INFORMANT (7 page)

He brings his head down, brushing his lips across the tops of my breasts. I guess he forgot to shave that morning. As the dark line of his jaw moves across my flesh, the light stubble on his chin tickles my skin. I tilt back my head and drink in each dizzying sensation: the rough calluses on his hands as he cups my breasts, the surprising softness of his lips, the prickly rub of his razor stubble. Nudging aside the lace cup of my bra, he kisses my nipple. Draws it into his mouth and suckles it with his tongue. Nibbles the pebbled peak with his teeth.

Is there such a thing as too much pleasure? Yes. There is. Beckett—everything about him—overwhelms me. Intoxicates me. My fingers dig into his shoulders for support.

The sound of a child’s excited laughter echoes toward us, and I am abruptly reminded that we are in public. Sheltered, yes, but still in public. It’s not even dark yet. Beckett takes a step backward and I pull out of his arms. Shaking off the fog of arousal that enveloped me, I re-button my blouse.

A family enters the exhibit room. I notice—somehow I failed to notice before—that we are in the prehistoric room. Plants that existed at the same time as the dinosaurs roamed the earth. Two little boys with helium balloon strings tied around their wrists race inside. We watch them run around the room, careening from exhibit to exhibit like over-stimulated puppies until a waterfall in the corner catches their attention. They run over to investigate, and I wonder how long it will take until one of them topples in.

“Kylie,” Beckett says, his voice low so that only I can hear, “About last night...”

I smooth back my hair. Adjust my skirt. Then I glance up at him. “Last night?”

“You and Ricco went into the park. That’s not a good idea.”

I blink, sure I’ve misheard him. “Wait, what?”

“The park. It would have looked too suspicious to have someone from the DEA trail you. We had you covered in the restaurant, but not the park. If anything had gone wrong, we wouldn’t have known until—”

“Are you telling me you
followed
us? You were watching us?”

His eyes grow cool. “Standard operating procedure.”

“
Standard operating procedure?”
Holy fuck. I think about ‘Sarah’ running up to me after chem lab, smiling and inviting me to lunch. How many DEA agents were strewn throughout the restaurant last night, watching Ricco and me eat pizza? I can’t get my mind around it.

Beckett clears his throat. “It’s not personal. It’s for the safety of the CI, as well as the integrity of the operation.”

So I’m not even a person anymore. I’m
the CI.

“Look,” he continues, “don’t forget what this is. You’re not dating Ricco. It’s important for you to remember that.”

“Of course I know that,” I snap.

“Good.”

“But… he needs a friend. I think I can be that friend.”

Beckett lets out a sigh. He’s studying an enormous fern, but I can tell that he’s not really seeing the plant at all. “No.”

“No? What do you mean,
no
?”

“That’s not a good idea. It’s better not to get personally involved at any level. It would only get in the way of what we’re trying to do—of what actually matters.”

Dread seeps over me like an icy mist. It occurs to me that he’s not just talking about Ricco anymore. “Exactly what is it that actually matters?”

“Arresting Miguel Diaz. That’s the end game. Anything else that happens just muddies the waters. Gets in the way.”

A beat, then two. My entire body goes rigid.

“By anything else, I’m guessing that means you, me, and what just happened?”

His jaw clenches. He gives a curt nod. “That was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry? Thirty seconds ago he had his mouth on my breast, and now he’s sorry? Is he effing kidding me? He wanted me as badly as I wanted him. Now he’s going to call that a
mistake
? Humiliation and rage course through me. I’m not a violent person. But I’ve never wanted to hurt someone more than I wanted to hurt Beckett in the moment.

“So was that just standard operating procedure as well?”

“Kylie—”

“How many DEA agents are in the bushes watching us right now? Was that a test, Beckett? Did I pass? Oh, wait, sorry, that’s not how you say it. I meant, did
the CI
pass?”

“Goddammit, Kylie.”

I glare right back. “Don’t play your little games with me. If you don’t want to get personally involved, keep your goddamned tongue out of my mouth.”

