by Rebecca Shea
As I wait for Ramos, Hart, and Landers to return and brief us, I pull out my phone and send Kate another text. She hasn't responded to the last two I've sent. She texted me two days ago, asking where I was, and I couldn't tell her. Once this case is over, I can share some details with her, but while we're actively working it, I cannot say anything about what I'm working on or where I'm at. This is for her safety and for mine, as well as a strict agency policy.
I sense her pulling back, and I can understand why. Being with someone who, for days and sometimes weeks at a time, is completely removed from reality while we work on these cases, can't be easy. However, since Nick has been doing this, I was under the assumption she understood what came with me being a special agent for the ATF.
I busy myself with case notes and review my file over and over, looking for anything that could provide more details on the guns moving through our border and into Mexico. AK-47s and various other assault rifles are a hot commodity south of the border.
Just as I close the file, the apartment door opens and in walks Agent Ramos in a pair of too-short cut-off jean shorts and a tank top. She grabs an oversized sweatshirt off the chair and pulls it over her head to cover herself up as she sits down at the table where we've all gathered.
"I got the bug in place." She grins and grabs a tissue from the Kleenex box on the table to wipe some of the excess makeup from her face.
"We heard," Agent Beck says excitedly. "We've already got confirmed intel on shipments moving to and from the border." Agent Ramos's eyes widen, and she looks at me.
"Great job, Ramos. I don't know how you got in there so quickly, but great work. Really." I roll my fingers across the table just as the apartment door opens again and in walks Hart and Landers.
If I didn't know these two men, I'd never in a million years guess they were federal agents. Landers looks like he's a twenty-one-year-old fraternity boy with tanned skin and bleach blond hair. Your typical Southern California pretty boy. And Hart, he looks like a kid who's been stuck in a skate park for the last ten years with shaggy hair and grungy clothes.
It's all part of the role. These agents are the best. They're able to transform into anything we need. Drug dealer? Easy. Surfer? Piece of cake. Stripper? Not a problem. I look at Leslie Ramos, who is clearly happy to be back and covered up. I've been put in situations that have made me very uncomfortable over the years, but never once have I had to put myself out there like she has on this case.
It's one thing to pose as something, it's another to actually take your clothes off and perform like it's your job. I couldn't be more proud of her—and protective at the same time. Landers and Hart are the epitome of professional, and I couldn't be happier that those two are in the club with her tonight.
We have a great group of men and women in the Los Angeles office, and I know I've made the right decision to transfer here.
Agent Beck briefs the team on the details they've been able to pull off the audio. Agents Hart, Landers, and Ramos listen intently as the group discusses strategies to see how we can get more information to help us build a tighter case. The strip club is just a front for the business. The money travels in and out of the club, but the guns and drugs don't. However, the manager of the strip club, Tease, is one of Navarro's right hand men here in the states and is an invaluable resource to us—if we can get more information. He knows how and when the guns and drugs move, as we've heard from the audio we've captured coming from his office.
"What do you need me to do?" Ramos asks, pulling her knees up to her chest in a protective manner. I want to tell her she's done more than enough, but the truth is we need her.
Agent Hart clears his throat and looks at Ramos before turning to me. "Navarro has her in the front. Landers and I identified Dominguez, Castro, and Cano coming in and going to the private room in the back." Hart looks at Ramos again, whose eyes are downcast and focused on her hands wrapped tightly around her knees.
"No." I shake my head. "I won't send her in there all alone." The back room is a private dance area where the dancers are totally nude. In most clubs, anyone can go to the private room, provided there’s space. In Navarro's club, it's invite only. They're also breaking the law by allowing alcohol in the private room. California law does not allow alcohol in the fully nude clubs or fully nude areas in strip clubs.
Ramos has been working the topless area, which has been uncomfortable enough for all of us. I can't for the sake of her safety send her to the back without our guys within arm’s reach should something happen.
"It might be our only—"
"No!" I snap at Agent Hart, startling everyone at the table. Silence falls across the room as I strategize our next steps.
"I'll do it." Leslie's voice is meek. "It's the only way to find out what's happening back there," she says, dropping her legs to the floor and sitting up straight. "I'll ask Navarro if I can try it—just for one night. See if I can get a bug in there." She looks around the table as all of us men sit quietly, letting her speak. "Am I nervous? Yes. Do I want to bring these assholes down? Hell, yes." That elicits a smirk from Agent Hart and a smile from Agent Landers. Those three have been relentless in their pursuit of the Navarro cartel.
I nod as a plan formulates in my head. "Landers and Hart. You're out for tonight. Go home. Rest. And we'll see you tomorrow. I'll go in and I'll bring Marcus, Jackson, and McMillian. We're going under the ruse of a happy hour. I want everyone dressed like they've come from an office. We'll be in the front room." I look at Ramos, who nods.
I can't send Hart and Landers back in for a second day without it looking suspicious. Security there is top notch, and they know who comes and goes, who's new and what doesn't sit right. A group of four coworkers doesn't look as suspicious as two guys back for a second night.
