Chapter Text
The first sign that the trip was going to be a disaster came when Lieutenant Provenza walked into the bullpen wearing his white bucket hat and a Hawaiian shirt…and not a subtle one, either.
Bright blue. Massive orange flowers. Wrinkled khaki shorts exposing more pale leg than anyone in Major Crimes had ever consented to seeing.
Brenda looked up from her desk, blinked once, and immediately covered her eyes with one hand.
“Sweet baby Jesus that’s wrong,” Brenda muttered under her breath.
“I’m on vacation,” Provenza informed her proudly.
“You are at work,” she said.
“Not emotionally,” he countered, and Flynn chuckled.
Across the room, Buzz looked up from the camera equipment he was carefully organizing into padded cases.
“It’s technically a work assignment,” he said helpfully.
“Thank you, Buzz,” Brenda sighed. “At least somebody here understands professionalism.”
Provenza snorted. “Says the woman bringing six hats.”
“That is sun protection.”
“That is millinery abuse.”
Brenda ignored him, rifling through the stack of travel documents on her desk instead. Most of the bullpen looked more like a travel agency exploded than an active homicide division. Garment bags hung from chairs. Duffel bags sat under desks. Tao had printed a six-page packet titled Marine Weather Patterns and Emergency Water Safety that absolutely no one had any intention of reading.
Sanchez stood near the coffee machine quietly examining a brochure.
Flynn glanced over.
“What’re you looking at?”
“Fish.”
“…Fish.”
“Caribbean reef fish.”
Flynn stared at him a moment. “You know we’re transporting a federal witness, right?”
Sanchez shrugged calmly. “Still got fish there.”
“This ought to be interesting,” Gabriel muttered quietly.
The past few months had been brutal. Endless hours. Political pressure from downtown. What had begun as a single homicide had steadily expanded into a sprawling corruption investigation involving contractors, city officials, missing federal funds, and several increasingly inconvenient murders.
The surviving witness—the one person capable of tying the entire thing together—had become so terrified after agreeing to cooperate that he’d fled the continental United States altogether.
And underneath all of that sat the growing, unspoken strain in Brenda’s marriage.
Nothing dramatic. No screaming matches. No betrayals. Just the slow exhaustion of two people who loved each other while somehow making one another increasingly unhappy anyway.
Fritz hated the corners Brenda cut, the moral gymnastics, the way her job consumed every available piece of her life. Brenda, meanwhile, had begun to feel perpetually scrutinized—as though every instinct that made her good at her work was also the very thing that disappointed her husband.
Lately it felt like they spent more time trying not to argue than actually enjoying each other.
The trip had quietly become something both of them viewed as a chance to breathe for a few days. A reset. Some space.
Which was also why Brenda had felt an undeniable wave of relief when she learned Fritz had quietly removed himself from consideration for the assignment.
The Bureau had ultimately decided the safest option was to move the witness quietly between islands aboard a privately chartered vessel before extraction to Miami. There would be less visibility. Fewer official records. Smaller chance of anyone anticipating the route.
Which was how Major Crimes had somehow ended up preparing for several days in the Caribbean alongside the FBI.
Brenda still wasn’t entirely sure why she herself had to physically accompany the transfer, except apparently the witness trusted her. Which honestly felt manipulative. …Although the “relaxing cruise through the Caribbean” part softened the blow somewhat.
At least until she saw the addendum on the operation order.
CAPTAIN SHARON RAYDOR — FID OVERSIGHT.
Brenda had actually shouted “Oh, hell,” out loud in the middle of the murder room.
Now everyone was paying for it.
“Do we know if Raydor’s actually staying onboard with us the whole time?” Flynn asked carefully.
“No, Flynn. Once she’s satisfied nobody’s violating procedure, she’s gonna throw herself overboard and swim back to Los Angeles,” said Provenza derisively.
Collective groaning ensued.
Buzz looked up again. “I think Captain Raydor is pretty nice.”
“She is not nice,” Brenda informed him immediately.
“She saved Provenza from that complaint last year,” Buzz pointed out.
Provenza nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, but in a judgmental way.”
“Everything she does is judgmental,” Brenda muttered.
The elevator doors opened.
And like God himself had heard them running their mouths, Sharon Raydor stepped into the bullpen.
Silence dropped instantly.
Even Provenza straightened reflexively.
Sharon paused near the entrance, taking in the room with one measured sweep of her eyes.
“…Lieutenant Provenza,” she said finally. “That shirt appears to be committing a crime.”
Flynn burst out laughing so hard he nearly spilled coffee on himself.
Provenza looked deeply betrayed.
Brenda hated—hated—that the corner of her mouth twitched at that.
Sharon looked immaculate as always in a dark fitted suit despite the June heat outside, a slim case file tucked beneath one arm.
Professional. Controlled. Perfect.
Exhausting.
Her gaze shifted toward Brenda.
“Chief Johnson.”
“Captain Raydor.”
There it was—that weird static in the air every time they spoke lately. It wasn’t exactly bad. More like…charged. Like both of them were perpetually bracing for impact.
Sharon crossed further into the bullpen.
“I’ve reviewed the transport itinerary,” she said. “There are still concerns regarding chain-of-custody documentation during the island transfer.”
“Mhmm.”
“And I’d like clarification regarding the witness handling procedures—”
“Now see,” Brenda interrupted, leaning back in her chair, “this right here is why nobody likes Internal Affairs.”
Gabriel closed his eyes briefly. Tao looked at the ceiling. Buzz quietly reached for one of his cameras like a wildlife documentarian sensing danger.
But Sharon only regarded Brenda calmly.
“Good morning to you too.”
And for some reason that almost-smile tugging at the corner of Sharon’s mouth made Brenda feel abruptly…warm.
