Traitor, The (6 page)
"So, Ms. Torres." Agent Hashemi leaned back in his
chair and let the words hang as she moved back to stand behind the
straight-backed guest chair. She glanced around the office, noting the relative
plush of his office compared with her own meager, cramped one.
Clearly Hashemi expected her to fill in the unspoken blanks.
She shifted her position, gripped the back of the chair, and put on her best
prosecuting attorney's look. "Agent Hashemi," she countered.
Except for his initial reaction, the federal agent was a
cool one. He now sat in front of her as relaxed and unruffled as if they'd
never met, as if nothing had ever happened between them. She'd give him points
for his professionalism. The opposite of her, where every cell in her body
worked double time to control her emotions.
The sense of betrayal that sucker punched her the moment
Mrs. Roberts had announced her, hit again like a mortal blow. Trying not to
betray her agitation, she gripped the chair more tightly to keep him from
noticing her trembling hands. And to keep him from looking down at her.
Over the years, when interrogating suspects, she'd learned
to stand over them to indicate her superiority. Right now she needed to feel
she had more power than Agent Hashemi, even if it were an illusion. She'd get
down to brass tacks, but she'd make him work for every scrap of information.
Rafe cracked first. She had hoped he would. She was very,
very good at the power play game. However, his voice was all reason and
rationale when he spoke. "Should we continue now that the awkward part is
out of the way?"
Rafe. She had to stop thinking of him as Ashraf, call me
Rafe. The shortened name reminded her of how she'd groaned his name aloud. She
shook her head abruptly and prayed the color in her cheeks didn't betray her
thoughts. "That's probably a good idea."
She reached for the briefcase she'd left by the chair,
propped it open on the edge of his desk, and extracted a thin file. She pushed
it across the desk to Agent Hashemi. Watched him frown and heft it in his hand,
noting the weight of it. He stood and sat on the edge of his desk, their eyes
nearly on the same level. He looked first at the folder then at her and back
again to the file. "The Diego Vargas report?"
She nodded.
After a long moment, he opened the manila folder and quickly
perused the contents. It didn't take long. "What's this?" he grated
out, slapping the file down on his desk.
Bella forced sarcasm into her voice. "Isn't it obvious?"
His face burned under the burnished color of his skin and he
drummed his fingers on the desktop. "Where's the rest?"
"It's all there," she answered pointing to the
meager file, "all the official stuff. Any other material on Vargas is work
product. My
personal
work product." She watched the truth dawn on
him. She didn't really need to add the rest, but she did anyway. "I'm not
required to turn over work product to anyone." She paused and smiled
sweetly. "Not even to the federal government."
Hashemi eyed her with irritation and reached for his phone. "We're
not on opposite sides concerning Vargas, you know."
She raised her eyebrows, and he shook his head as if dealing
with a recalcitrant child.
"You know it'll take less than a minute to get what I
need," he threatened, his voice mild but his jaw clenched.
"Maybe, maybe not," Bella replied. "Charles
Barrington may eventually coerce me into giving you the rest, but do you really
want your investigation to stall that long?"
Rafe didn't like the smug look on her face. If she wanted to
play hardball, she would learn he'd invented the game. "What makes you
think your information's that important. You sound pretty sure of yourself."
"I am. I have to be." She shrugged slender
shoulders. "A woman in a man's world and all that."
He let his right hand relax on the phone and tapped the
skimpy file with his left. "Are you trying to tell me that you have no
other official notes except what's in here?"
She nodded, as if satisfied with the strength of her
position, and sat down, crossing her legs at the knees and tucking her skirt
around them like a prissy school teacher.
Rafe didn't like the game she was playing, but he'd bet he
was better at it than her. He was curious about only one thing. Why would she
lead an investigation in this impractical way? Wouldn't it be easier for her to
copy her notes and pass on the originals to him? Run a quiet parallel
investigation of Vargas? Why make a big fuss over jurisdiction when she had to
know she'd lose in the end? What was her hidden agenda?
He eyed her speculatively. "What about the rest of your
investigative team? The cops' reports, witness interviews?"
While Isabella stared at her lap, Rafe's intuition told him
she was wondering how much to tell him. And that fact informed him she was
holding back much more information than he'd initially supposed. She flat out
didn't trust him. He didn't trust her either, but her hesitation pissed him
off. "Look, sooner or later I'll get everything. Why not cooperate with
me?"
"What's in it for me?"
He knew what she meant and it sounded like blackmail. She
wanted to continue on the investigation. He considered what it would cost him
and how much she could compromise the direction he was taking the case if he
didn't cooperate with her. On the other hand, did he really want to work with
her? See her every day? That seemed like a recipe for disaster.