With a plan in motion, I send the team back to their hotels to catch some sleep. Ramos stays behind as I gather a few of my belongings and toss them into my bag.
"You sure you're okay with this?" I ask as she tugs at the hem of her oversized sweatshirt. It's so big it covers up her short jean shorts. Her feet are stuffed into a pair of Converse sneakers, and her long hair is piled on top of her head. She looks so young, so vulnerable, and guilt floods me as I think of putting her in a position of danger.
She's a young agent. A good agent, but she doesn't have the years of experience under her belt for a case like this. "Yeah," she says with a small smile.
"You won't be wired," I remind her. Not many places to hide equipment when your attire is your birthday suit. "I might be able to find some earrings."
"It's fine," she insists. "Just tell me where you want me to place the bug." She's drawn us an entire map of the club, from the all-nude communal room to the smaller private rooms in the back. She's drawn every table, chair, window, rest room, etc. We've got devices the size of a dime placed in various rooms throughout the club, and we need to get to just a few more places. However, ensuring her safety is more important.
"Les," I call her and she looks up at me. "If you’re uncomfortable at any time, I need you to tell me. Promise."
She smiles at me stoically. "Promise." She knows the dangers of this job, and I trust her professional judgment.
"Good. Let's go. I'll walk you out." I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time. Four twenty-seven in the morning…and still no response from Kate.
Chapter Fifteen
Kate
Waking up with a headache is not how I wanted to start my day. I know that the added stress I'm putting on myself in regards to Sam is not helping me. I stumble through my morning routine, barely keeping it together. I feel terrible, but I know I need to get to work and push through it.
By the time I get myself halfway put together and into the car, my headache seems to be letting up slightly. I manage through traffic with my coffee and make it to my office to find Adam waiting for me… with that same look plastered to his face that I saw the other day. The look telling me he's pissed and concerned but mostly
worried.
"You don't look good," he says as I step into my office and drop my purse on my desk.
"Well, good morning to you, too," I mutter.
"Sorry." He cringes and sits down in the chair. I take my time getting situated and powering up my laptop while he shifts uncomfortably.
"I take it this visit isn't just to see how I'm doing," I guess, my voice monotone.
"Yes, it is," he says defensively.
I sigh. "Adam, do you think I don't know any better? You check on me by instant message every morning. You never stop in my office before noon because you're a grumpy morning person."
He lets out a deep sigh and nods, pulling his cell phone from his front pocket. He stares at the screen for a few moments before setting the sleek phone on my desk and sliding it across the wood where it stops in front of me.
The look on his face is sad, almost regretful when he points out the time the latest text message came in. "This morning. Four-thirty."
There, in a text message from Marc, is a picture of Sam and a young woman. A pretty woman. He's wearing a button up dress shirt with no tie. The sleeves have been rolled up. She's wearing a huge Michigan State sweatshirt that basically covers anything else she may have on. Her tan legs peek out from underneath the sweatshirt. She's looking up at Sam and smiling, and he's looking down on her. She's very petite next to his large frame.
There's nothing incriminating in this photo, other than that he's with a woman at four-thirty in the morning. He sent me a text message early this morning, a little past midnight, but I haven't responded to the last three he's sent. They’ve been short, vague, and not something I want to deal with right now. I want to talk to Sam, not accuse him of something.
"Say something," Adam urges me.
"What do you want me to say?" I slide the phone back to him, and he rakes his hands over his face. "Adam, I owe it to myself to speak to him about this. I don't want to make assumptions or get into something with him over the phone."
He stares at me in disbelief. From his perspective, this is black and white. Sam's lying to me and I should let him go via a text message and move on.
"Look," I start. "Let me think about this a little bit. I have a terrible headache, and I just need to get these contracts done today." I point to the growing stack on my desk. "Let's grab lunch and just catch up. Talk about anything other than Sam." I offer my friend a sincere smile, and he begrudgingly returns it.
"Fine. I'll come and get you at twelve-thirty. But we're going to that deli that has that amazing matzo ball soup."
I can't help but let out a little laugh. "Deal."
As Adam stands up and walks across the office to let himself out, he stops just outside the door. He turns to look at me and smiles. "You deserve better, Kate," he says softly before he turns and disappears down the hall.
My stomach drops as the picture of Sam smiling down at the young brunette burns itself into my memory. I rub my temples, praying the medicine I've taken grabs a better hold because I feel like I'm losing my battle today.
* * *
By the time Adam makes his way to my office for lunch, I'm literally incapacitated. For the last two hours, I've tried to fight against the increasing pain taking over my head and now my entire body. My vision started blurring until I finally couldn't see anything in front of me, rendering me useless. I rest my pounding head on my hands. Even the slightest of sounds feels like someone is stabbing me in the head with a dull knife. If this is what death feels like, I hope I go quickly. I can't make out light or dark, and the intense pressure behind my eyes is overwhelming. It's taking everything in me to breathe through the nausea and focus on not fainting.
I can sense someone next to me, and I can feel Adam's hand on the back of my neck, gently squeezing. I hear his gentle voice speaking into my ear, but I have no idea what he's saying. Just knowing he's here brings me the slightest bit of comfort. Then, suddenly, the pain increases until I finally hear a pop inside my head and everything goes black.