We’re getting loud. The family with the two little kids looks over at us. The parents shoot us disapproving frowns and usher the kids out of the room. Their helium balloons bob up and down behind them as they leave.

“You don’t get it,” Beckett says. “This is all new to you. But I’ve seen how it works. These operations, they’re as fragile as those balloons. One wrong move and the whole thing explodes in your face.”

The loudspeaker comes on. I hear a string of soft bells, followed by a canned announcement that basically says,
Thanks for visiting, but it’s closing time now, so get the hell out
.

Good advice.

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” I tell him. “All it takes is one prick to pop that balloon.” My gaze locks on his. “Maybe you’re the prick to do it.”

I glance outside. The storm, in all its raging beauty, has passed. Time for me to go. I turn and walk away without another word.

Day Twenty

Late Afternoon

Jess’s eyes widen as she studies the check I’ve handed her. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe this is real.
Five thousand?”

“I know,” I say. “Wild, huh?”

She nibbles her lower lip, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. After a minute, she looks at me and shakes her head. “Kylie, I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can.”

“But it’s your money. You
earned
it.”

Leave it to Jess to bring up exactly what I don’t want to think about—what I did to earn it. The check arrived in my mailbox October first. I am now on the government dole. An official DEA Confidential Informant. Despite Beckett’s warning not to get personally involved, Ricco and I have become good friends. (And yes, if I’m being totally honest here, I know Ricco wants to be more than friends. But he’s not pushing it. He’s too considerate for that. So he’s just dropping hints, giving me time to come around to his way of thinking.)

“I want you to have it,” I tell Jess.

This is one hundred percent true. I don’t want a penny. I am laundering the money in the most fundamental emotional sense. If my sister takes it and uses it to help buy the garage, thereby protecting both her financial future and Dally’s, I figure that I am absolved of guilt. The money is being used for the greatest good. It’s not like I’m running around buying shoes, for God’s sake. I am helping the people I love.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I hate what I am doing—getting close to Ricco only to report every word he says to me—but I keep playing the game. I’m not sure how to stop. I’m also worried that nothing I’ve uncovered seems remotely important enough to justify five thousand a month. This is how psychotic I’ve become.

Then there’s the Beckett factor. We meet at various coffee shops throughout the city so I can impart whatever trivial bit of news Ricco has said to me. Invariably these are brief conversations held in busy public places. No chance for us to be tempted into doing something we shouldn’t.

Also, I see Beckett every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in chem lab. We both do an awesome job pretending not to know the other one exists. Pretending nothing ever happened between us. But here’s the actual truth: from the moment he enters the room, I am deeply attuned to Beckett’s presence. I can tell you if he coughs, shifts in his chair, taps his pencil, scratches his jaw. If he is called on to answer a question, the sound of his voice sends shivers racing down my spine. He has become as essential to my existence as the air I breathe.

It is terrifying, and unsettling, and unquestionably exciting—all at once.

“Listen,” I say to Jess, “don’t make a decision about the money right now. Why don’t you talk it over with Ronnie and see what he says?”

Jess frowns, and then reluctantly nods. She tucks the check into her purse and I am beyond relieved to see it go. I don’t want it.

The weather is still mild, so we’re sitting outside at a café table in the SFSU quad. I’m bouncing Dally up and down in my lap. My chubby little nephew is wearing a brand new suit. (At least it’s new to him—Jess shops a lot of kiddy consignment. The stores in the pricier neighborhoods practically give the stuff away.) Anyway, he’s decked out in this little train engineer get-up that looks adorable. Two pearly white teeth poke out of his lower gums and glisten when he grins.

“You sure you don’t mind watching Dally tonight?” Jess asks.

“Positive,” I say.

She and Ronnie are going out. It’s Ronnie’s brother’s birthday. The rest of the Hoyt family lives in Dale City, not far from the Walmart where our mom works, actually.

“You know, you’re welcome to come,” she says.

“Nah. I’d rather spend time with Dally.”

