Service to hide. The so-called "base" looked like a run-down bar that had seen one too many drunken brawls and hangovers. The sign above the entrance flickered weakly, buzzing like a dying mosquito, and the smell of stale beer and cigarettes clung to the air.
In front of it stood a man in a full-on business suit, his tie perfectly straight despite the sweltering heat of the midday sun. I squinted at him. Isn't he dying in that thing? Seriously, who wears a full suit in this weather? He's either made of iron or insanity.
"That's a secret," I replied to my handler with a teasing grin. "You'll figure it out once we go in. Just… don't faint if things get weird."
The suited guard gave us a cold, professional look as I approached. His expression didn't change. He didn't even blink. "Hello," I greeted, flashing him my best disarming smile. "I came here to meet someone. You didn't forget me, did you?"
He paused for a second, eyes flicking to mine before giving a small nod. Without a word, he stepped aside and allowed us to enter. There was no questions asked. He knew who I was—and that was enough. When you've got connections with the Secret Service, people tend to skip the small talk.
Inside, the bar's interior was dim and smelled faintly of alcohol and smoke. The shelves were lined with bottles that probably hadn't been touched in years, and the old wooden floor creaked under every step. It looked like the kind of place where you could order a drink and get stabbed in the back at the same time.
We walked up to the bartender, who barely glanced at me before pressing a hidden switch under the counter. A click echoed, and the door behind him swung open slowly, revealing a dimly lit corridor.
The further we went, the colder the air became. The first door was locked and guarded. The second was the same deal, only this time, they looked like they'd shoot you just for sneezing wrong. By the time we reached the third door, the atmosphere was heavy enough to make my handler shift nervously beside me.
And then—click. The last door opened.
What lay beyond looked like the nerve center of an entire nation. Rows of desks stretched as far as the eye could see, each with monitors displaying camera feeds from across the country. Dozens of people sat typing away furiously, their eyes locked on the screens in front of them. The faint hum of electronics filled the air, along with the rhythmic beeping of tracking devices.
It was chaos—but organized chaos. Controlled, efficient, and powerful.
"Detective Caine," came a voice from behind me.
That voice made my chest tighten for a second. I turned around, and there she was.
Liora Fossler.
The director of the Secret Service—and easily one of the most stunning women I've ever laid eyes on. Mid-thirties, confident, and walking authority incarnate. Her father was the previous director, and after his passing, she stepped into the role with the kind of poise that made everyone shut up and listen.
And yeah, not gonna lie—she was gorgeous. The kind of woman who made professionalism look sinful. Her figure alone could make priests reconsider their vows. Her hips swayed slightly when she walked with her blouse clinging tightly against her chest. I couldn't help thinking she was exactly my type.
I'd heard she was still single. Lucky me.
"You have a really disgusting face right now, Detective," my handler muttered beside me, crossing her arms. "Just saying."
"Ah—sorry," I said, straightening up quickly before giving the director a polite nod. "Nice to meet you again, Director Liora. I came to inform you that the investigation into your subordinate's death has been completed."
"I see…" she said, her gaze narrowing slightly. "As expected of you. I didn't think you'd solve it this fast. It's barely been an hour since I handed the case to Thessa to give to you. No wonder my late father spoke so highly of you." She tilted her head slightly, her tone sharpening. "So? Who killed my subordinate? Was it the Viper?"
Reasonable question. The Secret Service had been keeping tabs on the Viper's organization for a while, and they'd even planted one of their own as a spy. The poor guy's death only pointed to one thing and that the Viper had sniffed him out.
"Well," I said with a sly grin, "the answer will reveal itself soon enough. But first—how about we revisit the crime scene?"
"W-What?!" my handler blurted out. "We just got here! If you were gonna go back there, why didn't we just stay!?"
"Because, Miss Handler," I said with exaggerated seriousness, "it's all part of the thrill of the game." Then I turned to Liora, softening my tone. "Would you care to join us, Director?"
"Alright," she said simply. "I'll get ready."
As she turned around, I couldn't help but stare at her hips as she walked away. That perfect curve combined with that confident stride—goodness help me.
My handler sighed beside me. "You're hopeless."
***
When we arrived at the crime scene, the air was thick with tension. The area was still taped off with police officers standing around uneasily. The body was still on the ground, untouched, exactly as I'd ordered. I didn't want anyone screwing up the evidence.
The director stood beside me, flanked by her two bodyguards. They were both tall, stoic, and built like brick walls.
"Good work," I said to the officer still snapping photos of the body.
"That's… a pretty gruesome death," Liora murmured, her face tightening. Even she couldn't hide the discomfort.
"Haven't you ever seen a dead body before, Director?" I asked, only half-teasing.
"I haven't," she admitted, her tone flat but honest. "I generally avoid it. Especially when it's someone I know."
I didn't respond. Sure, I could've said something nice—but honestly, if she was gonna run the Secret Service, she'd have to stomach worse than this someday.
