by RC Boldt
Oxygen leeches from my lungs, inciting a burn that I welcome, hoping it will overpower the debilitating ache in my heart. It prevents me from speaking, and all I can manage is to mouth his name. To show him with my eyes that I’m sorry and trying to do what’s right. Even though what I feel for him is real.
He stays silent, jaw set, while his eyes track my approach.
“Ah, darling. There you are.” At Johanna’s cooing greeting, Nico’s eyes cut to her. She casually smooths her long hair over her shoulder again and lifts her chin, offering Nico a haughty look. “What was that, you ask? That is how it’s done. How we get rid of a dirty agent.” Flicking her eyes over Harper’s lifeless body, she adds, “He worked for the FBI.”
Fear has my stomach turning itself into knots and my heart stammering. Oh, fuck. If she knew Harper was FBI, then—
Blue-green eyes lock with mine, and it feels poetic in the bitterest of ways. I’m staring into a face that shouldn’t be of a stranger. It should be a face that’s familiar. The face of a nurturer. One that should hold affection instead of a mask of hatred and fury.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that José still grips his gun at his side.
“Olivia.” Her patronizing tone possesses an eerie, sinister quality that has goose bumps rising along every inch of my skin. “Did you really think your colleague wouldn’t rat you out?”
“What the fuck?” Goliath grits out heatedly.
The weight of both Nico’s and Goliath’s stares lands on my shoulders like two-ton boulders. But I don’t dare tear my eyes off the woman who orders murders in cold blood, who doesn’t so much as flinch at the sight of a life leaving a body.
I strive to tamp down the panic threatening to overtake me. Goddammit, where are they?
With a cold, calculating glare, regarding me as though I’m less than a piece of chewed gum stuck to the bottom of her expensive heel, she sneers. “I thought you planned to become a true Santilla.” Tight lines bracket her mouth. “Your father underestimated me. He thought he could leave me, and I had him killed. You should’ve known better.”
She barely finishes before José raises his gun and aims it directly at me. I scramble to get out of the way, my weapon poised, but Nico’s faster and shoots José before he can fire. Nico’s bullet slams into his upper chest, and José teeters, falling back against another stack of drywall. It becomes evident the man’s wearing a bulletproof vest when he lets out a loud grunt but there’s no visible sign of blood from his chest wound.
The sadistic person she is, Johanna stands back with a satisfied smirk in place, looking much like a proud parent observing their child performing a key role in a school play.
In retaliation, José aims for Nico. Finger poised on the trigger of my gun, my voice booms throughout the lecture hall as I yell at the murderous asshole. “FBI! Put your weapon down!”
I rush toward Nico, launching my body in front of his in the nick of time. José’s first bullet hits the upper quadrant of my vest. Fuck. The force of it knocks the breath out of me so violently it feels as if my lungs have collapsed. My mouth parts on a silent gasp and I stumble back. Nico steadies me before abruptly shoving me aside.
Goliath nails José in the arm, sending José’s second bullet off target, missing Nico and hitting me in my upper arm. I flinch at the searing pain as wetness spills down my arm. Shit. If the asshole nicked an artery, I’ve got to get pressure on it, and quick.
In the next instant, it becomes clear that my wound is only the first indicator that shit’s going sideways fast.
“Put your guns down!” I shout, trying to keep eyes on everyone. I press a firm hand to my wound, but blood continues to eke past my fingers. “Put the guns down now!”
I strain for any sound of a stampede of footsteps rushing toward us but detect nothing, which sends unease coursing through me.
Dammit! This is beyond fucked.
José doesn’t heed my command. Instead, he fires at Nico. I watch in horror as Nico’s body jerks from the first bullet’s impact to the outer part of his shoulder before the next bullet hits the dead center of his chest.
“Noooo!” My scream is ripped from deep within me, intertwined with shock and agony. I fire at José, my bullet piercing his lower leg, sending him stumbling backward.
