One Rocco found riveting, challenging, exciting, and sexy.
One strong enough to handle all parts of him.
The kind of woman he lost himself in for hours, his head fighting with his cock on which would get what it wanted first.
Jemma stared at the rippling black waters of the bay.
There was no point in thinking about this. These thoughts were inappropriate and ill-advised, no matter how mesmerized she was by Rocco, the man.
Jemma cringed, considering what her boss, the Deputy Agent in Charge of Proteus Special Operations, would think if she found out Jemma had lured the local agent into a sexual encounter. Especially if that agent became a UC on an operation for her team. Talk about a career-limiting move. She’d worked too damn hard to get to where she was to ruin it over a hot as fuck man.
Still, she wasn’t ready to walk away from the evening.
A one-night stand was out of the question. But if she set clear boundaries, why shouldn’t she stick around and see where else their conversation could lead. What was the harm in that?
“I thought talking about work was off limits.” Rocco pushed his empty tumbler to the center of the table next to the three she’d finished off.
“It is off limits. This is a question about what led you to join the DEA,” Jemma said. “The motivation. The catalyst. The woo woo shit that we don’t care about when we’re assessing agents to participate in our operations.”
“Woo woo shit? Is that the official term for it?” Rocco shook hishead, and she wondered if he was disappointed by her blunt and, at times, flippant views around the softer side of being an agent.
Over the years, she’d learned from experience that what agents believed drew them to fighting the war on drug trafficking was irrelevant. All that mattered was they had a reason that, for them, was compelling enough to keep fighting in the face of insurmountable odds. She’d stopped caring what those reasons were and focused only on confirming that there was a driving force. It wasn’t technically part of the assessment, but something she’d pursued an answer to nonetheless.
“Official would be talking about work, which we are not. So, no, it is not an official term at all,” Jemma said with a smirk.
Rocco tipped his head toward her, his espresso eyes twinkling under the glow of soft yellow lights between the tables on the cobblestoned balcony. “My story is not unlike your own.”
She shouldn’t be surprised that he knew she’d taken down the Ortiz Cartel. Her undercover operation was the stuff of legends at the San Juan DEA office. Still, she felt vulnerable, realizing that he knew a hell of a lot more about her than she knew about him. “How so?”
“I was in the wrong place at the right time.”
Jemma nodded, understanding completely.
The lost little boy on the beach, whimpering and desperate to find his papi, had literally stumbled upon her blanket as she soaked up the rays after a grueling training session during her first months at the DEA. As she’d scooped him up in her arms, Jemma had no clue he would lead her directly to one of the most notorious members of a Puerto Rican drug cartel.
Rocco continued, “I grew up in Puerto Rico. My parents were ex-pats. I left for college and medical school but returned here for my residency and stayed after that. I was working in the ER at SanCristobal and moonlighting on the side in a small Vista Verde clinic.”
“Couldn’t have been because you needed the money,” Jemma said. “That’s an impoverished neighborhood.”
“It was never about money. I wanted to give back. Help those who couldn’t afford medical treatment at the major hospitals or were too intimidated to get treated there.”
“You worked at the clinic for free?”
“I did, until the gang members rolled in late at night, beat up, banged up, shot up. But they needed treatment like anyone else, and I obliged them,” Rocco said. “Somewhere along the way, I became known as the gang doctor, and they talked more freely around me. I was getting intel the DEA could use to put these guys behind bars, but no one knew. That’s when I realized why I was drawn to that place. It gave me a chance to make a real difference in stopping the impact of drugs on the community. Much of the information I found out put drug dealers in prison, but there were more rewarding outcomes. Times when I was able to convince young men that gang life wasn’t worth it. Encourage them to change the trajectory of their lives and help put them on a different path. That’s how we can effect real change in the drug war. Disrupt the lies these cartels tell kids and get them to see that there’s a better life for them.”
“Wow. You are an idealist. I never would’ve guessed it.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad, but idealism can be misguided. Not everyone deserves compassion or should be saved. Some of these assholes aren’t redeemable, and they aren’t worth the trouble to do it. Wasting time trying to get through to them could find you on the floor of your clinic with a bullet in the head.”
Rocco’s gaze dimmed from warm to cool. “And so your approach is what? Treat them like a number and punish them for beingmanipulated into the drug game and making a mistake? Forget that they are real people like you and me fighting for a better way of life. Seems rather callous.”
“Or realistic,” Jemma snapped.
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that,” Rocco said. “Our work should find ways to bring light to those dark places and to show some compassion.”
“Are you quoting Martin Luther King, Jr. to me?” Jemma said, annoyed that her voice had risen a couple of octaves. She had to admit she was impressed even if she thought he was wrong. “We’re dealing with a world where idealism can get you killed. It’s about survival and being realistic about the dangers of combating drug cartels. We can’t waste time hoping the cartel members will see the light. We need to be proactive and decisive. That means not everybody can be saved.”
