INFORMANT (21 page)

“
Kylie?”
  Ronnie’s voice, hoarse with fear, carries across the rotunda.

“He’s all right,” I choke out. A bubble of hysterical laughter bursts from my lips. “He’s all right.”

Miguel regards Sun Yee with satisfaction. “You have honored me with your trust, Sun Yee. I will look into this matter. If I find this man has lied to us, I will turn him over to you and your men. I give you my word.” 

The look Miguel receives from Sun Yee before he turns away is so coldly calculating it sends chills down my spine. Ricco notices it as well. Rage flashes through his eyes and his jaw clenches. He steps forward, as though intending to go after the Chinese drug lord.

Miguel stops him with a sharp word. He places a hand of restraint on Ricco’s shoulder. “Let him save face,” he says. “There will be time later to finish this business.”

Sun Yee and his men leave as abruptly as they arrived. Now it is just Ronnie, Dally, and me—plus Miguel, Ricco, and the rest of the Cuban crew. Beckett and various other DEA agents may be on the grounds as well. There’s really no way to tell.

All I know is that, for the moment at least, it’s over. Ronnie has Dally back in his arms. His expression is so fierce I think you’d have to kill him in order to take the baby away again.

“
Vamonos
,” Miguel orders curtly, motioning for his men. We turn to go as well, but he blocks us. He looks at Ronnie. “You are satisfied?”

“
Satisfied?”
Ronnie chokes out.  “Christ, I can’t thank you enough—”

“So I have done my part of our bargain.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Good. Very good.” Miguel smiles. He reaches out and brushes Dally’s soft knuckles, his finger lingering against the baby’s tiny fist. Then his dark gaze locks on Ronnie. “Now you will do your part.”

Day Seventy-Eight

Afternoon

Agent Reardon is not happy with me. In fact, for such an uptight, squared-away kind of guy, I’m surprised he’s letting his emotions show to the degree he is now. Then I remember the black eye he gave Beckett when Beckett thought Diaz’s men found the DEA mike and he tried to bust into the suite to save me. That gives me a little more insight into Reardon. Despite his dispassionate exterior, he’s fairly easy to provoke. Not that I plan to, but it’s something to keep in mind.

We are back at Sarah’s apartment in the Marina, gathered around a conference table. It’s the usual DEA crew: Reardon, Beckett, Sarah, the creepy tech guy, the two male agents in their mid-forties whose names I don’t know, and me.

I had exactly twenty minutes with Jess after Ricco dropped me, Ronnie, and Dally off at Noriega Street Auto. Only twenty minutes to spend with my sister, to witness her uncontainable, hysterical joy at the return of her baby. Then Sarah was there, perky as ever, ready to whisk me off for another of our fake buddy-buddy study sessions.

For the record, I think somebody needs to tell Sarah that college students don’t
always
wear sweatshirts with the name of their alma mater emblazoned across the front. We don’t
always
have perky ponytails, backpacks, and Converse sneakers. But that’s her college student costume and she’s sticking to it.

“You want to tell me what in the fat hell that was all about?” Reardon demands.

I am not up for this confrontation. It’s been an intense twenty-four hours. I’ve been through an emotional wringer, and all I want to do is go home and collapse in bed. But obviously that’s not going to happen until I appease Reardon. “You mean the meeting between Miguel Diaz and Sun Yee?”

“Yes, I mean the fucking meeting between Diaz and Sun Yee!”

“Fine,” I snap back. I pause to consider where to begin. Honestly, I thought Beckett would fill him in, but apparently he didn’t. I can only assume he deliberately withheld that information to prevent Reardon from setting up some kind of sting operation, or ordering some idiotic commando bullshit that might have gotten me, Ronnie, or Dally killed. I don’t dare look at Beckett and test that hypothesis, however. In the presence of DEA, Beckett and I barely acknowledge one another.

Before I can devise an appropriate response, Reardon’s patience expires. He leans across the table and says, “You
knew
Miguel Diaz and Sun Yee—two of the most violent drug lords in the entire Bay Area—had set up a meeting, but you didn’t tell us about it until it was too late.”

“Too late?”

“Too late for us to set up more sophisticated monitoring devises, to put armed agents in place to make arrests, to haul in our street sources and find out what was going down, to block off the streets in and out of the Marina…”

Bingo. In other words, do something risky that might get us all killed. Something that would definitely get Dally killed. Score one for Beckett.

“I guess I forgot,” I reply with a shrug.

Reardon goes apoplectic.
“You forgot?”

I look him straight in the eye. “Yeah. I forgot. Just like you forgot to tell me Ricco wasn’t some innocent college student trying to get away from his big, bad daddy. The truth is, he’s being groomed to enter the family business, isn’t he? He’s
excited
to enter the business. Probably can’t wait to take over the entire west coast operation.” 

