The first week of recon passed in a blur of heat, long hours, and tense silences. Riley found herself alternating shifts between Luke and Detective Derek Jackson, a detective from the guns and gangs division who had been pulled in as part of the extended team on the Warehouse Club operation. The assignment was simple on paper—keep eyes on the place, document who comes and goes, and listen for any chatter. But it quickly became clear that "simple" didn't mean easy.
Luke was all business when they were together, his dark eyes scanning the club through binoculars as they sat in the surveillance van. Even when they weren't speaking, the tension between them was palpable, heavy like the summer humidity that clung to their skin. Luke barely acknowledged her unless it was about the case, and when he did, his voice was clipped, almost impatient.
Riley wanted to confront him about it—demand why he was still so distant after everything. She wanted to call him out for treating her like a rookie. But every time she tried, the words stuck in her throat, drowned out by the ever-present weight of the operation hanging over them.
One evening, she sat next to Luke, scribbling notes in her log as a group of men entered the club. He sat rigid beside her, his broad shoulders tense beneath his dark shirt. He hadn't said a word to her in over an hour, but she could feel the frustration radiating off him like heat from a flame.
"You notice anything off about that group?" Luke finally asked, his voice breaking the silence. He didn't look at her, just kept staring through the binoculars.
Riley squinted through the window. "We saw them in the background of some pictures in the evidence from a homicide here a few years back, right?"
"Yeah." Luke lowered the binoculars, his face still set in that hard, unreadable expression. "Keep watching them."
The conversation ended as quickly as it started. She sighed, leaning back in her seat, wondering if things would ever feel normal between them again.
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Shifts with Detective Jackson, on the other hand, were an entirely different experience. Jackson was in his mid-thirties, tall with an easy smile and a constant air of mischief about him. He had a way of turning even the most mundane recon shifts into some kind of game, much to Luke's dismay.
Jackson would crack jokes or start humming songs under his breath, leaning back in the driver's seat like they were parked at the beach instead of watching a strip club connected to drug trafficking. Riley couldn't help but laugh at his antics sometimes, even when she knew Luke would've scolded him for being unprofessional.
"Gotta keep it light, Torres," Jackson said during one shift, flipping a pack of gum between his fingers as they watched the club. "Otherwise, this job will eat you alive. Trust me."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Pretty sure Luke would strangle you if he heard you talking like that."
"Luke?" Jackson chuckled, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. "That guy is wound so tight, I'm surprised he doesn't snap every time he ties his shoes."
Riley couldn't help but laugh at that, even though she felt a pang of guilt for doing so. "He's just... intense."
"Intense? That's one word for it." Jackson winked at her, then leaned forward, squinting toward the club. "But seriously, you've gotta relax a little. It's a marathon, not a sprint. You keep carrying that tension around like you've got the whole operation on your shoulders, and you'll burn out."
"I'm fine," Riley muttered, though she wasn't entirely sure she believed it herself.
Jackson shot her a knowing look but let it go, leaning back in his seat and humming some pop song she didn't recognize.
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By the end of the week, Riley was exhausted. The shifts had been grueling, both physically and mentally. The back-and-forth between Luke's cold professionalism and Jackson's laid-back attitude was enough to give her emotional whiplash.
Luke, predictably, didn't like Jackson. She had caught a few tense moments between the two during debriefs—Luke glaring at Jackson's easygoing demeanor, while Jackson just shrugged off the tension with a lazy grin. It was clear Luke thought Jackson didn't take the job seriously enough, and he was probably right, but Jackson's flirty banter was a welcome break from the oppressive silence of her shifts with Luke.
One afternoon, as they were finishing up yet another recon shift, Jackson shot her a sideways glance. "You know, Torres, if you ever get tired of Maddox breathing down your neck, there's always room on my team."
"Yeah?" Riley smirked. "And what exactly would I be doing on your team?"
"Oh, you know. Nothing too crazy. Just catching bad guys, solving crimes. Maybe getting coffee now and then." He winked.
Riley laughed, shaking her head. "I'll think about it."
"Do that." Jackson grinned, then tossed her the keys. "Your turn to drive next time. I could use a nap."
Even still, the light-hearted moments with Jackson did little to ease the underlying tension that grew every time Riley and Luke crossed paths. The truth was, she couldn't shake the feeling that Luke was still trying to keep her at arm's length, like he was waiting for her to mess up. And it was starting to wear her down.
On the last day of the week, after hours of sitting in silence with Luke, Riley couldn't take it anymore.
"What's your problem, Luke?" she finally asked, staring out the window as the club's neon sign flickered in the distance.
He didn't look at her, his jaw tight. "What are you talking about?"
"You've barely said two words to me all week. You're acting like you don't even want me here."
Luke sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "This isn't about wanting you here, Riley. This is about keeping you alive."
"I know what I'm doing," she snapped. "I'm not some rookie who needs to be coddled."
"You're not being coddled. You're being protected," Luke said, finally turning to face her. His eyes were hard, but there was something else there too—something that looked like fear. "There's a difference."
Riley stared at him, her frustration bubbling up again, but before she could respond, her radio crackled to life, pulling both of their attention away from their conversation.
"We have a possible break and enter at the grocery store on Waller street. All other units are unavailable. Maddox, Torres, please advise."
For now, at least, the argument would have to wait.
YOU ARE READING
Blurred Lines
Romance"I made a promise to always be there for you," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "And you're making it impossible for me to keep it." She froze at the door, her back to him, her heart pounding in her chest. The words hung in the air like a weig...