I’ve been to Hoyt family birthday celebrations before. Cheap beer. A cake with an image painted in frosting of a naked woman with enormous breasts. Lots of jokes about ‘getting a slice’. Before the night is over, at least one pseudo-friendly fistfight will break out among the guests.

“God, Kylie. You don’t have to be so judgmental about it,” Jess snaps.

I was just about to plant a kiss on Dally’s cheek. Instead, my head jerks up. “What?”

“You could at least
try
to get along with Ronnie. I mean, you know how much he means to me, right? Why do you always have to make it so hard?”

What?
I am floored. Shocked. I can feel my jaw go slack as I look at her. Where the hell did this come from? “What are you talking about?”

“You really think I don’t notice how tense it is between you guys? I’m not an idiot, you know.”

“Of course I know that.”

“You think I married him just because I got pregnant. I didn’t. I love Ronnie.”

Oh, Christ. Here we go. I have to bite my tongue. The question is not why I set my sights so high. The question is why she sets her sights so low. But obviously I can’t say that. Jess’s hands are shaking and unshed tears pool in her eyes—that’s how she gets when she’s mad. She’s emotional.

I backtrack, trying to veer her off the subject of Ronnie and me. “Look, I know it’s hard right now. I know you guys are both working overtime trying to get the money together to buy the garage. I’m on your side. I promise. I’m trying to help.”

Jess takes a breath. “I know that.” She gives a shaky smile and swipes at her eyes. “I know you are. It’s just that—”

A deep voice from behind me interrupts us. “Kylie?”

Ricco.
I thought he’d left campus. For an instant, I am utterly panicked. I do not want these two universes—Jess and Dally, Ricco and Beckett—to intersect. Ever. But there’s no way to avoid it. Ricco is standing on my left, watching me with a polite smile on his face. His body casts a dark shadow across our table.

“Hey,” I manage. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” He smiles at me, and then looks at Jess, waiting expectantly.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” I say. “Ricco, this is my sister, Jess. Jess, this is Ricco.”

Jess gives him a friendly hello, but that’s all she can manage. She needs a minute to pull herself together. “Is there a bathroom somewhere around here?” she asks me.

I direct her to the science building and watch as she walks away.

Ricco watches her leave, as well. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault. She’s upset, mad at me. She thinks I don’t like her husband.”

“Why does she think this?”

“Because he’s a total low-life shit head and I can’t stand him.”

I didn’t mean to say that. It just came out. My gaze meets Ricco’s. His lips tremble and so do mine. After a beat, we both burst out laughing. “She’s my sister,” I say. “I love her. Is it so wrong to want her to do better?”

Ricco doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls up a chair and sits down. He searches my face. “So. I learn there is another man in your life.”

My heart literally stops beating.
Beckett.
He knows about Beckett. Holy crap. My mind races. What do I say? How do I explain? But before any panicked words tumble out of my mouth, Ricco reaches for Dally’s tiny booted foot and gives it a soft squeeze. He smiles. “What’s his name?”

Suddenly I understand. Dally. Ricco is talking about
Dally
. I was so caught up in my own private drama I’d forgotten he was on my lap. I am so relieved I feel dizzy. I let out a breath and force a smile. “Dallas Winston,” I say.

“Dallas Winston?” Ricco frowns as he mulls this over, then nods in understanding. “Named after the city and the cigarette?”

“What? No.” I let out a laugh and shake my head. “After a character in a book.” I pass Dally a Cheerio from a tiny plastic cup. “Handsome, isn’t he? My nephew.”

Ricco watches as Dally gums the cereal bit and then spits it back out. He arches a brow at me. “Maybe he prefers good Cuban food.”

I smile. “Maybe.”

“Next time I’ll bring him a plantain.”

“Good idea.”

Ricco shifts in his chair and returns his gaze to mine. “Speaking of food, my Uncle Juan is in town. I thought he might like to meet a few friends of mine. American friends. Maybe you could join us for dinner?”

I’m surprised. Aside from the night we met for pizza, all my get-togethers with Ricco have fallen more or less into the category of study sessions. He didn’t seem to want to get closer. I’ve alternated between feeling hugely relieved and grossly disappointed. Now it looks like everything’s changed.

