[Two days later]
The last forty-eight hours had been a blur of surveillance, long hours, and bad hotel coffee. Ray and Amy had bugged both Ortega cars, planted a tracker on Travis's watch, and kept the audio feeds rolling nonstop. The operation at the docks had been a partial success. The girls were rescued and forty kilos of cocaine were seized. But Travis and Melissa Ortega were still walking free, screaming at each other in high definition for their undercover detectives' amusement.
That first night after the raid, the Ortegases went nuclear. Travis stormed into their suite shouting in Spanish, waving his phone like a sword.
"You stupid woman!" Travis shouted in anger. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Melissa fired right back. "Me? You were the one who sent your men to check the containers! If you'd waited like I told you, the cops never would've found them!"
"You think I trust your people? Half of them can't even follow orders!"
"Then maybe you should've married one of them instead!"
The fight went on for nearly an hour until Travis slammed the bedroom door, and Melissa sat on the couch, smoking in silence.
Ray had leaned back on the sofa, chewing on an expensive slice of pizza, eyes on the surveillance feed. "That's marriage counseling, cartel edition."
Amy tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth. "If we ever get bored of police work, we can just sell this as a reality show. 'Keeping Up with the Ortegases.'"
By the end of day two, both of them looked like they'd been living in that hotel forever. The coffee table was a graveyard of coffee and energy drink cans. Amy had started calling the operation "Operation Dumpster Fire." Ray didn't disagree.
The room service cleaned the trash that night.
...
Day three started with Ray and Amy half-asleep on the couch, surrounded by yesterday's half-eaten snacks, two cups of coffee, and a shared sense that they had aged several years in forty-eight hours.
They were mid-bite into a new bowl of popcorn when Travis's voice erupted through the speakers again. This time, he wasn't angry. He was livid in a way Amy hadn't heard since a perp once realized she'd tricked him into confessing on camera.
Travis shouted in rapid Spanish over his phone, pacing the suite like a bull. "She trafficked girls behind my back. My own wife! My own fucking wife!"
Amy raised a brow. "Well, that explains why he's screaming like a telenovela villain."
Ray didn't look away from the feed. "Told you the guy wasn't smart enough to run both operations."
Melissa walked out of the shower and sat on the couch.
"You used my routes for your filth!" Travis shouted. "My men, my ships!"
Melissa didn't even flinch. "Your men were idiots. I made the operation profitable."
"You sold people!"
"You sold drugs! Don't get righteous with me, hypocrite! Besides, drugs are seasonal. Demand changes when a new product enters the market. Diversification is smart business."
Amy choked on her popcorn. "Diversification? Did she just talk about human trafficking like it's a stock portfolio?"
Travis began pacing like an angry rooster. "You think you can run a trafficking ring without telling me? Me? I am your husband!"
Melissa tied her robe tightly, then calmly stood up.
"Travis. Honey. I run everything behind your back."
Travis snapped. He lunged at her with a wild haymaker.
Ray leaned forward. "Here we go again. Round 2. FIGHT!"
Travis missed by a mile. Melissa dodged with the reflexes of someone who grew up punching problems. She grabbed his wrist, twisted slightly, and Travis crumpled to his knees like a folding chair.
"Do not ever raise your hand at me again."
Travis tried another wild punch.
Melissa ducked. Then she hit him four times in rapid succession: left hook, right cross, nose punch, palm strike to the sternum. The man flew back into the couch so hard the cushions sighed in defeat.
Amy's jaw dropped. "She knows boxing. Oh my God. She knows actual boxing!"
On the feed, Travis staggered backward, clutching his nose.
"You broke my nose!" he screamed while bleeding.
"You tried to hit me," Melissa said, throwing another punch that sent him face-down onto their luxury Persian carpet.
Ray popped another handful of popcorn. "Five-star hotel. Two-star marriage."
Travis tried to get up. Melissa kicked him back down. Not even a wild kick. A trained, perfect step-in roundhouse right to the ribs. He wheezed like someone had let the air out of him.
Amy stared at the screen. "Should we do something? I mean, this looks like actual attempted murder. And she's winning. She's winning so hard."
Ray shook his head. "Nope. We cannot blow our cover. If they kill each other, the surviving one still has to meet their supplier. And that's the big fish."