He almost decided to tell her she could go to hell, but
thought about how he needed to switch his headquarters anyway. Diego Vargas
lived in Sacramento and Rafe would have to fly up to Bigler County, which
bordered on Sacramento County, right away. He suspected Vargas' drug dealings
had their origins up north, not here this close to the Mexican border. At
least, that was part of his latest strategy – he didn't think Vargas was
getting his drugs from Mexico.
"I won't promise anything, but maybe we can work something
out," he finally answered, sliding back from his desk. At the surprised
look on her face, he added. "No promises. Understood?"
"Absolutely." She smiled like a child who'd gotten
away with something on Daddy's watch.
He had the distinct feeling she'd just played him. What the
hell had he gotten himself into? Isabella Torres was much craftier than he'd
thought. "Now what about the rest of those documents?"
She grinned. "They'll be waiting for you when you
arrive in Sacramento."
"Our Mr. Vargas has his fingers in a hell of a lot of
enterprises," he said, pulling out his own thick book on Vargas and
watching her eyes grow larger. "What particular part of his criminal
activities are you looking at?"
Before she could respond, the noisy buzz of a cell phone
sounded inside his pocket. He reached inside his jacket and removed it, held up
a forefinger to forestall her answer, and flipped it open. A feeling of relief
surged through him.
Lupe Rodriquez. Thank God.
He'd already beaten himself up over ignoring his intuition
in the alley and getting the two of them assaulted. Since then, an irrational
idea had begun to worry him, the thought that the blood in the alley belonged
to Lupe Rodriquez and Rafe was guilty of not protecting his informant better.
"Sorry, I need to take this." He swiveled his
chair toward the window, his back to Torres. "Lupe, what the hell ...
" he barked into the phone before being interrupted.
It was Lupe's phone but not Lupe's voice.
"Lupe's not here anymore." A deep voice with a
slight accent.
"Who the hell is this? Where's Lupe?"
The voice ignored the question. "Lupe's not anywhere
anymore. And you should be very careful,
amigo,
or you might be next."
The cell phone went dead in his hand.
"What's wrong?" Isabella asked, her finely arched
brows drawing together at the sharp sound of his response. "Lupe – that's the
man who was with you in the bar last night, isn't it?"
He couldn't answer her, couldn't even look at her. If
anything had happened to Lupe because Rafe had been ... God, he didn't want to
think about the possibility.
"Is this about what happened last night?" Her
voice sharpened to a razor's edge of frustration and curiosity.
Rafe made his face as hard and glacial as the spot in the
middle of his chest felt. "How can you ask about something like that now?"
Her face flushed prettily and somehow that made him angrier.
Lupe might be dead and she was thinking of their tryst? Irrational to blame
her, he knew, and so he clenched his jaw to keep from making a complete jackass
out of himself.
Understanding dawned on her and her words stumbled over
themselves. "Oh God, no. I didn't mean that. I meant the attack in the
alley."
"Sorry," he said shortly, annoyed with himself for
having thought the worst of her. Irritated that his own mind had gone to sex
first.
"What's wrong," she asked again, her voice more
insistent this time.
But he ignored the question, grabbed his cell phone, and
speed-dialed Detective Max Jensen. He turned his back on her for the second
time in as many minutes.
"Yeah?" Max's voice seemed distracted.
"Can you hurry up the forensics on that blood?" Rafe
looked over his shoulder to see Isabella leaning across the desk, her brow
furrowed in concentration.
Eavesdropper.
"Fuck you, Hashish," Max returned good naturedly. "No
greeting, no hello? And here I thought your eleven o'clock appointment was
about getting laid."
"Why would you think that?"
"Duh. Maybe because the woman I saw when I left your
office was exactly your type? Porcelain skin, hair like a Hershey's chocolate
bar. Oh, and the legs, don't forget the legs, man."
Damn Max's powers of observation. "Cut the poetic crap."
Rafe lowered his voice. "The blood in the alley might belong to Lupe."
"Aw, fuck me!" Max was the only person who knew
Lupe was a C.I. for the DEA, and he knew that only because he and Rafe had been
friends since college and were still tight. Lupe's safety depended on complete
anonymity. Rafe's too.
"Sure, buddy, right away. I'll get on it immediately."
Max hesitated, his voice strained. "But Rafe?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about it, okay? It's probably just the
animal blood anyway. Lupe's smart."
"Yeah, sure. You're right. But, Max, just in case ...
"
"I'll get right back to you."
Max hung up with a click, and Rafe sat staring at the phone
in his hand.
When he turned around to face Isabella, he worked hard to
keep the emotion from his face. Lupe had been his C.I. for almost three years,
infiltrating Vargas' gang and passing the information on to the DEA.
He swiped his hand across his face. He needed a shave, he
thought irrelevantly. He looked at Isabella, momentarily forgetting why she sat
opposite him and what she wanted. She lifted her brows expectantly.
And then he recalled that Lupe had a pregnant girlfriend and
...
Jesus!