“I’d like that,” I say. Then, “Your uncle’s visiting from Cuba?”

“No. He lives in Miami.”

I nod, doing my best to quell the nervous excitement that surges through me. Miguel Diaz, Ricco’s father, also lives in Miami. There must be some connection. Uncle Juan. I run the name through my memory. I’m sure Beckett mentioned it.

“Tonight?” Ricco says.

I start to agree, and then realize I can’t make it. “Oh. Sorry. I can’t. I’m babysitting.”

He looks confused, and then horrified. “Sitting on a baby?”

“No!” I reply with a startled laugh. “Not sitting—”

“Kylie,” he drawls, “I know what babysitting is.” He sends me a look of mocking superiority. “You’re watching your nephew so your sister and her low-life shit head husband can go out and enjoy themselves.”

I can’t help but smile. See what I mean about Ricco? He gets me every time.

“No problem,” he says. “Tomorrow night will be fine.”

I nod. “Good.”

Jess returns to the table. She looks totally composed, back to her usual bright, cheery self. The three of us talk for a while, then Ricco glances at his watch and says goodbye. He’s got to go.

“So that’s your Cuban hottie,” she murmurs as he walks away. “Great smile. Kinda sexy, too.” He stops before a sleek black Mercedes sedan, opens the door, and slips inside. “Wow,” she says, shooting me a questioning glance, “Is he rich?”

“I don’t know.” How odd that I’ve never seen what Ricco drives. Whenever we get together, we always agree on a time and place to meet. When the evening’s over, he walks me to my bus stop. He’s never once offered to drive me home. It occurs to me that he’s as guarded about his personal life as I am about mine. Interesting.

“Well, he must have some money. Or maybe his family does. That’s an eighty thousand dollar ride.”

I shrug it off, but she’s right. His dad’s got money—lots of it. International drug lords normally aren’t broke. A car like that would be pocket change to him. What puzzles me (deeply disturbs me, actually), is that Ricco is driving it. I think back to the photo of Ricco lying in the hospital bed. Miguel Diaz’s doing, according to Beckett. Something’s not right. If Ricco’s trying to distance himself from his father, why is he cruising around in a luxury Mercedes?

Later. I’ll think about it later, when I’m alone. I stand, suddenly anxious to leave.

“Jess, it’s getting late. Maybe we should—”

“Whoa,” Jess interrupts me. She lets out a throaty giggle. “Too bad I’m married. Would you just look at that guy.”

Ricco’s gone, his sleek Mercedes swallowed up by traffic, so I turn my gaze in the direction she indicates. Beckett. I freeze. I don’t know where he came from, but suddenly he’s there. If he was a superhero, that would be his superpower—the ability to appear and disappear, seemingly out of nowhere. Right now he’s sitting at a café table with a group of four other students, drinking beer.

“God, is he gorgeous,” Jess says, her voice almost reverent. Then she lets out another giggle. “Oh my God. He’s looking this way. Do you know him?”

I take a breath to steady my voice. She cannot know about what I’m involved in, what I’ve agreed to do. She just can’t. So I give a loose shrug. “He’s in one of my classes. He’s an asshole.”

“Really?” Her disappointment is palpable. “Figures,” she sighs, “the gorgeous ones always are. Except for Ronnie, of course.”

I let the comment slide. We just made up—no sense stirring the pot again. I’ve got Dally in my arms, so she reaches down to grab his diaper bag. When she straightens, she cocks her head and looks at me, as if something suddenly occurred to her. Jess may not be good at school, but she’s not stupid. She’s putting things together. “Hey. Whatever happened to that guy you went out with?”

“Who?”

“You know, that guy. Blue Eyes.”

“Oh, him.” I shake my head. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I think he transferred out.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Dally arches his back and starts to fuss. He’s been good, but now he’s tired and hungry. He wants his mommy, not me. By the time Jess and I get him resituated and make our way to Ronnie’s Crown Vic, Beckett is gone.