At least Sarah and the other DEA agents have the grace to look embarrassed. Reardon doesn’t. His expression is as mulish as ever. I push harder.

“What happened to Julio Juarez?” I demand. The guy I saw Ricco and his father’s men manhandle in the alleyway the night of Carnaval. The guy whose place Ricco will be taking.

Reardon averts his eyes. Drums his fingers on a manila folder sitting in front of him. Finally he says, “His body washed up early this morning outside a meat processing plant in Oakland.”

Oh, shit. Fuck me. And guess who’s the only witness to that crime? If Reardon tries to put me on the stand, I’m dead.

My stomach seizes, and I take a deep breath to pull myself together. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, tumbling head-over-heels down some never-ending hole. Now that I’ve fallen in, I can’t get out. Everything keeps getting worse and worse. I want to reach out for Beckett, but I can’t. I can’t even risk looking at him, for fear my expression will give too much away.

After a beat, my panic eases and anger descends. My life is on the line here. I need to
know
this stuff. “When were you planning on telling me this?” I demand.

Reardon assumes a lofty expression. “I hadn’t decided.”

Oh, really? I lean back in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. “Looks like you and I have some trust issues, don’t we, Reardon?”

“Your brother-in law was dealing drugs for Sun Yee?”

“No.”

“He wasn’t?”

“No. He was delivering Chinese food for the Lucky Dragon, trying to make some extra cash on the side.”

Reardon smirks. “Just a regular delivery guy, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“A regular delivery guy who happened to have access to a duffle filled with half a million in cash.”

“Ronnie thought he was picking up restaurant supplies,” I say. “It didn’t occur to him to look inside the duffle. He just picked it up and dropped it off.” I am in so deep at this point, I will have to create a spreadsheet to keep track of the lies I’m telling.

“That’s not what Sun Yee thinks happened.”

“Sun Yee is wrong.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Reardon drawls.

“Maybe you’re just a suspicious guy.”

“Maybe,” he acknowledges with a nod. “Or maybe because somebody who was innocent of any wrongdoing would have gone straight to the police when their baby was taken.”

“The police?” I shrug. “Why would they do that when they had access to someone with better connections and a lot more power.”

Reardon’s face reddens. “Are you
playing
with me, Miss Porter? Is this some kind of goddamned
game
to you?”

God, no. If this were a game, I’d be having fun. More importantly, I could walk away. In fact, that’s exactly what I want to do. I’m too exhausted to think clearly anymore, so I simply stand up and announce, “I’m leaving.”

“Hold it right there,” Reardon snaps, shoving back his chair. “We’re not done here, Missy. Sit down.”

Missy? Did he just fucking call me
Missy?
I stop. Look at him. “Let me get this straight. Am I under arrest?”

“No.”

“So you have no right to keep me here against my will, do you?” Reardon works his jaw, but doesn’t respond. I push harder. “
Do you?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“If I find out your brother-in-law was dealing drugs, I’ll arrest you as an accessory.”

“No, you won’t.”

I coolly meet his gaze. That’s an idiotic threat and we both know it. I’m no good to him in jail, and he needs me a hell of a lot more than I need him. He
created
me. I’m too valuable, too close to Ricco and Miguel, for him to lock me up and start looking for a new informant.

Reardon sits down and leans back in his chair. He eyes me and shakes his head. “You’ve got some balls.”

I let out a derisive breath. “I don’t need balls. I got lucky. God made me a woman and gave me brains instead.”

I let the door slam behind me on my way out.

*     *     *

It isn’t until I’m outside and standing on the sidewalk that I realize I don’t have a ride home—my study buddy Sarah picked me up. I’m so upset I’m shaking, and my brain just isn’t working right. I change course and head to the neighborhood shops and restaurants on Chestnut Street to grab a bus back to the Sunset. I know that if I text Jane, Beckett would meet me and give me a lift, but I need some time alone to think things through.

I don’t care if Beckett’s boss hates me. Or more to the point, if Reardon hates that he can’t control me. I’ve got bigger things to worry about. The bargain Ronnie made with Miguel Diaz is spinning through my mind. That’s the real reason I had to leave so abruptly. We hadn’t gotten to that part yet, and I didn’t want Reardon quizzing me about Miguel’s parting words.

In return for Miguel’s help getting Dally back, Ronnie promised to tell him where and when Sun Yee’s next shipment of drugs was coming in. That’s the deal. A deal that’s dangerous and illegal as hell, but it got us Dally back. Miguel did his part. Now it’s time for Ronnie to do his.

There’s just one little problem.

As I was leaving Ronnie and Jess’s apartment this afternoon, Ronnie pulled me aside. “Kylie, listen. About that drug shipment Sun Yee’s got coming in…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not exactly sure about it.”

