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My spine straightened with purpose as I boldly approached the young police officer,who was patrolling the flower market. The location was innocent enough; I wouldn’t dare walk into a police station to make a report. I might be determined to save Marisol, but I wasn’t suicidal. I would tip off this cop, and then he could take care of Raúl Guerrero. No one would know I was behind the arrest.
I was still a few yards away when the young man’s eyes turned on me. They slid down my body and up again in a quick perusal, and my steps faltered. The last thing I wanted was to be near yet another man who showed interest in me. I wasn’t a great beauty—my suitors only wanted me for my money—but I supposed the officer found me attractive enough, judging by the way his gaze lingered on my small breasts.
I shrugged slightly to shift my loose-fitting white t-shirt so that it concealed my modest curves. Lately, I’d made a habit of wearing oversized clothes and my biggest glasses rather than contacts to deter men’s interest. I was sick of them looking at me like a shiny prize to be won.
Swallowing my discomfiture at the man’s lingering gaze, I resolutely strode toward him. His eyes snapped up to my face when he realized I was approaching him specifically. As I neared, I noted the acne that marked his cheeks and the wispy moustache he was attempting to grow. He was even younger than I’d thought.
It didn’t matter. He was a cop, and I needed his help. I had to free Marisol, even if I couldn’t free myself from the cartel.
The man tipped his head at me when I reached him, revealing a prematurely receding hairline. Up close, he was tall but slender. I hoped he had the mental fortitude to take on Guerrero, even if he wasn’t nearly as strong as the brutal cartel enforcer.
“Can I help you?” the young man asked, his eyes flicking down to my breasts again before snapping back up to my face.
Anxiety swept through me, tightening my stomach. I glanced around nervously, but we were surrounded by the bustle of the market. There was no reason anyone from the cartel would overhear us or witness this interaction.
My tongue darted out to lick my suddenly dry lips. The man’s dark green eyes fixed on my mouth. I took half a step back before I could stop myself.
“I do need your help,” I said in a rush, forcing the words through my constricted throat. “I need to report a crime, but I can’t go to the police station.”
The man’s brows lifted. “I’m just on patrol. I can’t take a statement here.”
His expression hardened, and I sensed that he was about to dismiss me entirely.
“My name is Isabel Vera,” I blurted. “My family is associated with the cartel. Please, I need your help, Officer…?” I trailed off, hoping that he would react favorably to the attempt to connect on a more personal level.
He straightened, his eyes sharpening on my face. “Morales,” he introduced himself. “Francisco Morales. I am familiar with your family. Why have you come to me, Isabel?”
First names. That was good. We were establishing a rapport.
I scanned my surroundings again, only to find ordinary shoppers bustling about the flower stalls around us. The sweet scent of fresh cut flowers made my stomach churn as my anxiety ratcheted up a notch.
“I can’t go to the police station,” I said again. “They’ll kill me if they find out I talked to the police. But I have to report this. There’s an innocent woman, Marisol Cortés, being held captive by Raúl Guerrero. You have to help her. Please.”
His gaze searched mine, and his eyes took on a hungry glint that had nothing to do with me. The man was ambitious. Guerrero’s name had caught his attention. Good. If he wanted the glory of arresting the beast, he was welcome to it.
He took a step closer to me, leaning into my personal space and lowering his voice to a more urgent tone. “I’ll need more than your word to go after Guerrero. Especially if you won’t give an official statement.”
“Please,” I begged. “You have to believe me. You have to help her.”
His hands bracketed my shoulders as though to calm me, but his touch only made my heart hammer faster in my chest. Sweat beaded on the back of my neck, and a shiver raced over my heated flesh.
“I believe you,” he promised, keeping his voice pitched low. “But there’s a way to keep your anonymity and ensure that the chief takes me seriously when I take this to him. Here’s what I need you to do. There’s a blog that reports on cartel-related crimes. No, listen,” he said quickly, reading the doubt in my eyes.
