No warrants came through. Instead, the chief of police received a visit from the minister of police and Jack Phelps himself. No less than twelve lawyers, a judge, and men dressed like Feds accompanied them.

Three hours passed and when the visitors left, Chief Winston, Hoight, and Detective Boss all emerged from the conference room, looking grim.

"This is not good," Colt muttered, leaning back in her chair as she watched the procession going through to the boardroom.

Gillian silently agreed. The Chief seemed an inch away from a full heart attack. Hoight appeared to have shrunk a little, and defeat pressed heavily on his broad shoulders. The tightness of Detective Boss' jaw, the strain in his shoulders, his fisted hands, and his set expression hid emotions he dared not show.

"Detectives Boss and Colt, we were taken officially off the Club Killer case. Hand over your files to the FBI when they arrive," Chief Winston bit out each word as if it offended him. "The case is out of our hands and our jurisdiction."

The trim, military-type man looked like he carried too many burdens and supposedly put in his papers for early retirement.

Hoight's gaze roamed over them, and Gillian felt at a loss. They were geared for action, ready to do their jobs, but with their orders suddenly canceled, she was not the only one having trouble accepting that a man could just swoop in and derail the wheels of justice to fit in with his plans.

Hoight took a deep breath, nodded at them to do as they were told, and disappeared into his office, the door clicking shut with controlled force.

Detective Boss didn't say a word. He turned to his desk, sat down, and slammed his fist down on the desk, startling everyone, and it was unexpected: Boss wasn't prone to violence.

Colt gritted her teeth, worry shadowing her gaze as she took charge of the situation.

***

Less than an hour later, the Feds arrived and loaded the files. They took every last shred of physical evidence, searched the database, and deleted every case file.

They collected the phones, cameras, and recorders of every officer connected to the case and cleaned them of all evidence, debriefing everyone before they left.

Their message wasn't hard to understand: anybody who let the cat out of the bag would lose their job and find themselves in federal prison for defeating the ends of justice, after which the whole unit would be disbanded.

The instant the Feds left the building, the stunned, fuming silence turned to chaos. Everyone started venting all at once, and the negative energy in the room was almost palpable.

"Shut up!" Senior Detective Boss' voice boomed over them all, and the return of silence was instant as all eyes turned to his desk.

"It's finished, and we were out of our league. Go home and take a day off." His gaze rested on each of them, and slowly, each one nodded and obeyed.

***

Gillian packed her things and readied herself to go home, not oblivious to the quiet mutterings of her colleagues.

"This is fucked up," Colt said, restoring order to her desk. "It's on days like this, I know I should have listened to my mother and picked another career."

"What would you have done if you didn't become a cop?" Gillian asked curiously

"I have no idea. This was not plan B for me. I wanted to be a cop since my mom bought me a toy badge for Halloween when I was five. Why did you become a cop?"

"It's the path my life took, and it wasn't what I pictured for myself," Gillian admitted with a grimace, "this isn't even plan B or C or D, to be honest."

Her words sparked Colt's curiosity, but she'd already said too much.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"I'm bushed, have a good evening," Gillian avoided the question, and it wasn't wise. She could almost see Colt making a mental note of her evasiveness as she picked up her bag and nodded at her boss.

***

There were no reports on the news, no arrest was made, and they all knew in their hearts that Jacob Phelps got away with murder by Monday.

The Mendez family disappeared over the border into Mexico. The 'fancy' locksmith and his wife were robbed and assaulted, and they moved back to Poland almost overnight.

Bettie briefly escaped her protectors only to be found in an alley, raped, and strangled. No one dared say a word, but the whole thing was like the elephant in the room.

Jack Phelps and his people were everywhere they turned, like a taunt or a slap in the face. They were on billboards, on the radio, the television, and in the media, painting themselves as blameless perfect patriots. It was nauseating and scary.

Three detectives left the division, two for less stressful jobs and one on early retirement. They were desperately shorthanded, which turned out to be both a blessing and a curse because they had no time to mull or to sleep.

Gillian also got more on-the-job training than most police officers got in years.

***

When the next batch of untested detectives arrived, no one even thought to complain. Neither was anyone surprised when two of them didn't last the week.

It wasn't a division most cops would choose. It chewed people up and spat them out, and it took a certain kind of person to get back up and go ask for more.

Yet the weight of what happened remained as much as everyone tried to ignore it. They worked on other cases, caught killers, and closed cases, but the Phelps case haunted them all.

What was the point of justice when it didn't apply equally to everyone? Gillian left her world behind because of this kind of thing, yet nothing had changed but the players and the arena.

Yes, she was less constrained in her role as Officer Beaumont, but in other ways, she was more constrained. She only appreciated that there was less pressure on her to be perfect, controlled, and completely obedient to the will of others at all times.

She could go home and just be herself. If she wanted to lounge around in shorts and a crop top watching Netflix and eating pizza, it was her choice. She wasn't permanently on display for others to judge.

If she wanted to go to the gym, beat the piss out of a punching bag, go hiking in the mountains, or go out to a club, she didn't have to ask for permission and have ten people watching over her. She was free to be herself more than she had ever been, and it was almost intoxicating.

Yes, being the only vampire in a human world was not fun. She had to keep her pose as Gillian Beaumont, human, every minute she wasn't alone, but it wasn't nearly as stressful as being her father's daughter had been with the weight of expectation crushing her.