“Dirty agent …”
“Fuck.” Jemma threw her hands up. “You shouldn’t be in charge of an undercover operation.”
“Please, Jemma, use our guy. He’s good. His whole career with the DEA has practically been undercover with the local gangs. He will be an asset to your team,” Cedric said, his words tumbling from his lips.
Jemma sucked in a deep breath. She hated to see a good agent get screwed over by a leader who didn’t know the first thing about taking care of his team. But Cedric’s mistakes would not derail her operation. There was much more at stake than putting El Sombro behind bars.
Jemma needed to find Nomar Ortiz and make him pay.
“I can’t make you any promises,” Jemma said, then sighed. “Get your guy ready. If he passes our assessment, we’ll use him.”
Chapter 4
A staple of Old San Juan, Barrachina Restaurant was one of Rocco’s favorites and the birthplace of the piña colada, although that was a hotly contested debate. All he knew was that he liked the drinks best here and needed one now.
“Here you go, man,” the bartender said, topping off the two frozen drinks with a healthy shot of premium rum. “Want me to keep the tab open?”
Rocco shook his head and tossed a couple of bills on the counter. He wouldn’t be staying long. It was one thing to keep his secret from the other agents in the DEA. It was an entirely different thing to keep one from his close friend—former DEA Agent Everett Gilliam.
Some could argue this was a good test for him. If he could convince Everett that he was a dirty agent planning to join the cartel, he could convince anyone.
But Rocco wasn’t sure he could.
He and Everett had been through too much together. There had never been any secrets between them until now.
Grabbing the drinks, Rocco approached a table in the cornerwhere Everett sat, staring at him with a pensive frown. His crystal blue eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
Rocco placed a piña colada in front of Everett. “You’re still not sleeping, are you?”
“I’m not here to talk about me.” Everett grabbed the glass and took long gulps.
Rocco sat in an ornate iron chair across from Everett and asked the one question he shouldn’t. “When was the last time you talked to Remi?”
Everett’s gaze turned ice cold. “When was the last time you took drug money from the thugs you treat at the clinic?”
Rocco bristled. He walked a tight line with his undercover operation at the clinic. The DEA needed him in the communities, gaining the trust of the various gangs as he treated their stab and gunshot wounds. He operated on the mules who were near death after bags of cocaine exploded in their stomachs. His role as the “gang doctor,” as he was known on the streets, gave him unfiltered and unfettered access to information he fed back to the agency. Information used to generate a steady flow of arrests and stifle the drug problem on the island.
It was the reason the DEA looked the other way as he pocketed payments from the gangs. There was no better feeling than taking money they’d gotten from downtrodden drug addicts and funneling it back into services to help those addicted.
But no one was privy to what he did with the funds. Rumors had surrounded him for years. Which was why his cover as a dirty agent taking money from the cartels was perfect. Most of the other agents in the San Juan office wouldn’t be surprised if he walked away from the DEA and joined forces with one of several cartels.
The only person who would struggle to buy that story was sitting across from him.
“You, of all people, know it’s not black or white out there.Sometimes you find yourself making moves that aren’t entirely by the books and feeling like it’s … okay,” Rocco said, fighting the urge to defend himself.
Everett’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. “It’s not okay if what you’re doing has triggered an internal investigation of your actions. They’re saying national is sending a team to look into this.”
“I’m not worried about it,” Rocco said, then took a sip of his drink, appreciating the heavy dose of rum the bartender added.
“You need to be worried,” Everett insisted. “You broke the rules. Betrayed everything we’ve worked for. You’re headed down a dangerous path … one you can’t return from.”
Rocco gripped his drink. The frigid glass numbed his palm as the last golden orange rays of the sun cast across the flamingo-pink walls of the restaurant. He hated the patio umbrellas that covered the tables, blocking the view of the sky. Thought it was a waste of relaxing tropical space.
“I know what I’m doing,” Rocco said. “For years, I’ve been on the front lines with these monsters, and along the way, pieces of you harden and become like them to survive. That’s all I’m trying to do here.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Rocco I know,” Everett countered, then leaned back in his chair.
Rocco squirmed under his friend’s scrutiny. The last thing he wanted was Everett pointing out why it was damn near impossible for Rocco to do what he was accused of. If they went down this road, Everett might figure out he was going undercover. And that the story was a ruse to protect him in case those in the Sombro Cartel found out he had connections to the DEA.