A little too warm for her liking.
She loosened her blazer slightly.
It was probably stress. Or her dagblasted traitorous hormones. Or maybe she was getting sick.
“Yes well,” Brenda said briskly, “if we are quite finished terrorizing my squad before nine in the morning—”
“Our flight leaves at eleven,” Sharon interrupted smoothly. “I’d suggest less time arguing and more time preparing.”
Then she turned and walked toward the conference room.
Perfect posture, perfect hair…the captain was controlled in that infuriating way Sharon Raydor always was—as though she moved through the world half an inch above everyone else’s chaos.
Brenda suddenly wanted to throw something at her.
The bullpen remained silent until the door swung shut.
Then Provenza exhaled heavily.
“She scares me.”
“She doesn’t scare you,” Flynn said.
“She makes me feel like I should apologize for things I haven’t done yet.”
Brenda rubbed tiredly at her forehead.
For reasons she could not entirely explain, her pulse still felt slightly strange.
*
The private marina south of Miami looked less like the staging point for a federal witness transfer and more like the beginning of somebody’s extremely expensive deep sea fishing vacation.
The ocean glittered brilliantly beyond the docks beneath a cloudless sky. Salt hung thick in the humid air alongside the smell of fuel and sunbaked wood.
For one dangerous second, Brenda actually felt herself relax a little.
Then Provenza groaned beside her.
“Oh no.”
Brenda adjusted the brim of her hat against the wind. “What now?”
He pointed farther down the dock.
“Well there’s your first problem…” Provenza muttered.
Two FBI agents stood near the charter vessel talking with Captain Raydor. All three women appeared to be getting along exceptionally well. One of the agents laughed at something Sharon said, while the other stood smiling beside her.
“They actually seem to like Raydor.”
The vessel itself was larger than Brenda had expected—not luxurious exactly, but sleek enough to make the city budget paperwork mildly suspicious. White hull. Two decks. Enough room for everyone to spend several days trapped together without committing homicide.
Hopefully.
One of the agents noticed them approaching and stepped forward.
She was extremely tall, with pretty brown eyes and dark curls that were pulled back beneath a pair of sunglasses resting atop her head. She carried herself with the kind of fast-moving New York energy Brenda could somehow detect before the woman even spoke.
“Chief Johnson?” she called.
“Mhmm.”
The woman shook Brenda’s hand firmly.
“Special Agent Lopez, but you can call me Allie,” she said. “And this is Special Agent McCarthy.”
The second woman smiled warmly, close-cropped hair framing an open, beautiful smile that somehow immediately put Brenda at ease.
“Alexis,” she said, taking Brenda’s hand and giving it a polite squeeze.
“It is real nice finally meeting y’all,” she added. The soft Southern cadence in her voice caught Brenda off guard immediately. “I’ve been hearin’ stories about Major Crimes for weeks now leading up to this trip.”
Brenda blinked once.
“…You’re Southern.”
Alexis laughed lightly. “South Carolina born and raised.”
“Well how about that,” Brenda said before she could stop herself. “Nobody warned me there’d be another one of us out here.”
“Allie says she can always tell when I’m talking to my mama over the phone because my accent gets twice as thick,” said Alexis.
“That’s because five minutes talking with her family and suddenly she sounds like she should be selling peach cobbler on a front porch somewhere,” Allie informed her.
Alexis grinned. “Listen, the Appalachian jumps out a little when I talk to my people. It’s true! You get me talkin’ to my mama too long and suddenly I sound like I should be quilting somewhere. I wholeheartedly admit it.”
The group shared a chuckle.
Suddenly, Allie’s attention shifted abruptly toward Provenza and his attire.
“…Okay but nobody prepared me for that.”
Provenza looked offended immediately.
“I’m on vacation.”
“You look like a piña colada gained sentience.”
Flynn barked out a laugh.
Even Brenda’s mouth twitched slightly.
“Oh, I like her,” Flynn said.
Allie looked him over once, quick and unapologetic.
“Yeah,” she said easily. “I can see that.”
Flynn raised an interested eyebrow.
Gabriel immediately looked exhausted.
“Oh brother,” he muttered quietly.
Alexis sighed toward Brenda with the calm weariness of someone who had clearly witnessed this dynamic many times before.
“She starts flirtin’ when she’s bored. Long flights make it worse.”
“I do not.”
“Girl, you asked a TSA supervisor for his number three hours ago.”
“He was handsome and authoritative. I’m only human.”
Flynn looked delighted.
Meanwhile Sharon, still several yards away near the boarding ramp, lowered her sunglasses slightly and regarded the entire group with visible skepticism.
“Chief Johnson,” Sharon called calmly, “is this what professionalism looks like in Major Crimes?”
Brenda sighed heavily.
They had not even left Florida yet and already she could feel a stress headache forming behind her eyes.
“Captain Raydor,” Brenda called back sweetly, “if you’re lookin’ for more professionalism than this, I believe the Coast Guard’s hirin’.”
Sharon’s mouth twitched faintly behind her sunglasses.
“Noted,” she said dryly.
Sharon turned back toward the vessel, already slipping effortlessly back into business mode.
“We should board soon,” she said. “Agent Lopez says the witness is becoming agitated again.”
The humor around the group dimmed slightly at that. As if on cue, movement briefly appeared near the upper deck railing.
A man in his fifties stepped hesitantly into view before seeming to think better of it almost immediately. Pale. Sweating through his shirt despite the ocean breeze. His eyes scanned the marina with the frantic alertness of somebody expecting death to arrive at any moment.
Then, for one terrible instant, the man’s gaze locked directly onto Brenda. Relief flooded his expression so visibly it almost startled her.
Oh Lord. He trusted her.
Brenda already had a bad feeling about that.