Ian didn’t answer. Maria’s looks weren’t really a matter for debate. Anyone with clear vision could agree on her appeal.
“How old is she? Twenty?”
“Twenty-two,” Ian said in a low voice. He knew where LaGuardia was going.
“You met her when she was eighteen.”
“Briefly.”
“And you were with her the night before last.”
Ian didn’t see what difference it made. He’d already tendered his resignation, and he was twenty-eight, not forty-five. If he’d pursued Maria after apprehending her at the border four years ago, that would have been extremely inappropriate. But he hadn’t.
“She assisted Villarreal with his getaway.”
“She gave him some towels to stop the bleeding,” Ian countered.
“And then she fled the scene.”
“She’s illegal. What do you expect?”
“You don’t think it’s odd that she promised to deliver a letter for him?”
“No, I don’t think it’s odd.” He thought it was stupid, and softhearted, and infuriatingly selfless. But that was Maria to a fault. She was going to get herself killed someday by helping people in need.
“Did you sleep with her?”
Ian refused to answer. It was none of his fucking business.
LaGuardia leaned back in his chair. “There’s a name for patrol agents who prey on female aliens.”
Ian had a few choice names for LaGuardia also, but he kept them to himself. He hadn’t laid a hand on Maria or any other female he’d encountered on the line. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d take advantage of a vulnerable woman. He’d broken cover to protect Maria, so it rankled to be accused of predatory sexual behavior. It rankled hard. “I didn’t prey on her, sir. With all due respect, what happened between us was completely consensual.”
LaGuardia’s mouth thinned with disapproval. “The power imbalance between a federal agent and an illegal immigrant rules out any kind of permission or consent.”
Ian couldn’t defend himself against these charges, and he resented LaGuardia for making them. LaGuardia didn’t understand the nature of his relationship with Maria, and Ian wasn’t going to fill him in on the intimate details. There had been no coercion. No penetration, in fact. He’d barely touched her. Did a thirty-second hand job even count as sex?
“I don’t want your personal feelings to interfere with this assignment,” LaGuardia added.
“They won’t.”
The SAC gave him a cynical look. “You requested a transfer from the line right after you met Santos. You crashed and burned in the DEA as soon as you came into contact with her again. But you don’t foresee any problems this time?”
Ian clenched his jaw tight. “No, I don’t.”
“You’re full of shit,” LaGuardia said flatly. “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t put you on my team. You’re only here because you know this girl and you’ve got a better chance of getting information from her than anyone else.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ian said, disgruntled. “I’ll feel real safe in Mexico knowing you’ve got my back.”
LaGuardia narrowed his eyes. “Just keep your dick in your pants, Foster. If you touch her or anyone else while you’re on duty—if you so much as jerk off south of the border—I’ll have your credentials stripped and you’ll be mopping up piss in the holding vans for a living.”
Ian took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. He’d have liked to mop the floor with LaGuardia’s face. It wasn’t easy for him to sit here and take this abuse. He wasn’t used to failing. Despite his rough childhood, he’d done well for himself. He’d been an ace student, a dedicated athlete, a crack shot. He’d expected to succeed. But instead of making his way up the ranks in law enforcement, he’d fallen from grace. This career setback had really thrown him for a loop.
“Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
LaGuardia’s harsh expression softened. He was one of those hard-ass military types, overworked and underpaid. He looked worn down.
Ian was worn down too. His undercover assignment as a drug dealer had taken a toll on him. It had reminded him of his dysfunctional childhood home. He probably needed a break, not another stress test, but he had to see Maria again. He couldn’t rest until he was sure she was safe. Villarreal’s enemies would be organizing their own search. They might target his daughter.
Maria had always been a trouble-magnet. And a man-magnet, through no fault of her own.
“They say you speak Spanish,” LaGuardia said.
“That’s right.”
“You won’t pass for Mexican.”
“No,” he agreed. He’d grown up in a poor Mexican neighborhood in San Diego. He’d wanted to belong to a big Mexican family, like his best friend Adam’s. But he spoke Spanish like a pocho, and he didn’t look Mexican. He had ordinary brown hair and hazel eyes. His father had probably been some white-trash tweaker or a homeless bum. Maybe a traveling businessman.
Who knew? His mother certainly didn’t.
“We’ve got some camera equipment for you in the back,” LaGuardia said, taking a few documents out of his briefcase. There was a passport, photo ID, and media credentials. “You’re Ian Phillips, freelance photographer for National Geographic.”
Ian accepted the items with gratitude. Pretending to work for Nat Geo wasn’t a bad gig. Too bad when this short assignment ended he’d be neither a successful photographer nor a DEA agent. He doubted he’d have a job with ICE, either.
Most SACs weren’t fond of rogue agents. Some of them didn’t even like independent thinkers.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” Ian said, regardless.
LaGuardia drummed his fingertips against the surface of the table. “You were at the top of your class in the academy. Your fitness level and IQ scores are impressive. I don’t question your drive or your intelligence, but I’m looking for a team player. Prove that you can follow orders and stay out of trouble, and I’ll consider you for a long-term position.”
“I appreciate it.”