But there was nothing he could do about Lupe or his
girlfriend right now.
The low rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he'd
missed breakfast this morning. "I'm leaving," he said abruptly,
replacing his cell phone in his jacket and striding toward the office door.
When he looked back, Isabella still sat there, turning to stare at him. "Well,
come on," he snapped. "If you want to work this case with me, you'll
have to move faster than that."
Max would check out the blood and call him back as soon as he
knew anything. Rafe couldn't worry about Lupe now.
Bella waited until the outer office door slammed behind Rafe
with a resounding thwack. Who did he think he was, issuing orders like that? Usually
she was the one telling people what to do.
She didn't want to follow him like a puppy, but she'd do
anything to stay involved in the Diego Vargas case. She'd won the first round.
Better to put her pride aside for the moment. She jumped up and scrambled after
him, leaving her briefcase unlocked on the floor.
For Maria's sake, she told herself.
The sudden image of her dead sister and the last time she'd
ever seen her popped into her head. Seven-year-old Bella was hugging her sister's
neck with pudgy hands. Maria was laughing and kissing her sticky fingers and
mouth. "Hey, baby-girl, it's only a week," Maria had said. "And
I'll be back before you know it."
"Don't go, Casa," Bella begged, using her pet name
for her older sister. "I'll miss you so much."
Maria pulled her sister away and knelt beside her, hands on
her shoulders. "I'm all grown up and graduated high school now, Button. I
worked hard to get this celebration trip. You don't want me to miss it, do you?"
Bella's lower lip trembled and tears spilled down her baby
cheeks. "N – no," she muttered.
"I'm coming back, Button. I promise you."
But Maria hadn't come back and she'd never kept her promise
to her baby sister.
Bella caught up with Rafe at the elevator banks just as the
doors were closing. "Whoa, there, buster," she said, sticking her
handbag through the opening and alerting the sensor. The elevator doors bounced
open again and she stepped inside. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
Rafe slanted a look at her from the corner of his eye. A
look that said he'd not only like to see the last of her for good, but he'd
also take pleasure in strangling her. Then he turned his attention to the
closed elevator doors, a worried frown between his dark brows.
The two of them descended in silence to the lower level
where he stepped out into the spaciousness of a vast underground parking
garage. He strode to the left where parked cars waited in designated spaces.
His assigned space read, "Director DEA," on a big, blue sign attached
to a pole, like a handicapped space.
As Rafe bleeped off the car alarm, Bella couldn't help
quipping, "Director, huh? The whole damn Drug Enforcement Agency. That's
pretty impressive."
"Don't be a smart-ass. Get in."
"Where are we going?"
Rafe glared at her over the top of the car. "It's
lunchtime. Don't know about you, but I'm hungry." He got in the car,
started the ignition, and pulled out sharply just as Bella shut her car door.
Not big on fastening seat belts apparently.
Bella felt a momentary pang of regret at resorting to
trickery and snide comments to get what she wanted from him. She wished the A.
Hashemi she'd planned to barrage with all kinds of rudeness when she was back
in her Bigler County office wasn't the man whose company she'd enjoyed so much
last night. But if A. Hashemi wanted to get tough, she figured she could do
that, too.
They pulled onto the Santa Monica Freeway and fifteen
minutes later exited and turned into the parking area of a sleek, low
restaurant that sat back off the road some distance and had the authenticity of
a real Mexican hacienda.
"You like Mexican food?" Rafe asked.
Had he not noticed she was Latina?
She gave him an
exaggerated duh look, but when he didn't respond she said,
"Absolutamente."
Inside the restaurant, a matronly woman of indeterminate age
greeted Rafe with familiarity and eyed Bella with dark, frank eyes.
"Hola,
Rafe. Your usual booth?"
"
Cómo estás, Carmen?"
he asked, hugging her
in greeting and kissing her soundly on both cheeks. "Yes, the booth,
por
favor
. ¿
Estás tu familia en buena salud? ¿Comó es su nieto?"
The woman beamed and patted Rafe's arm affectionately.
"Ay
,
my family is very well and
mi nieto,
my grandson, is so beautiful he
breaks my heart."
A minute later, seated at the booth, Bella appraised Rafe
over the top of her menu, pretending to scan the lunch choices. The charm he
could whip out so easily and put away again just as quickly annoyed the hell
out of her. Was that what he'd done last night, deluged her with charm so he
could get laid?
And how come he was downright sweet to others but uncivil to
her? And why the hell was she bothered that he could put their ... their brief
encounter behind him so easily? "You come here often, Agent Hashemi?"
He looked up, a blank look on his face, almost as if he'd
forgotten she was sitting there, and she knew his mind was far away. "Often
enough."
"Sounds like you know that woman pretty well."
She nodded toward the hostess, who smiled from her station behind the entry
podium.
"I do," he answered shortly.