Nico collapses to the floor, blood blooming at his shoulder wound, and he clutches his chest while blood leaks from between his fingers. His eyes meet mine, and for a split second, the depths hold what I swear are traces of regret. A trickle of red spills from the corner of his mouth, and when his eyes turn blank, a chill descends over me. Life appears to drain from his gaze before his eyes close in a painful wince that sends a ton of lead plummeting to the bottom of my stomach.
This can’t be happening!
“Nico.” The loud gunshots render my sobbing cry of his name inaudible. My eardrums protest as the aggravating ringing overpowers everything else.
Goliath acts like a man possessed, firing on José and hitting his opposite leg, while the second bullet pierces the man’s foot. José’s gun finally clatters to the concrete floor as he writhes in pain, blood seeping from his wounds.
“Goddammit! Put your guns down!” I yell. For fuck’s sake, where are they?!
From the corner of my eye, Goliath advances a few steps toward José and kicks the man’s gun, sending it skittering along the concrete, far out of reach. Planting a boot against the man’s groin, he disarms him of the backup weapon holstered at the ankle of his injured foot.
Gripping my gun, I skewer Johanna with a dark glare. “Get on your stomach. Now. Hands behind your head.”
I don’t expect her to heed my warning. My backup should’ve been here by now, and I can only hope that double-crossing motherfucker who set me up—the one whose brains are scattered on the unfinished concrete floor—didn’t fuck that up for me.
Luckily, I’m the same woman who’s faced extreme odds before and survived.
A patronizing smile curves Johanna’s lips. “Darling. You know how this has to work.”
“Oh, I know how it’ll work.” My eyes hold hers steadfast, and her smile wavers, eyes hardening.
“Remember what happened to your father.” She forces this out from between clenched teeth, eyes flaming with anger.
“You murdered him.” I flick my eyes briefly in Nico’s direction. “But I won’t let you take more lives.” Goliath edges closer to stand a few feet away from me, his gun trained on her.
Johanna’s lips turn down into a pout. “Such a shame I have to get my hands dirty.”
She pulls a small gun from behind her back, and time slows to a snail’s pace. I fire, and the force of the bullet sends her staggering back, her legs giving out from beneath her as a red spot blooms just below her collarbone. Slumping to the concrete, she presses a hand to her wound, yet she still doesn’t relinquish her weapon.
“Put. The gun. Down.” My words are choppy as adrenaline pulses through me.
Her eyes grow squinty with unbridled anger, mouth twisting unattractively. She raises her weapon, a sneer tugging at her lips. “You’re just like your father.”
Before she can pull the trigger, another shot rings out, hitting her in the bicep. My eyes snap in the direction of where the return fire came from to find Goliath glaring at her. His stance is prepared even though she’s dropped her weapon in order to clutch her arm.
Fuck. Eyes frantically darting from him to Johanna to José, I kick her gun out of reach and command Goliath, “Put the gun down!” Eyes clashing with mine, he appears torn, the crease between his brows cavernous.
Where is my motherfucking backup?!
The acrid scent of gunpowder permeates the air. Nico’s body is far too still with a pool of red beneath him. I’m assaulted with a near debilitating ache to go to him. To cradle his head in my hands and tell him the truth. To let him know that what we had wasn’t all a lie.
To tell him I love him.
Clenching my jaw tight, I feel fury intermixing w
ith pain for the injustice that I found love only to lose it in the most devastating way. And although Goliath deserves to be charged for his criminal activities, he’s not a complete bad guy in this scenario. After all, we’re on the same team when it pertains to Johanna.
He’s just lost his boss. His friend. My words are gentle but urgent as my gun’s aim never wavers. “Put the gun down, Rafe.” He visibly hesitates but must detect something in my eyes because he lowers his weapon slowly.
“FBI! Put your weapons down!”
A jolt of relief shudders through me. About damn time the cavalry showed up.
A male voice suddenly booms, “Wright?!” and my body deflates in relief at the familiar sound of my colleague’s voice.
