Truth in Pieces

by RC Boldt

I meet Tim’s eyes warily, preparing myself for recrimination, only to discover a gleam of understanding instead. “You make one hell of a professor, you know that?”

  A fragment of a laugh escapes me. “I’ve been told that a time or two.” Before I set my sights on joining the FBI to use my background to help put away criminals, I enjoyed teaching—and still do.

  When I pull out the thick file folder and legal pad, my pen drops to the floor, skittering along the smooth surface beneath the table.

  Inwardly, I groan. Please let this not be an indication of how this day will go. I duck down to grab my pen as Thomasino pipes up, his voice thick with irritation, “How long are we expected to wait? Because my people got here on time and…”

  I grimace at his tone. This better not turn into an agency pissing match because Penman’s star DEA agents are a minute late. Straining to reach out while trying not to hurt my still-healing arm, I grasp the pen with my fingertips—finally.

  “Sorry we’re late.”

  The low timbre and unmistakable huskiness of the man’s voice have me jerking so fast I knock the back of my head on the edge of the table. Pain has me wincing before I straighten in my seat, turning my focus on the door and the late arrivals.

  “Here they are now.” Penman’s boasting holds an underlying thread of annoyance at his agents’ tardiness.

  Everything draws to a screeching halt as my eyes lock on the four men who’ve stepped inside the room and taken their seats. My breathing turns erratic and my spine goes stiff as I attempt to stifle the tremors rolling through me.

  It can’t be. My heart beats erratically in my chest while my mind struggles with the sight before me. I can’t possibly be seeing this.

  “Wright.” My eyes snap to Penman, and he gestures to me with a wave of his hand. “Even though you’ve worked together these past few months, I think some official introductions are in order.”

  Dread ambushes me. Please tell me nothing was disclosed in those reports… I mash my lips into the closest excuse for a polite smile I can muster and rise from my seat.

  I avoid looking directly at the agents. “I’m Olivia Wright, a criminal psychologist consultant.” It’s a relief that my words don’t sound out of breath, indicating how rattled I am. With an inward sigh, I return to my seat.

  “Thank you. Now, here are my agents.” Penman nods to the man seated at his left.

  The man rises, his features placid, much like they were during every encounter we shared. “Agent Michael Araya…” Marcus, the more silent of the two men Nico assigned to watch over me.

  The next man draws himself up from his seat, and Tim’s eyes widen at gaining another look at the beast of a man. “Agent Kai Iona.” Goliath…or Rafe.

  “Agent Daniel Lopez.” Tino, the other man Nico assigned to watch over me alongside Marcus.

  Penman preens now. “And last but not least, the reason we’re sitting here to go over an operation that lasted five years and is expected to crumble not one, but two cartels…”

  “Agent Luca Nicochávez.”

  The bottom of my stomach drops out. Hands shaking, I curl my fingers into fists striving to maintain a modicum of professionalism. My heart races, and a tremor rolls through me, and for a split second, I wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me. If I want to see him again so badly that I’m imagining him here. The man I thought had saved my life, only to die with no one to hold his hand while he took his last breaths.

  Dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, he appears tired but still unbearably handsome with dark stubble lining his sharp jawline. He looks the same yet different from the man I’ve come to know.

  A massive jolt of relief co-mingled with shock radiates through me at seeing him alive. He’s really alive. The man I grew to love isn’t dead.

  My instincts hadn’t led me astray, after all. I’d sensed the inherent good in both him and Goliath—or Kai. I’d felt safe with them, and it makes much more sense now as to why.

  Penman boasts, “Nicochávez sustained a minor injury from a gunshot wound before he faked his death. As you all know, that doesn’t put him in the clear. He remains under guard.” The man nods proudly at Nico—or rather, at Luca. “That’s what you get when you take down two cartels, crooked politicians, and university officials.”

  A severe frown mars Thomasino’s face when he leans forward, fists on the table, and booms, “Now, I think Wright deserves credit as well. Your men didn’t do it all on their own.”

  Oh, fuck. I do not need more attention drawn to me right now.

  Penman’s chest puffs out, his face turning ruddy. “I hardly think—”

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  I steel myself against reacting to Luca’s voice. It nearly has me weeping with relief that he’s alive while simultaneously wishing I could launch myself across this table and hit him repeatedly. To make him feel even an ounce of the pain I felt from his death.

  Keep it together, Olivia. You’re a professional.

  “I know we’re all amped to go over this case, so maybe we could kick things off right away?” Nico’s placating tone indicates he’s seasoned at handling Penman.

  My eyes skim over the agents before returning to him—to Luca Nicochávez. When I discover him watching me, my breath stutters at the emotion lurking in the depths. I tear my eyes off him only to clash with Kai’s. The beast of a man gives me the subtlest of winks, a hint of affection I’ve come to recognize flaring in his features. My heart flips at the small response because it’s as if I can hear him say, Don’t worry. We’re in this together, Professor.

  “Right,” Penman grumbles. “Everything’s in the shared folders, and we’ll display these reports side by side.” He gestures to the projection screens at each end of the room. “Since our investigation launched first, we’ll start things off and go from there.”

