Page 42 of Secrets in the Dark

Tommy's face contorted with rage. "You son of a—"

He never finished the sentence. With shocking speed for a man in handcuffs, he jackknifed upward, driving his shoulder into my midsection. The unexpected impact sent me stumblingbackward. Tommy scrambled to his feet, hands still cuffed behind his back and charged toward Celia.

"If I'm going down, so is she!"

Time slowed. I registered several things at once: Tommy's trajectory aimed to knock Celia over the catwalk railing. My gun, holstered during the cuffing process. The distance between us—too far to close in time.

Celia's hand plunged into her costume pocket. No time to second-guess. One last chance. In one fluid motion, she flung something directly into Tommy's face—a second pouch of flash powder. The chemicals ignited on contact, momentarily blinding both Tommy and me with a searing white burst that burned away all vision.

I lunged forward blindly, tackling his legs as he stumbled. We crashed against the catwalk railing, the metal groaning under the impact. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought we'd both go over the edge, plummeting to the concrete floor thirty feet below.

Then Celia was there, grabbing my collar, helping anchor us to the walkway. Together, we subdued Tommy again, this time securing his legs with zip ties from my pocket.

"Nice throw," I managed, blinking away the aftereffects of the flash, colorful spots still dancing across my vision.

"Val insisted I carry spares," she replied, her voice steadier now. "For emergencies."

The sound of boots pounding on metal interrupted us. The catwalk door burst open as Murphy and Torres—two of my undercover officers—rushed in, weapons drawn, tactical vests emblazoned with police insignia.

"Detective Kane!" Murphy called, quickly assessing the scene. "Status?"

"Secure," I replied, gesturing to Tommy and the wounded Enzo. "Primary target subdued. Secondary wounded but contained. What's the situation at the Crown?"

"Team in place. They're securing evidence now." Torres moved to take custody of Tommy while Murphy checked Enzo. "Operation successful. Five arrests including Gianna Bianchi, multiple bagmen, and two couriers. Cash, ledgers, and electronic evidence seized."

Relief washed through me. After eleven months undercover, we'd finally done it. The Licata operation was dismantled, Tommy Lace in custody, and the evidence chain secured.

"This isn't over," Tommy spat as Torres hauled him to his feet. "You think Vincent doesn't have contingency plans? You think you got everybody?"

I ignored him, turning instead to Celia. "Are you okay?"

She stood apart from the activity, arms wrapped around herself, watching with an expression I couldn't quite read. A smear of blood had dried on her neck, and her stage makeup was streaked with sweat and tears. Yet somehow, with her hair wild and costume in disarray, she looked more authentic than she ever had as Nova.

"Physically? Yes."

The unspoken implication—that emotionally, she was far from okay—wasn't lost on me. I stepped closer, keeping my voice low. "I wanted to tell you."

"But you couldn't," she finished. "The mission came first. I understand."

"The mission and your safety," I corrected. "If you'd known I was law enforcement—"

"I might have trusted you sooner?" A hint of the fire I'd come to admire flashed in her eyes. "Instead of thinking I was completely alone?"

I had no good answer for that. She was right. The operational security I'd maintained had left her isolated and vulnerable, even after I'd recognized she was in danger.

Before I could respond, Detective Aria Chen appeared at the catwalk entrance, her tactical vest emblazoned with LVMPD insignia. Her short black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her expression was all business.

"Kane," she called. "We need you at the Dragon's Crown. There's something you should see."

"Go," Celia said, stepping back. "You have a job to finish."

I hesitated, torn between duty and the desperate need to explain myself to this woman who'd somehow become much more than just a civilian in my investigation.

"I'll find you," I promised. "When this is done. We need to talk—properly."

She nodded once, then turned away.

The Dragon's Crown lounge had transformed from exclusive VIP sanctuary to crime scene in less than fifteen minutes. Our tactical team was already busy cataloging evidence, securing suspects, and documenting the scene. The opulent space—all jade-colored velvet and gold accents—now hummed with radio chatter and camera flashes.

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