Chapter Sixteen
Sam
"The list of charges I have documented fills damn near two pages!" I tell Nick over the phone. I tap the end of my pen excitedly on the legal pad in front of me. "It's unreal what these guys are moving."
He's quiet and doesn't respond. This is very unlike the Nick I've gotten to know so well.
I try to uncover what's behind his somber mood. "Soooo, ah—"
"Kate told me about you two," he interrupts me, suddenly going silent.
Shit. I wasn't expecting him to throw that at me. "I wanted to talk to you about that," I begin, raking my hand over my face. "But you sent me to San Diego and it wasn't a conversation I wanted to have on the phone. I feel like this warranted a face-to-face."
"You're damn right it did, which is why I'm so fucking pissed—"
I sigh, "Look, Nick—"
He cuts me off again. "I'm not happy about this, Cortez. I don't like it. That's my sister. She's family. Don't fucking hurt her, Sam. She deserves the world, and if you're going to just fuck her over—"
Now it's my turn to interrupt him. We both can't seem to get a word in edgewise. "That won't happen. I like her. I more than like her, Nick. I care about her…and don't make me choose, or you're going to lose the best agent you've ever hired…because I'll choose Kate over this job any damn day of the week." My heart is pounding wildly, and I close my eyes, waiting for Nick's response. I can already envision him writing up my termination papers.
He exhales loudly. "I hope you'd choose her."
"In a heartbeat," I respond without a second thought. And suddenly, everything falls into place for me. She's my future. She's my motivation to move forward and leave the past behind me. She is what I've been missing. In my gut I knew this, but given the thought of choosing my job or her—it'd always be her.
"I'm glad we had this little talk," he says with an edge of sarcasm before turning back to business. "I've briefed everyone here in L.A. as to the progress on the case. No one can believe that you and Ramos have been able to gather the intelligence that you have in such a short period of time. Navarro is usually tight, Sam. He's getting sloppy. This worries me."
I nod in agreement and take a deep breath. "Me, too. Everything I've researched about him tells me he doesn't fuck up. We've been able to get bugs in three different areas of the club. That is almost unheard of. I want Ramos out of there, though. If shit is as messy as I think it might be, I don't want her in the crossfire."
"Agreed. The bugs are in place. Have her resign from the club; tell them she has family issues or something that's realistic. Have Hart and Landers make a trip back tomorrow to see if they notice anything off. Hart said he saw Castro in there. What the fuck is Castro doing in a club meeting with Navarro?"
"Good question. They met in the private room in the back. We didn't have a bug in there yet. If he comes back, and they meet in there again, we're ready to grab what we can."
"Good," he barks. "I'd like to see both of those fuckers go down. However, Navarro is our focus. He's got the guns. Let the DEA handle that fucking bastard, Castro."
"Castro and Navarro together make me nervous, though, Nick."
"Yeah, me, too. But you did exactly what I wanted you to do. The rest will fall into place. Get Ramos out of there, hang around for a couple more days and see what you can pick up. Sounds like the list of charges is enough, so if we don't get anything else, we'll move in and pick him up." I hear his cell phone ringing so he quickly lets me go.
I look at the notebook in front of me and smile at the list of charges we can bring against Navarro. A rush of adrenaline passes through me like it used to when I was working cases back in Phoenix. I was afraid that after the shooting I would never feel the rush again that I got when I was close to nailing a case. I’m glad to know I was wrong.
My cell phone rings again, and Nick's number flashes across my screen. "That was quick," I answer with a laugh.
His voice is direct and filled with a se
nse of urgency. "Sam. It's Kate. She's in an ambulance on her way to Cedars Sinai." The phone goes dead just as the news punches me in the fucking gut.
* * *
The California traffic never bothered me much until today. Until what is supposed to be a two-hour drive turns into nearly four. I've left voice messages for both Nick and Adam in hopes that someone will call me and update me on what the hell is happening. By the time I make it to Cedars Sinai, my patience is worn thin. When I finally see Adam in a waiting area outside the neurology department, I nearly breathe a sigh of relief.
"What happened?" I ask, rushing to his side.
His eyes narrow and he looks me over with an untrusting look. "She's in surgery," he says, turning his attention back to his phone.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you and Nick—"
He cuts me off, his voice angry. "Yeah, well, Nick's phone died, and I have no desire to talk to you."
"What the fuck is your problem, Adam?" I emphasize his name. "Because whether you like it or not, Kate is my girlfriend—"
"Is she?" he snaps, his face twisted in anger.
"Yes. She is." I'm certain and sure in my delivery. Fuck Adam and his questioning. Kate is mine.
"Was she your girlfriend when I received this picture of you leaving an apartment in San Diego with a woman who looks like a prostitute?" He shoves his cell phone in my face. It's a picture of me and Ramos leaving the apartment the department has us working out of.
I sigh loudly and rub my eyes. "I can't talk about that picture, Adam, but Kate, she is my girlfriend. No question about it. So I need you to stop rushing to conclusions about what you think you saw, and trust me."