  I force myself to concentrate and maintain focus on the screen, but all the while, my mind stutters over the revelation.

  Luca Nicochávez was undercover the entire time. He was certainly convincing enough to have me believe he was one of Miami’s most dangerous drug cartel leaders.

  I rack my brain, combing through all the details and encounters for any signs I may have missed but come up empty-handed. Each of these men certainly carried off their identities without a hitch.

  Oh, God. A bolt of fiery panic shoots through me as I consider the plausible prospect that Agent Nicochávez had been playing me the entire time. My stomach roils at the thought. Has he included details about us—about our relationship, if I can even call it that—in his report?

  What if everything between us was for the case? What if it was simply a way for him to create a closer relationship with me to gain headway on this case against Santilla?

  I feel the blood leave my face as light-headedness assaults me. If our accounts of the operation don’t line up, this will be a disaster for me professionally.

  The report on the screen beckons me like a siren to a sailor, but it’s the words that hold me captive.

  Special Agent Luca Nicochávez assumed the false identity of “Nico Alcanzar.” His backstory was created to include him overseeing drug smuggling operations with routes from both Colombia and Cuba to Miami.

  Criminal informant Manuel Esposito assisted in establishing the agent’s reputation and vouched for him, as well as Special Agent Kai Iona, who operated under the assumed identity of “Rafe Torres.” Iona’s position was Nicochávez’s bodyguard and confidant.

  As soon as I read the mention of their criminal informant, I blink, certain I misread it.

  Manuel Esposito. Holy shit. Manny? He’s been their CI the entire time? My mind races furiously.

  Special Agents Nicochávez and Iona were removed from all DEA employee records with the same protocol to follow for Lopez and Araya. Their personnel files were placed secretly with Assistant Special Agent in Charge Alexander Renata.

  “A select few individuals within our agency were made aware of this operation.” Penman�
��s eyes flick briefly to my superiors, Thomasino and Kramer. “Due to the severity of risk this mission posed to our undercover agents, we were careful not to share information with corresponding agencies.”

  He gestures to the screen again, and I focus on it, desperate to gain further insight.

  Nicochávez and Iona proceeded to build their cover lives and infiltrate the Miami cartel, which had been gaining momentum under the leadership of Salvatore Vega.

  So frantic for more, I scan over the next few paragraphs while additional details strike out at me.

  Vega took Alcanzar under his wing, treating him like a son. He made it clear he wanted Alcanzar to take over the reins when the time came.

  Although it has not been substantiated, it is highly suspected that when Vega was assassinated, it had been under the command of Johanna Santilla, also known as “La Madre de la Muerta.”

  I have to pause to steady my breathing as fury bleeds into my veins. There’s so much goddamn blood on her hands.

  Forcing myself to tune back into the meeting while Penman leads it, I discover that both Marcus and Tino were added into the operation once Nico had gained more authority.

  None of their DEA colleagues knew what happened to these men for the next five years of the undercover operation. Due to the need for strict security measures, only a select few higher-ups were made aware of their roles.

  The more I learn about the unprecedented case these men brought about, the more stunned I am at their work and dedication. Alcanzar stepped into the role he was groomed for by Vega and ruled with a heavy fist. From these accounts, no one challenged him after the first few weeks. Not until Santilla caught wind that there was “a new kid on the block.”

  “Santilla had gone dark—mainly resigned to ordering her main henchman, José Campedo, to carry out hits to try to throw a wrench in Alcanzar’s operations. Other times, they used explosives or attempted to bribe members of Alcanzar’s cartel.”

  Penman displays the next slide on the screens. “Rumor had it, Santilla had gotten cozy with a federal agent and was trying to work out a bargain, but no one was able to verify this at the time, nor determine the agent’s identity.”

  Penman’s gaze darts briefly to me. “It was finally discovered to be FBI Special Agent Harper. From what we’ve recovered, Harper was disclosing confidential information regarding this operation as well as agreeing to falsify leads and evidence to alleviate the attention on Santilla.

  “In exchange, Harper received hefty payments from Santilla, as you can see here from highlighted statements produced by a Swiss bank account in Agent Harper’s name.”

  My thoughts are utterly scrambled. All this time, I believed I’d fallen in love with a known criminal. It’s something that’s festered inside me, something I haven’t confessed to anyone—certainly not the shrink assigned to signing off that I’m still fit for duty.

  “Nobody knew about this operation outside the DEA except for Manuel Esposito, the CI, who agreed to feed them information and help the agents in exchange for a lesser sentence.”

  My mind rewinds to the get-together at Manny’s estate and what he’d said.

  “Nico’s a good man. Smart. Smarter than he lets on.”

  “His heart’s in his eyes when they find you.”

  Had he just been playing the role, assisting Nico in the masquerade?

  My eyes continue to desperately scan the report to see if Nico mentioned anything about our relationship. Because if he omitted it, then perhaps he deemed it outside of the case—something he wanted to keep just between the two of us.

  When I come up empty-handed and see that this is simply a review of the case facts, I wonder if this can be an indication that he wasn’t playing me. That, maybe—just maybe—some of his feelings were real.

