Commander Alicia had never imagined Ryan would be this hostile to the idea of going undercover.
What she didn't know was that, in his previous life, Ryan had watched far too many "undercover-cop" movies and dramas.He understood one unbreakable rule:
Undercover work never ends well.
That's why big shots love recruiting straight out of police academies.Newbies aren't just "face-fresh."They're naïve—easy to fool and easier to sacrifice.
That bastard Dylan… Ryan cursed silently. If the DHS director keeps pestering me, I might just put a .50-cal round through his skull.
Master-level sniping record? 3,500 meters?Please. That would be his starting distance.
"Commander, I'm not interested in the DHS. Tell him there are plenty of ex-military guys desperate to play spy."
With that, Ryan spun on his heel and left the precinct.
Alicia sighed, picked up her phone, and dialed Director Dylan of the DHS Los Angeles field office.
An Unexpected Call
Ryan had barely stepped outside when his phone rang—an unfamiliar number.
"DHS?" he muttered, answering.
A hearty laugh came through the speaker. "Officer Ryan Li—the future star detective! Dylan White, DHS L.A. director, at your service."
Ryan's lip curled.
"Even if you were the president, I still wouldn't take that undercover gig.""I'm on administrative leave, you know. Bye."
He was about to hang up when Dylan's panicked voice barked:
"Wait! Have you ever heard of a license to kill?"
Ryan paused.
"You mean, like the movies?"
Dylan exhaled in relief—Ryan was interested.
Damn, after losing a dozen undercover agents, I have to beg this street cop…
"Let's meet," Dylan said quickly. "Coffee shop three blocks from the station."
Coffee with DHS
Twenty minutes later, Ryan was nursing an espresso when a balding white man with a cowboy mustache hurried in.
"Ryan, pleasure! Dylan White." He offered a warm handshake.
Ryan merely raised an eyebrow. No boot-licking.
"Tell me about that 'license to kill.'"
If it was what he thought, he did need it.
The system literally paid him to eliminate scum.But as a city cop, every trigger pull cost him seven days of suspension—and mountains of paperwork.
Plus, every activist group in America loved to meddle, screaming "human-rights violation" at the drop of a hat.
Dylan cleared his throat. "The DHS isn't the FBI. They chase everything; we have one mandate: national security—counter-intel, counter-terror."
"That means our field officers fire their weapons often. As long as the op itself is legit, no endless reviews."
He leaned forward. "Our analysts have studied your file. Zero tolerance for criminals, lethal decisiveness. They say shooting will be your 'new normal'—but the blowback will be huge."
"Take last night: you killed ninety-three traffickers. The DA's office and your own IA unit are prepping the harshest inquiry.""And the so-called 'human-rights collective' wants to brand you a war criminal."
Ryan's eyes narrowed.
The DA and Internal Affairs he could accept—part of the job.But that "human-rights collective"? Who the hell were they?
Try to put me behind bars… and I'll put you behind a scope.
Dylan felt a chill crawl up his spine.Ryan's murderous aura wasn't aimed at him, but it was real.
The shrink was right—this guy truly treats criminals like livestock.
Swallowing, Dylan pressed on.
"I can sign you as a DHS Special Intelligence Operative—full benefits, and, yes, a standing shoot-to-kill authorization during sanctioned missions."
"Plus, we'll make all your current legal problems… disappear."
Ryan admitted he was tempted.One clause—free-fire immunity—would erase tons of future headaches.
"And this undercover job—does it take me out of town? I hate traveling."
Dylan brightened. "Not at all. Right here in L.A."
"But you'll need to sign an NDA first."
Ryan skimmed the document. A few minor traps, nothing lethal. He signed.
"Talk."
Dylan beamed. "Your target is the Los Angeles shadow cell of an extremist terror organization."
Undercover in a terror ring? Ryan chuckled darkly.
"Buddy, that kind of undercover… even a dog wouldn't do for free."