A/N: I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post. I had to get a new job because of the pandemic, so I've just been trying to navigate that. Now that I'm getting settled in, I should be able to get some writing done! Thank you to those who have reviewed and been so patient. You guys are awesome.

Enjoy! :)

"So did you get to talk to Cassie yet? Ya know, about all that work stuff you were worried about?" Luca asked as he and Deacon walked into the locker room first thing.

Deacon was thankful the place was pretty much deserted this early in the morning, as he was well aware of the sensitive nature of this conversation.

"Actually, no, I haven't. I was going to last night, but she got called out right at the end of dinner."

Luca smiled wryly and opened his locker. "That's a bit ironic; she gets a call to go into work when you want to talk to her about her overbearing job."

Deacon groaned and stopped what he was doing. "I have no idea how I'm going to be able to talk to her about this. Every scenario I run through ends with me being a hypocritical asshole."

"Your words, not mine," Luca said.

"It needs to happen, though. It's long overdue. I'm not asking her to be a stay-at-home mom, barefoot and pregnant—not that there's anything wrong with that—but I can't keep having her put herself in danger."

"How do you think she feels about you being in danger?"

"I think she's probably used to it. Besides, we train for it—day in, day out. We're prepared for most situations."

"And you think she's not? You've been on the job only a few years longer than her. We all trained together on the same team," Luca emphasized, slapping his knuckles against his opposite palm. "You can do whatever you want, Deke, especially when it comes to your own wife, but I would be really careful with how you approach this."

"I know that! Isn't that what we're talking about here?" Deacon's self-doubt made his frustrations grow.

Luca sighed. "All I can suggest is that it comes from a place of love and equality. You're both at an age where you need to decide if it's the right time to take a different path—not just her."

Deacon frowned. "I love SWAT. I can't imagine doing anything else. I passed up on a promotion five years ago because I wanted to stay with this team."

"Hey, you know I'm not looking to break up the Dream Team, but unfortunately all good things must end..."

On that eerie note, Deacon's cell phone began to ring. He glanced at the Caller ID. "It's her. Hopefully my parents picked up the kids on time..."

"Tell her I say hi," Luca said, turning away to give him some privacy.

Deacon swiped to answer the call. "Hey, babe. Luca says hi, by the way." His smile faded as she spoke quickly, her voice holding a slight tremor. After a few moments, he said, "I'll be right there."

When he turned around, Luca noticed his scowl. "What's wrong?"

"Someone murdered Lieutenant Cole."

Reagan had never seen Cole like this: Surprised, vulnerable, and well...dead. His piercing blue eyes gaped open, as did the slit in his throat. Dried blood stained the entire front of his wrinkled button-up.

That wasn't the most shocking part, though.

A knife, most likely the murder weapon, protruded from his chest. It held a note in place:

HOW IRONIC. TO CALL THESE ASSHOLES MISSING WHEN THEY'RE NOT MISSED.

Reagan glanced at the loose photos that littered Cole's lap and stuck to the crimson puddle on the floor. Her gaze zeroed in on one of the faces in the photos and she recognized him immediately.

Gage Brooker.

If he was anything like his brother, Winston, she had to agree with the note—the world didn't miss him.

But it wasn't her job to judge. Her job was to figure out who did this, so they could be taken before a judge. And while she may have gotten some answers this morning, she'd gained a lot more questions.

How fucking perfect.

Flashes and shutter clicks filled the small space of Cole's office. Dr. Sanderson stepped back to gain another angle.

"So you were the one to find him like this?" he asked.

Reagan uncrossed her arms and put them on her hips, pushing back her blazer. The badge at her hip gleamed under the fluorescent office lights. "Yeah. I'm glad I decided to skip breakfast today."

"You might need it. I think you're in for a long one."

She scoffed. "You think?"

"He's right," Whitney said, joining them. He held up a brown paper bag. Grease spots leaked through. "Got one for you."

Reagan's stomach roiled. "I'll wait on that."

Ignoring their bantering, Sanderson asked, "What time did you leave last night?"

"You mean this morning?" she replied. "I left after Whitney, probably around 2 AM. Cole was still in his office, very much alive." She could picture his red face as he barked into his phone. "I came in at 7 AM, found him like this, and immediately called it in."

"Do you have an estimated time of death?" Whitney asked.

Sanderson tilted his head slightly. "I'd put the TOD around 2 AM..."

Both men glanced at Reagan.

"What?" she said defensively. "I already told you what I saw."

"We know, Kay. I'm just thinking...you might have passed them on the way in," Whitney said, his tone ominous.

Reagan hadn't thought about that. The killer had probably been watching them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She knew she hadn't seen anyone on the way to her car. It was far too early for that—she would have remembered.

Before she could answer, swiftly approaching footsteps broke her train of thought. Someone rested their hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see Deacon. Keeping things semi-professional, he quickly squeezed his hand, slid it down to her low back for a moment, and then let it fall by his side.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. Concentrating once more, she said to the others, "I didn't pass anyone on my way out."

Whitney gestured at Cole. "I doubt they were looking for you anyway. This looks like a targeted hit."