  “And these are some of the shipments of cocaine, heroin, and methamphetamines that the Alcanzar cartel smuggled from Cuba to Miami for distribution during this time period.” The screen transitions to show photographs of pallets upon pallets of drugs.

  Collective damns and holy shits sound throughout the room. There must be millions of dollars of drugs pictured there. Shameful as it may be, my mind is still hung up on him. On Luca. On what transpired between us.

  “Was it all real, though?”

  When heads turn my way, I realize I’ve spoken aloud. I scramble to cover my faux pas, intending to explain I’m merely astounded at the vast amount of drugs. But before I can, a familiar deep male voice chimes in.

  “It was definitely real.” My eyes cut to Luca’s, and he holds my gaze with a searing intensity. “All of it.”

  Penman continues with the case notes while Luca’s eyes hold me captive. It takes a Herculean effort to turn away and return my focus to the screen. My skin is electrified by the weight of his attention, and I wonder if I’ll ever get over my reaction to something so simple as his proximity.

  Throughout the meeting, I struggle to maintain focus. My brain and heart are still flummoxed at discovering the man I love—the man I believed I betrayed—is still alive and isn’t a criminal.

  Nico Alcanzar is Agent Luca Nicochávez.

  His words run on a whispered loop in my brain the rest of the day. “It was definitely real. All of it.”

  63

  Olivia

  Night has settled over the city by the time I make it to the small townhouse I’m currently staying in. Thankfully, it’s only a short drive from the DEA offices.

  Once the meeting ended for the day and Luca headed my way, his husky voice calling, “Wright… Got a minute?” I’d avoided eye contact and darted for the door.

  I admit my actions were gutless, but I knew the second we talked, my emotions would take over and I wouldn’t be able to restrain them from spilling out.

  I desperately need time to process everything.

  Luckily, Luca had been cornered by his superiors, and that worked to my advantage.

  A tinge of comfort seeps within my bones at the sight of the vehicle parked at the curb to watch over me. Both agencies are taking precautions because although Santilla and José are in custody, their connections still pose a threat.

  Though I’ve begun the process to change my last name, I still need to determine my next steps and what might be the safest place to relocate.

  I think back on the moment when Santilla entered that lecture hall. Her mere presence had bled evil into that space until it overflowed. I would’ve willingly shot and killed her and José had it not been my duty to keep them alive so they could be punished in court and serve their time in prison.

  I park in my one-car garage, ensuring the door closes completely before I exit my vehicle. As soon as I unlock and step through the side entrance, I sense someone’s presence and reach for my gun.

  “You should know by now I’m only here to talk.” Though her voice is familiar, her words do little to assuage my tense nerves.

  “I don’t know anything for certain.”

  Traces of humor linger in her tone. “If I wanted you dead, Olivia, I could’ve done it long ago.”

  Cautiously, I edge forward, gun still in my grip, until she comes into view. Suspicion blankets me because she’s the woman who stopped by my table at the restaurant that day and the one who gave me the obituary.

  Sitting in a high-backed armchair in my small living room with the blinds still drawn and one small lamp lit, she doesn’t appear to be armed.

  “Have a seat. Let’s talk.”

  Still regarding her warily, I ease into the chair across from her and set my gun on my lap.

  “I can understand why you’re so prickly, considering the recent events.”

  “How much do you know?”

  “Mm. Most of it.” She says this in such a casual, offhand manner, as if we’re discussing something as mundane as the weather. “It took some dedicated surveillance, but it paid off.”

  A hum of silence settles between us, the only sound being the click of the air-conditioning as it kicks on. />
  “Why are you here?”

  “I never introduced myself before because I needed to make sure you could be trusted. That you weren’t like Harper or Santilla.” She eases forward in her seat and links her fingers together between jean-clad knees. Her expression shifts, displaying what appears to be vulnerability. “That obituary was only half true.”

  I tense, eyeing her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  Her gaze locks with mine. When her fingers reach a spot near her hairline and begin peeling what looks like a layer of her skin away, I watch, rooted to my seat.

  Shock bleeds through to the marrow of my bones when she removes the liquid latex applied to her cheeks and nose, continuing to peel away a thick layer over her chin and bare her features.

  All oxygen lodges in my chest. Oh my God. Her chin and nose… But it’s not what has my lips parting in utter disbelief. It’s when she plucks out the contacts from her eyes.

  I thought the only person who had eyes like that had bled on the concrete floor while she’d been swarmed by FBI and DEA personnel.

  Before that, I thought I was the only one with eyes like that.

  “We were hidden from her, but our father figured it’d only be a matter of time before she figured it out, so he split us up. He gave you to Liam and Beth, knowing their jobs would require them to travel frequently.”

  I carefully holster my weapon, my gaze transfixed on her. “Who raised you?”

  She moves to dispose of the latex in the wastebasket in my kitchen. Stopping at the decorative mirror hanging on the living room wall, she answers while replacing her contacts.

  “A woman who’d once been married to Antonio’s distant cousin. They’d met probably once or twice, if that. She’d always wanted children but had never remarried and”—she shrugs—“it wasn’t in the cards. She raised me in a small town outside of Portland, Oregon.”