Amy blinked. "So your plan is to watch two cartel spouses try to end each other while we eat popcorn like we're nosy neighbors spying from our balcony?"
Ray nodded. "Correct."
Amy shoved another handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Cool. Just checking."
On screen, Travis made one last desperate attempt to stand. Melissa grabbed a decorative vase, smashed it over his head, then calmly sat on the couch and lit a cigarette like she had just finished a light workout.
Amy watched Melissa flick ash onto the unconscious body of her husband. "Wow. Gym membership? No. Just spar with your spouse."
Ray set the popcorn aside. "This is the weirdest surveillance job I've ever done. And I once spent two weeks undercover with a kleptomaniac opera singer."
Amy pointed at the screen. "This beats that. Easily."
Travis lay groaning on the floor. Melissa changed the channel to a cooking show.
Amy whispered, "Should we call medical services?"
Ray shook his head. "No. If he can complain, he can breathe. And if he can breathe, he can live long enough for the big meeting."
Amy leaned back, crossing her arms. "Okay. But I just want it on record that we watched a woman beat the absolute hell out of her own cartel-boss husband while surrounded by thirty thousand dollars worth of hotel décor."
Ray nodded. "Premium suite. Premium chaos."
They both watched Melissa sip her wine while Travis twitched pathetically on the carpet.
Amy sighed. "I'm giving this episode five stars."
Ray agreed. "Same. Solid entertainment value."
...
Back at the Nine Nine
Rosa had been a silent storm all morning. Not the usual controlled Rosa Diaz storm that terrified perps and interns. This was different. This was restless, agitated, distracted Rosa, which was somehow even more alarming because she kept pretending she was totally fine while accidentally crushing pens whenever she tightened her grip.
She had barely spoken since Ray and Amy left for their secret mission. Holt had given her exactly six words when she asked about it.
"They are working on something important."
Nothing more. No details or timeline.
So Rosa tried to work.
Tried.
And failed.
Repeatedly.
Jake, Boyle, Terry and Gina were gathered near the break room watching her like she was a volcano they were pretty sure was about to erupt, but none of them were brave enough to approach.
Jake whispered, "OK. Rosa is officially at a new level of scary. I have known her for years. I have seen her threaten vending machines, criminals, and Boyle's haircut. But this? This is different. This is like... final boss Rosa."
Gina nodded as she scrolled through her phone. "She is vibrating. You can practically see the murder energy radiating off her."
Boyle whispered, "Do you think it's because Ray is gone? And Amy too? Maybe she feels left out."
Terry shook his head. "No. Terry thinks she is worried. But Rosa Diaz does not know how to express worry, so she is expressing it as rage."
Jake nodded. "Classic Rosa. Emotional? No. Violent? Yes."
At that exact moment, Rosa marched over to the printer with a stack of paperwork. Her jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. She fed the papers into the tray. Hit the button and waited. But nothing happened.
She hit it again, a bit harder.
Still nothing.
She hit it a third time. The printer beeped weakly, then blinked a red error light at her like it was mocking her.
Rosa took a deep breath.
Jake whispered, "Guys, brace for impact."
Rosa roared, "ARGGG!" grabbed the entire printer with both hands, lifted it over her head and slammed it to the ground. The machine exploded into a mess of plastic and wires.
Boyle yelped and took cover behind Jake, who also yelped and took cover behind Terry, who tried to take cover behind Gina.
Gina pushed him back. "No. Terry gets no cover. Terry is a literal tank."
Rosa stomped on the broken printer twice. Then she kicked it so hard it slid across the room and hit a filing cabinet with a loud thunk.
Everyone froze.
Satisfied, she reached into her back pocket, pulled out a handful of crumpled bills and threw them onto the shattered remains.
"That should cover it."
Jake swallowed. "Should... should we call HR or an exorcist?"
Terry shook his head. "No. Terry thinks we should show support. But carefully. Very carefully."
Gina smirked. "Please. Printer deserved it." She pointed at Rosa. "Also, she is absolutely missing her love. Look at her. That is longing rage."
Jake and Boyle grinned and pointed their fingers at Gina. Then said in unison, "Title of your sex tape."
Rosa turned slowly toward them. The entire squad froze.
"What? I'm fine."
Just then, she received a text. She took out her phone and checked it. It was from Ray. She couldn't help but forget all her anger and smile a little before walking toward her desk.
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