Goliath, Johanna, and José are instantly surrounded by individuals in bulletproof gear with large bold letters identifying them as FBI.
“We need a medic!” I yell, shoving my gun in my holster.
I’m about to rush to where Nico lies on the ground, desperate to check for any sign of a pulse, when an unfamiliar male voice suddenly booms, the jarring sound rising above the cacophony of movement.
“Where the FUCK is the agent in charge here?!”
60
Olivia
I hover outside the conference room door, listening to the harsh conversation inside.
“You fucked up our operation by letting her go in with guns blazing! Does she realize how much manpower and years went into this?” The man’s accusations reverberate through the entire office floor. “And your other guy got himself killed because he was a goddamn traitor to the Bureau!”
The next thundering voice comes from Thomasino, my supervisory special agent.
“If there were a little courtesy between agencies, then maybe things would’ve operated more smoothly! But don’t think we’ll clean up the shit pile you left! You’re the ones who held us up from going in there before shots were fired because you were too busy pissing around what you claimed was solely your operation!”
I wince at Thomasino’s razor-sharp yet completely warranted words. Tension and animosity have continued to infect our agencies ever since DEA Agent Gianetti turned against one of our own, Agent Fontaine, while both were undercover on a case that overlapped three years ago.
Once it was discovered that Agent Gianetti was complicit in the torture and murder of Agent Fontaine, it set in motion the deterioration of relations between the DEA and FBI.
I rap my knuckles on the doorframe twice and wait for Thomasino’s grunt of a command to enter.
Once I step inside and shut the door behind me, I rush to take a seat at the oval table beside Thomasino, careful not to jostle the sling protecting my injured arm. Of course, the other man remains standing, evidently too fired up to be confined to a chair.
“This is Deputy Special Agent in Charge, Penman, from the DEA. Penman, this is Olivia Wright, our criminal psychologist.”
Palpable irritation radiates from Penman. When he plants his squinty gaze on me, I steel my spine.
“So, you’re who I have to thank for our operation going ass up?” His tone is filled with reproach.
Lifting my chin, I meet his eyes, my tone calm. “I was simply doing my job, sir.”
Thomasino clears his throat and addresses me. “Penman had men working an unprecedented undercover operation.” Penman’s jaw clenches at the man’s snarky emphasis.
Who the hell did he have undercover?
Thomasino sighs. “Wright was placed there to determine whether there was sufficient evidence indicating the university and specific university employees were involved in illegal drug operations.”
But Penman shows no sign of backing down. “We had our lead guy in there for years.” He slams his fist on the table. “Fucking.” Another slam of his fist. “Years, Harold. And your goddamn psychologist turned it into a clusterfuck.”
Oh, hell no. I shoot up from my seat. “With all due respect, sir, everyone’s wanted La Madre de la Muerta out of the picture for years. Is she currently in custody? Yes. Do we have enough evidence for a conviction? Hell yes. And everyone’s been eager to expose the university’s ties to the drug trade.” I match his frigid glare and force my words from between clenched teeth. “Both. Were. Accomplished.
“And if your men operated by protocol and reported anything to you, then you would know that not only was I blindsided by my tie to Santilla, but I was forced into Alcanzar’s world, and I was double-crossed by one of our own. But I still got the job done by delivering not only Santilla but also Alcanzar’s right-hand man on a goddamn silver platter with plenty of intel to boot.
“Yes, when an operation goes sideways, it’s nothing less than horrendous. I get it. We lost an agent, regardless of the circumstances and how he went out. But we gained victories from it, too.
“We obtained solid proof of university officials working in conjunction with a cartel leader to siphon drugs through the school. It’s something no one’s been able to pin on them because they’ve covered their tracks so well. Up till now.
“I got a lead, and I took it. I knew Santilla wouldn’t be able to pass up a potential opportunity to dismantle Alcanzar’s power. Do I regret that lives were lost? Of course.”