"Now then, Detective," she said, turning to me. "Have you really figured out who the killer is?"
"Relax," I said casually, pulling out two coins from my pocket. "Before that—can either of your bodyguards catch?"
Both men exchanged puzzled looks. Without explaining, I flicked the coins sharply toward them.
Clink.
Both of them caught the coins instantly—one with his left hand, the other with his right.
I grinned. "Not bad. We're gonna need reflexes like that real soon."
"What exactly are you trying to do?" my handler asked, her voice carrying that sharp edge of irritation and confusion. Her brows were furrowed so tightly it looked like she was about to scold me like some reckless rookie. "Do you really know who the killer is? Because if you called the Director of the Secret Service here just to make a big scene and end up embarrassing yourself, I swear, I'll act like I don't even know you when this all blows up."
"Relax," I said calmly, giving her a lazy grin as if everything was under control. "I already know who the killer is. You just have to trust me, alright?"
The look she gave me could've curdled milk. Yeah, she didn't trust me one bit. Not even a little. Her eyes practically screamed, 'You're winging this, aren't you?'
"Anyway," I continued, ignoring that skeptical glare of hers, "I know who the killer is… but I'll give them a chance to confess before I reveal them." My tone dropped slightly, and I raised my hand with a smirk. "They've got ten seconds."
And just like that, I started counting.
You could feel the unease ripple through everyone like a cold draft sneaking down your spine. Every eye darted to the next, as if waiting for someone to twitch wrong.
My handler's voice cracked through the silence. "Wait—hold on, are you saying the killer's actually here right now?"
I didn't even bother replying. I just kept counting down slowly.
"Ten…" "...Nine…" "...Eight…"
And then, when I reached one, the silence shattered.
The guilty one snapped. His composure vanished in an instant. In one swift move, he yanked out his gun, grabbed the Director by the neck, and jammed the barrel right against her temple.
"Oho~" I said with a crooked grin, tilting my head. "I guess you just confessed right before I could even say zero."
The killer was none other than the Director's own bodyguard—the same guy who had caught the coin earlier with his left hand.
"You're gonna let me go," he barked, voice trembling as he pressed the gun harder against the Director's head. "Or I swear I'll shoot her right here and blow her brains out! Don't even think about pulling any stunts, or she dies!"
The nearby officers and one of the remaining guards immediately raised their guns toward him. I didn't move an inch.
The Director closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, as if accepting her fate—or maybe just buying time. Hard to tell what was going through her mind. Disappointment? Frustration? Maybe she was cursing herself for not noticing it sooner.
"I… I thought it was perfect," the killer muttered, his voice shaking but still filled with defiance. "I deleted every file as well as every trace that could lead back to me at headquarters. I even made it look like the Viper did it! But no—you had to ruin it. I guess your title as the 'great detective' isn't just for show, huh?"
"Oh no," I said, waving a hand casually, as if I wasn't standing in a life-or-death situation. "Don't give me that much credit. Honestly, I didn't actually know who it was. I was just fishing for a reaction. I mean, I didn't even know what the hell I'd say if no one took the bait." I gave him a teasing grin. "Lucky me—you bit the hook perfectly. And now, well, here we are. We found our killer."
My handler looked at me like I'd grown a second head. Even the killer's expression twisted in disbelief.
"So you set me up," he muttered bitterly, his grip tightening. "You manipulative bastard… You think this is over? I can still take her down with me. You kill me, she dies too. You really want another Director of the Secret Service dead, huh?"
"Hey, let's all calm down a little," I said, lifting my hands halfway. "I don't want the beautiful and incredibly stunning Liora getting killed, of course. It'd be a damn shame."
"If that's true," he snapped, "then hand me the car keys. Slowly. And if you even think about tricking me, I'll pull the trigger without blinking."
My handler sighed but did as he said, moving slowly. Her hands didn't even shake. She raised the keys, showing them to him carefully.
"Now throw it. Towards me," he demanded. His voice cracked slightly this time. The fear was starting to show.
She tossed the keys—a perfect throw—and they clinked on the ground near the Director's feet.
Good throw. Too good, actually. Because the moment he opened his mouth next, it was game over.
"Pick it up," he ordered the Director.
Ah… bad move, pal.
The Director crouched, slowly reaching for the keys. But as soon as her fingers touched them, she snapped her head backward—slamming the back of her skull straight into his face.
"Urk—!"
The sound was ugly. You could practically hear his brain rattle.
Without missing a beat, she twisted around and drove her heel right into his jaw. The man collapsed instantly, hitting the ground hard. Before he could even think about recovering, she kicked the gun from his hand and proceeded to beat the living crap out of him.
"You did good there, Handler," I said, flashing her a grin while the officers rushed to detain him.
If she hadn't thrown that key right there, the Director wouldn't have had the perfect opening to pull that move. Credit where it's due—she nailed it.
"Well," I added with a smirk, "too bad his reflexes weren't as sharp as earlier when he caught that coin. Guess karma's got one hell of a sense of timing."