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Chapter 1
Vera
It’s not easy to kill a man. Simple? Usually. Easy? Not often.
The thick material of the stranger’s collar rubbed against the unprotected skin of his neck, digging in as FBI Special Agent Vera Aguilar held it in her clenched fist. Seated behind him on the ground, one hand gripped the edge of his jacket at his sternum, the other at his throat, she pulled in opposite directions like an archer drawing back her bow. The immense pressure forced itself down on his carotid artery where the tension met.
Sweat dripped into her eyes, her hands ached as she gripped the material with brutal force. The heat of his body stopped bothering her five minutes ago. When he was on top of her, trying to choke her or lock her elbow into an excruciating position, she tuned it out. He nearly succeeded more than once. But the problem with men was they often took their size for granted. Where they saw muscle mass, Vera had speed. Where they had height, Vera felled them at their weakest points. She was a snake, writhing, looping round and round, staying just out of reach until she struck.
She was faster than usual in gaining the advantage. Tightly leashed emotions fueled her sharp aggression. Anger. Shame. Helplessness. Vera hated the last one the most. She hadn’t felt helpless in a long time. Not since she was young enough to go to her papá seeking tenderness for skinned knees and shelter from monsters that lurked in the dark. But some monsters were real and she walked with them side by side.
It almost felt good to sense the man’s struggle. To feel the tension in his large body flip the switch from thinking he could survive to that basic, reptilian part of his brain whose only job was to keep him alive. It sensed the darkness that was beginning to creep into the edges of his vision. He’d soon become unconscious. Unable to protect himself. Vulnerable.
The frantic tapping of his hand against her shin told her as much.
She released him instantly. He rolled onto his belly and gasped. His bald head was now a sickly shade between purple and red, veins bulging at his temple as he tried to calm down.
“You good?” She asked, leaning back on her haunches.
“Yeah. Good.” He cleared his throat and began to sit up. She never bothered to ask his name, too anxious to begin when they slapped their hands together in greeting just moments before.
“Don’t wait so long to tap next time. There’s no prize for the person who suffers the most.” Embarrassment filled his eyes but he nodded at her advice before walking off the large blue mats to grab a drink of water.
“Why is it you always feel you have to school the newbies? He probably won’t come back now,” Special Agent Edgar “Rod” Rodrigo said, lightly shoving his shoulder into hers as she stood.
“All that pride is going to get him chewed up and spit out. He should get schooled now instead of when it’s too late to tap out.” Wiping her face with her towel, she grabbed her water bottle from the duffle bag she always brought as she looked around.
Across the large jiu-jitsu gym was a sprawl of thirty adult students, training in pairs. The sweat and disinfectant-scented room was full of new and old faces she’d come to know over the last few years. The only unfamiliar aspect was the discomfort she felt. It was growing like a rash, festering beneath her skin. It radiated in waves from the men at the far wall, watching her. FBI agents who also trained multiple times a week at the gym. Shoulders high, chests puffed up proud as their mouths moved quickly over whispered words. She knew what they were saying.
Suspended. Dirty. Suspect. Investigation.
It was all anyone was talking about since a single piece of paper slid across her desk. The small FBI letterhead stamped at the top of it had been a bomb, dropped right in the center of her life. Shrapnel flew in every direction, digging so far in it hit bone.
“I need to find a new gym.” The realization pissed her off. A three-month suspension from the Bureau and she was losing her favorite place to unwind on top of possibly losing her job. Things were going from bad to shit.
“Don’t worry about those assholes.” Anyone looking at Rod would assume he was the more dangerous one between them. Six foot four, nearly two hundred and fifty pounds to her five foot seven and lean. His hands were more like paws than human appendages. But underneath his broad brow bone and soft gaze was a teddy bear instead of a bull. She knew the same wasn’t often said about her.
“It’s hard not to when I can practically hear them across the gym.” Untying the belt holding her gi closed, she peeled off the outfit and folded it into her bag with more force than necessary. Dressed in her all-black spats and rash guard, she pulled a sweatshirt on as she slipped on her shoes. Rod did the same.
The timer buzzed overhead, sending the pairs of students moving around the room to find new partners to roll with. This was where she spent five, sometimes six days a week, working out after a grueling shift. Even a boring day at work was alleviated by the daunting task of training with people often bigger and stronger than her. It steadied her. Helped her focus. Taught her to remain calm under pressure. Now it felt like a reminder of what she lost. What she was actively losing.
Ninety days suspension on the heels of an internal investigation that turned her professional life inside out. All for a single undercover operation that still kept her up at night. Vera took another drink of water as she gave the room her back. She didn’t want to think about that. About the smell of gunpowder or the slick wetness of blood on her hands. No. Her focus needed to be on getting her job back on track. Staying in shape. Staying ready. Ninety days. She was already two weeks in. She just had to survive the rest of it and life would all go back to normal. There were too many years of school, backbreaking training, and irreversible sacrifice to get where she was to lose it all over a single moment.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Her phone vibrated from somewhere in the bottom of her bag. She ignored it just like she’d been doing. The battery would die soon and she wouldn’t have a choice but to avoid whoever attempted to contact her.
“You going to get that?” Rod asked as they headed towards the front door. No one waved goodbye at them like they usually did. The young receptionist she’d seen at least a hundred times ducked his head as she passed, only meeting Rod’s gaze. Vera bit her tongue to keep it from forming barbed words she wouldn’t be able to take back. Chewing out the teen for listening to gym gossip would force her to find a new gym.
“I don’t know who it is and don’t want to know.” She explained as they stepped onto the busy Washington D.C. sidewalk. The quiet of the gym was drowned out by the hustle of cars and pedestrians. It was barely seven a.m., and the city was already a swarming beehive of activity. Concrete and metal filled the world around them like a forest. They were the constructed gods the city bowed to at every turn. Since being posted in D.C. three years ago, she’d become accustomed to the way they gave the world a brutal, angular shape. Unusually warm for an autumn day, the sun peaked out from behind sparse rain clouds. Vera yearned for the cold. It felt better than the way the warmth reminded her of that summer.
“Listen, it’s only three months. The suspension will be over and everything will go back to the way it was. I promise,” Rod said it like it was written in stone. As if he saw the future and knew all the pieces of her life would go back to their tidy, preordained spots. Work. Training. New undercover operations. Work. She walked down the sidewalk next to him, trying to latch onto his confidence. Pushing her chin-length hair off her face, she exhaled slowly at the frustration of not being able to.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Her phone shook against her hip inside the bag.
Seven years in the Bureau and this is where she ended up. No badge. Nothing to show for her work. No one except Rod at her back. Her family didn’t know about the suspension and it would stay that way for as long as possible. The idea of telling her sister, Ximena, filled her gut with oily guilt. They’d barely spoken in months. Not since the day she called, shortly before the undercover op went to hell. Ximena didn’t need to know. Maybe the distance was good for them. Easier. How she’d fill all the empty weeks alone, she didn’t know. Thoughts filled her mind like a muddy flood as she tried to grasp onto something she could hold onto.
“Vera,” his deep voice brought her back to the present. They were stopped at a busy intersection. The crosswalk blinked a countdown at them.
“Sorry.” Vague awareness whispered of other people milling around for their morning routines. Coffee shop pick-ups, sitting at bus stops, early workouts. They were blurs of color against the backdrop of brick and stone.