My heart slams against my chest and my throat constricts. “What do you mean, you’re not exactly sure about it?”

“I mean,” he says, “I know the shipment’s coming in nine days. That’s solid. But that’s all I know. I got no idea which pier it’s coming through.”

“Jesus, Ronnie. You promised Miguel that information.”

“I know, I know. But I would have said anything to get Dally back. Anything.” He hangs his head low, then slants me a sideways glance. “Do you think he’ll care?”

Yeah, Ronnie, I do. Break your word to Miguel Diaz, and I think he’s gonna care a whole fucking lot.

Day Seventy-Eight

Night

It’s Sunday night, normally the one night of the week that my mom and I spend together relaxing. But since the holiday season at Walmart is the equivalent of retail Armageddon, that’s not gonna happen. She’s working the midnight shift, which means I am free to spend a few hours alone with Beckett.

It’s freezing on the rooftop of his building. Cold and windy. If we had any sense at all, we’d go back inside his apartment. Instead we’re sitting together on a chaise lounge, my back resting against his chest, our legs stretched out and tangled together. We’re bundled up in bulky clothes and he’s got his down quilt wrapped around us both, but it does little to fight the chill.

Nonetheless, neither of us is moving. After the events of the past two days, we are utterly drained. For some weird reason, it feels really good to be outside. Maybe we just need the inky vastness of the night sky surrounding us. The soothing lullaby of the fog horn echoing off the bay. The twinkle of lights as other apartment dwellers go about their bedtime rituals. We need to feel the pulse of the city beating within our bodies, irrefutable proof that life goes on.

“Tell me about Emma,” I say.

Beckett tenses slightly. I can tell I’ve surprised him. “My sister?”

“Yeah. What was she like?”

It’s an impossible question to answer. If Jess were taken from me, how would I put the magnitude of that loss into words? Maybe the same way Beckett does when he begins to tell me about Emma. He doesn’t use words like beautiful, or smart, or tell me what color her eyes were. Instead, he tells me her favorite joke. Why she named their dog Pickles. He tells me how she taught him to drive a stick shift, about her first job, about the guy who broke her heart in high school. He doesn’t have to tell me how close they were. That much is obvious.

Because of Miguel Diaz, Beckett’s sister is dead.

Because of Miguel Diaz, my nephew is alive.

This couldn’t get any more twisted. I close my eyes and draw in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry she’s gone.”

His arms are locked around my ribs, his fingers laced together above my waist. He gives me a soft squeeze. “Me, too.”

Beckett has spent his entire adult life in pursuit of vengeance. He’s hunted Diaz for years, and even went so far as to lure me into this mess. He lied to me and used me as bait. I hated him for it.

But now I’m beginning to understand it.

I think of the deadly menace in Miguel’s eyes when he ran his finger along Dally’s foot. Yes, because of Miguel Diaz, Dally is alive—but only because my beautiful baby nephew was a convenient means to an end. A way for Diaz to insinuate himself into Sun Yee’s business. Dally isn’t safe now, and neither are Jess or Ronnie. Neither am I. We are all hopelessly tied to Miguel Diaz, pawns in whatever deadly game he chooses to play next. The thought causes my stomach to constrict painfully.

Then I remember the icy rage in Sun Yee’s gaze when the meeting at the Palace of Fine Arts ended. I tilt back my head and glance at Beckett. “Tell me about them.”

“Who?”

“Sun Yee and Miguel Diaz. At the meeting this morning, they spoke of having boundaries they wouldn’t violate.”

Beckett fills me in. Essentially, Sun Yee controls all territory north of Market Street, an area which encompasses Chinatown, Pacific Heights, the Presidio, the Financial District, and Union Square. Miguel Diaz controls all territory south of Market Street, particularly the Latin neighborhoods included in the Mission, the Castro, Yerba Buena, Potrero Hill, and even SFSU.

But it’s not unheard of for there to be strikes into each other’s territories. Greedy grabs for more space, more dealers, more buyers. The truce between the Chinese and the Cubans is an uneasy one—calm on the surface, simmering agitation running beneath. The fault lines run deep.

I take all that in. Mull it over. Everything’s finally starting to make sense. Now that Julio Juarez is out of the picture, Ricco is coming in and wants to make a big name for himself. Miguel is determined to set his son up properly. If that means using Ronnie to grab Sun Yee’s incoming shipment of illegal goods, that’s what he’ll do.

“There’s only one way out of this,” I say to Beckett.

“What’s that?”

The skirmishes between the Cubans and the Chinese have been going on for decades. The DEA’s done everything they could to bottle the tension. Keep it from blowing up, escalating into an all-out battle where innocent bystanders might get hurt. No more. Appeasement won’t work. I want to do just the opposite.

I twist around and look at Beckett. “You really want to end this?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we need to start a war.”