"And an angry one at that," Deacon said, grimacing as his eyes wandered over the knife in Cole's chest.

Whitney pointed at the photos. "Cassie, are these the men you've been looking for?"

Reagan nodded again. "And then some. I don't recognize all of them. But it's safe to say their disappearances are connected to Cole's murder."

"And last night's," Sanderson added, taking another photograph before picking up a picture from the sticky linoleum.

Reagan slipped on a medical glove and took the photo from him. Larry Meyer stared back at her with empty, dead eyes. Frowning, she picked up another photo. While at first it may have looked like the man—Patrick Hayward—was wide-eyed in deep thought, upon closer inspection she realized, no one was home. He was most definitely dead.

Her head spun as she got down and studied each photo. Her breathing quickened.

Whitney must have caught on because a deep line cut through his brow as he asked, "Are these...trophies?"

Reagan didn't look at him. Her eyes met Deacon's and she knew he could read her mind. "We've got a serial killer."

As Deacon began to process that, Chief of Police Malcom Donnelly strode into the office and took in the scene. They all stood to attention, but the chief quickly waved it off.

He proceeded to ask Reagan about the details of the crime scene. When a moment broke in the questioning, Whitney asked, "Chief Donnelly, who is in charge of our department now?"

Donnelly glanced at Reagan. "She is."

Her wide gaze swung around to Deacon, then landed on the chief. "Sir?"

"You're the highest-ranking detective below Cole. I wish this was under better circumstances, but, effective immediately, I'm promoting you to sergeant."

Reagan's mouth opened and closed. Finally deciding on a response, she said, "Thank you, sir, but what about my investigation?" She held out one of the pictures in her gloved hand.

"You'll continue to head the investigation. I want this given priority above all else. We are at your disposal. Whatever you need, it's yours. I need this taken care of promptly and without fail. After that, we'll see to your new duties."

The chief left as quickly as he had arrived, leaving a dead silence in his wake. Whitney cleared his throat.

"So, uh, boss? Do you think we should warn the public?"

Deacon watched Reagan ponder over that, a deep crease cutting through her brow. After being married for so long, he could read her expressions like a book—and right now he didn't need that to know she was floored.

Lightly, she licked her lips and returned her attention to the men around her. Deacon saw her laser-focus kick in.

"No. No, we need to keep this on the down low. It would just cause a panic. First, we need more information. Sanderson? Have you processed Larry Meyer's body yet?"

The forensic doctor shook his head. "I was supposed to do it this morning."

"How quickly can you get that done? Along with Cole's?"

"Without any distractions? I can try for the end of the day."

Reagan nodded. "Then see to it you're not distracted."

When Sanderson began moving once more, orders in place, Whitney spoke up. "And me?"

"I want you to go over the surveillance video from last night-"

"One of the other detectives already tried to pull it up. There's nothing. Whoever did this, shut down the whole system."

Reagan sighed and put a hand on her hip, holding the other to her forehead. "Okay, then have IT look into that. Meanwhile, I'll have you follow up on Mrs. Meyer's evening. A restaurant called Blaze. See if anyone there saw anything suspicious in regards to her and her friends."

"Okay, I can do that, boss."

"You can stop calling me that."

Whitney smirked. "Okay, Sergeant."

Reagan's frown deepened, but Deacon could tell she was slightly amused by the other detective.

Now somewhat alone to talk, he turned to Reagan and held her gaze. "You gonna be okay?"

She shrugged. "I'm going to have to be. I guess this means I'm going to miss Matthew's game later."

"Don't worry about it. I'll get him an ice cream after. That should help."

Reagan offered a meek thank you and Deacon could tell her brain was spinning.

He added, "Like the chief said, we're all at your disposal. You have a breakthrough in the case and need a team to go in with you? We're it. Just let me know."

"Thanks, babe. I really appreciate it." Her smile was tight, but he could tell it was genuine. "I'll call you later."

Avoidance of PDA be damned, Deacon took a step closer and wrapped his arms around Reagan, drawing her close. He whispered a congratulations in her ear and then left her with a fleeting kiss on the forehead.

At the end of the day, Reagan sat alone at her desk and took stock of all that had transpired in the last twelve hours.

She was a sergeant now.

She didn't rank quite as high as Deacon, but close. He was the leader of his team, and now she had to lead her department. Question was, did she want to? It seemed stupid to turn down a promotion, but she'd found pleasure in keeping her head down and doing her own work. Now she had to tell others what to do, and that didn't always sit well with her.

Oh well. Right now she still had the same job to do, and she wouldn't stop until she had her man.

On Reagan's desk, her cell phone buzzed.

"Detec-" She let out a short sigh. "Sergeant Kay..."

"Dr. Sanderson here. I am calling because I finished processing both bodies."

"And?"

"Well, I recovered some DNA from under Larry Meyer's nails. Unfortunately, I didn't get any hits in our database."

"Dammit."

"But I did find out something interesting. The DNA didn't contain a Y chromosome..."

Before he said it, Reagan already knew what that meant.

"I think our serial killer is a woman."