"Your Spanish is excellent."
"It is."
"Almost as good as mine," she said fiddling with
the condiment holder as a young Hispanic teenager laid salsa and tortillas
chips on the table and then retreated.
Rafe finished studying the menu and laid it aside. "Look,
Torres, let's get something straight." He leaned his elbows on the plastic
tablecloth and tented his fingers. "You don't have to make nice with me.
You don't have to like me. You don't even have to turn over those ... what did
you call them? Ah, yes, work product files," he said, an edge to his
voice.
She opened her mouth to form a half-hearted protest.
"But," he interrupted with a steely gaze, pointing
a finger at her like a pistol, "you do have to be honest with me. I won't
put up with any bullshit tricks if I'm going to let you work this case with me."
She began sputtering. "Wh – what, you're
letting
me work the case? Diego Vargas has committed crimes in Bigler County. He's been
under our scrutiny there, in my county, for over a year. You have no more right
than I to nab him for the depraved and accumulated atrocities – "
"Shut up, Torres," he said pleasantly, which
effectively took the wind out of her sails.
She stared at him with her mouth a round oh of surprise
while their server returned and Rafe gave the woman both their orders.
"The federal government has jurisdiction over anything
interstate," he reminded her after the server left. "You know that
and I know that. Vargas' atrocities include intra-state and international drug
trafficking which comes under federal drug enforcement."
He continued in a neutral, even-tenored voice as if his
logic were reasonable and indisputable. "Now, in exchange for your
personal files, I'll continue to
allow
you to work the case rather than
call your boss and have you jerked off it and sent back to Hicksville."
Bella felt the hot sting of outrage creep up her neck to
stain her cheeks. Not only had he steamrolled her case, but he had the affront
to order her lunch for her! She blinked furiously while trying to formulate a
sharp enough response for both insults.
Rafe reached for a chip and dipped it in the thick salsa. "Actually,
it's a pretty good deal. You ought to take it."
The chomping of his tortilla chip and the calm look on his
face made her want to smack him, but she snapped her teeth together, nearly
biting the inside of her lip. She resisted because she recognized the
pragmatism in his words.
He was right. He had the power to call in a hell of a lot of
favors. And D.A. Charles Barrington never took on anything controversial. Or
difficult. He'd pull her off the case in a heartbeat, sloth that he was,
forcing her to turn over every single file she had.
Except those she'd hidden at home in a thin, plastic box
under her bed, she thought smugly. The ones Charles knew nothing about. The
ones she wasn't about to tell Hashemi about.
"What gives you the right to offer a deal?" she
grumbled, feeling herself capitulate.
Other than that you're a big bully.
He confirmed her thought by leaning across the table and
answering, "Because I'm a whole lot bigger than you are, I'm infinitely
more influential, and" – his eyes dropped to her mouth, "I'm more
experienced."
She didn't miss the double entendre. Bella shut up just as
Rafe had suggested.
The middle-aged server plunked their lunches down on the
table and beamed cheerfully at the two of them before placing the check under
the basket of warm tortillas. With relish Rafe tackled his plate of beef
enchiladas. He dipped a home-made tortilla into the rich, reddish-brown sauce
and looked up at Isabella. "Good, huh?" he asked with relish, his
mouth stuffed.
Bella positioned a small bite of chicken and sauce on a
tortilla chip. "Hmmm." Her mouth opened wide around the concoction as
she popped it into her mouth. "Delicious," she agreed around the
mouthful of food.
"¡Absolutamente perfecto!
I gotta tell you,
Hashemi, this is the best Mexican food I ever ate."
She swallowed a large gulp of Pepsi and frowned. "But
don't ever tell my mom that."
Amused by her hefty appetite, Rafe smiled. "Scout's honor."
He quickly sobered up, the grin slipping. He shouldn't be enjoying anything,
much less lunch with an attractive woman, until he learned what'd happened to
Lupe.
He cleared his throat. "Let's talk about your notes on
Vargas," he said. "When can I get hold of them?"
"We're really going to put this whole personal thing
behind us?" she asked quietly.
He almost flinched under her clear, direct gaze. Wasn't that
already a dead issue? Why did she want to take it up again? God, women were so
unpredictable.
"Yes." He paused before continuing. "Unless
you can think of a better idea."
She wiped her mouth. "It was just a casual thing
anyway."
"Right, nothing serious."
"Just a lot of talk at the bar."
"And then we got attacked."
"Sure, and those kinds of high-tension moments cause people
to lower their guards, do things they wouldn't otherwise do." She looked
up at Rafe through her lashes. "You said so yourself."
"So I did."
"And we were two consenting adults who got caught up in
the moment of ... Besides, nothing really happened. Right?"
Rafe stared at her wide, dark eyes, at her full lips and
porcelain skin, at the high color of her cheeks.
Nothing really happened?
