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When I drove my car up the sandy road, the undercover DEA agent was standing next to his bike in the shadow of one of the rocks.
I got out of my car.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, fucking great,” I snapped.
He ignored my tone and looked at my face and arms, checking for bruises. “Did he hurt you?”
“You were there. You saw what happened.”
“I meant Jack, not Lou.”
You mean, other than breaking my heart into a thousand pieces?
“He didn’t touch me,” I said dully.
Eddie nodded as though reassured. Then, because he didn’t really have anything else to say, he followed up with, “Tough break last night.”
I laughed bitterly. “‘Tough break?’ Is that what the DEA calls having somebody put a gun to your head and nearly killing you?”
“It happens when you’re undercover.”
“You put me in that situation.”
“You were undercover before I ever got to you, Fiona. And it was your own shit that got you in trouble last night, not working for me.”
Fucker.
He was right, and I hated him for it.
“How did Lou find out?” I asked angrily.
“I have no idea.”
Because I was pissed and I had no other outlet for my emotions, I went after Eddie. “Thanks for all your help, by the way,” I said sarcastically.
“I couldn’t break cover unless it was absolutely necessary.”
“Really. When would it have become absolutely necessary? After my brains were all over the wall?”
“I knew he wasn’t going to kill you,” Eddie said.
“Oh, you did, huh? Wish I was psychic.”
“It was a power play to get Jack out of the way. That much was obvious from the get-go. Lou just used you to do it.”
Ouch.
The invisible knife in my gut twisted just a little bit more.
“The only question,” Eddie said coolly, “was if you were going to dime me out. And you didn’t.”
Not because of any loyalty I feel to YOU, I thought, but I was smart enough not to say it.
Instead I said, “Yeah, I didn’t – so I want what you promised me.”
He reached into his motorcycle’s saddlebag, pulled out my scrapbook, and handed it over.
