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“So why me?”
“Ramona Perez was taken right after her twenty-first birthday. She did ten years. We ran her through the database for facial recognition, and you’re pretty spot on.”
“How solid is the match?”
“You tell me,” he said with annoying smugness. I opened the file folder he passed me and looked at the pictures. I couldn’t deny the uncanny similarity between us—like we could be cousins. Even sisters. It was kind of spooky. A slow chill worked its way up my spine. I dismissed it, attributing it to Mitchell’s presence and nothing more.
I passed the folder to Captain Gomez. The only indication that he saw what I did was a quick, almost indistinguishable, twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Mitchell cleared his throat. “Considering López has never met Ramona, and considering Lupe’s dad is locked up for life, he’s not around to corroborate one way or another. Everything’s on Lupe’s word. We are very confident no one will suspect a thing.”
I grunted. “And how are you going to ensure your CI doesn’t fuck things up for us?”
“We’ll have some units follow her around, snatch her up on some charge, and book her.”
“And what if that doesn’t work?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
Mitchell shrugged his shoulders. “We have to make it work. Whatever it takes.” His words were cold as ice and hard as stone.
“Keep us in the loop,” Captain Gomez said.
He gave a nod and a tight smile. “Be in touch,” he said to me. “Look forward to working with you again.”
I didn’t even look at him. I didn’t even bother responding.
The door opening and closing was the only sound.
“What the hell, Atkins?”
“What?” My innocence was fake as hell, and I knew it.
“You think you can cut the guy a break?”
“After the shit he pulled back when I was on his team?”
Captain shook his head. “Marisa, look.”
“No,” I cut him off. “He is the spawn of Satan. I hate that bastard.”
“Hate or not. Bastard or not. If you want the chance to take down López andLos Tiburónes, you best get your game face on and your head in the game.”
* * *
For the next two days, I stayed focused on work. I wasn’t purposely avoiding Tyler. I just needed some time to sort out my emotions and, like Captain said, get my head in the game. I needed to get my head on straight. I felt like I was caught in a vortex and trying to save myself from drowning in all the shit from my past.
I wished I could channel Tyler’s confidence right now. Sometimes his arrogance was maddening. Mainly because I knew he wasn’t arrogant. But Tyler was so sure of himself. I thought back to our conversation about the robberies and working with the bank. He was so confident about being able to fulfill his duty and help the force get the robbers. While it was a teensy bit of a turn-on to see him so self-assured and warrior-like, I knew things could go south in the blink of an eye. I didn’t want to lose him. Definitely not from a gunshot.
The first opportunity I had, after getting a grip on things, I called Tyler and asked when I could see him. He hadn’t held a grudge against me. I’d told him enough about my state of frustration over “a case” that he’d taken me at my word. I hadn’t lied. I just hadn’t filled him in on all the nitty-gritty details of which case I was consumed with.
“Something came up today. About my partner,” I told him when we were comfortable on my couch.
“Davis? Tyler asked. “Is he in trouble?”
“Not Davis. My first partner.” I got up, walked to the linen closet, and retrieved my secret box. It wasn’t so much secret as it was sad—sad memories. Tyler didn’t say anything as I lifted the lid, pulled out an envelope, and handed him the pictures from inside. He flipped through them one by one as I explained. “My partner was killed. His name was Jacob. Jacob Jones. We all called him “JJ.” We were partners back when I was with narcotics. We were working a case with the Organized Crime Task Force. Alonso López andLos Tiburóneswere the targets. Until, one day, JJ didn't come into work. We’d been working—almost a straight forty-eight hours. We slept in shifts on one of the couches at the precinct.”
“I’ve heard of them. TheLos Tiburónescartel.”
“Not surprised,” I said. “Their name is synonymous with murder, mayhem, and drugs.”