I swallow past the burgeoning lump forming in my throat as the sight of Nico’s dead body flashes in my mind. “I hate that it came to that. But we still got more out of it than we expected. There’s the possibility for multiple indictments and convictions once this goes to court.”
Penman scowls at me, and I get the feeling he doesn’t appreciate me standing up to him. “It still stands that you fucked with our operation.”
With an outstretched arm, Thomasino silently commands me to reclaim my seat. Leaning toward the table with his head tipped, Thomasino focuses on Penman with curiosity etching his features.
“Due to the sensitive nature of this case and the high level of risk attached to it, I can understand why you didn’t disclose this information.” His tone is begrudging, but it’s clear he’s offering an olive branch, of sorts. “You mentioned your lead agent was in there for years. Exactly how many years are we talking?”
Penman scrubs a hand down his face. “Five years.”
“Jesus,” Thomasino mutters under his breath, and we exchange a shocked What the hell? look. To work an undercover operation for that length of time is unheard of.
There have been rare cases of lengthy undercover operations throughout the history of each of our agencies, but none have occurred in recent years. The most notable, however, was the undercover agent whose alias was Donnie Brasco. His story was made into a movie after he took down multiple key members of the mafia.
“It was supposed to be a short stint initially, trying to get a foot in the door. But an opportunity presented itself that we couldn’t pass up.” Penman shoves his hands in his pockets and stares blindly at the currently clean whiteboard spanning one wall. “He could’ve been killed.”
I press my lips tight to refrain from asking who he’s referring to even though curiosity nags at me.
With a huff of breath that borders between aggravation and resentment, Penman cuts his eyes to us. “This trial’s bound to be a mess.”
Thomasino offers a curt nod. “We’re prepared to fully cooperate.”
Penman’s gaze settles back on me. “Be careful, Wright. We can’t afford to lose anyone else to these goddamn cartels.” Without waiting for a response, he strides from the room, leaving the door open behind him.
“Well.” I exhale slowly. “He’s just a ray of fucking sunshine.”
“Wright,” Thomasino warns, but the edges of his mouth that tip up give him away. His subdued smirk disappears in a flash, a somber expression coloring his features as he surveys me.
I’m sure he’ll assume stress from this operation is the cause for the copious amounts of concealer I’ve used to mask the dark circles beneath my eyes. God knows I’ve been using countless under-eye treatments daily in an attempt to reduce the puffi
ness from crying over Nico.
I stiffen as searing pain lances through my chest at the mere thought of him, my throat tightening with grief. Gaping loss intertwines with plaguing guilt that I’m the reason he died. I brought Santilla there.
“You did good.” I nearly flinch at Thomasino’s praise while my turbulent emotions have my mind screaming, But the man I love died because of me! “Especially considering the circumstances,” he tacks on quietly.
I know what he’s referring to. It’s become the elephant in the room lately.
The discovery of my link to Santilla.
“The reports will be a beast to tackle, but I assure you, I’ll do my best.”
He nods. “I have no doubts about that.” With a wince, he taps the side of his thumb against the file in front of him. “I wanted to mention the mandatory psych eval… Yes, it’s protocol, and nobody likes it, but I want you to know we’re behind you on this.”
Employees tend to groan over the evaluation required after an operation ceases—particularly one that goes sideways as this one did. No one wants someone digging around in their psyche. Although I understand the reasoning behind it, I especially don’t look forward to suffering through it.
My appointment is in thirty minutes, and I hope to get through it as quickly as I can—before my anguish over Nico rises up again and spills past my threshold.
Regret bleeds into his features. “Because of the way things played out, you understand that it’s too dangerous now for you to continue as Olivia Wright. I know that, going in, none of this was anticipated.”
Brackets line his mouth as he grimaces, his eyes boring into mine. “It was never our intention to put you at risk. Unfortunately, due to your biological mother being Santilla, your safety is jeopardized.”
Resignation settles over me because my life has been upended by what had originally been a simple task that morphed into a world all its own.
