Isabella curled her fingers into fists, focusing on the bite of her nails on the thin skin of her palms. Letting herself go back, even for a second, was dangerous—stupid, really. She couldn’t change what had happened eleven years ago, the day she’d made the decision that had changed everything like a stone in still water, rippling all the things it touched. Still, in the dark of her car where no one could see her, Isabella allowed herself to remember. The horrible stomach ache she got that night from drinking that coffee—God, it had been strong enough to take the chrome off a car bumper. The clink of the china cups as she’d finally been able to sneak them back to the kitchen in the house on the south side of Remington where she’d grown up. The trust in Marisol’s eyes.
The stark, stabbing fear that had come nearly four years later, when the police had knocked on the door of her mami’s house, faces serious and badges bright.
A shift in the shadows had Isabella on full alert, her heart beating a fresh batch of adrenaline through her body and her breath adjusting to temper it. The figure moved up the street on strong, stealthy footsteps, and her muscles released—although only slightly—in recognition. A minute later, Kellan reached the passenger side of her Mustang, his movements perfectly fluid as he hooked his fingers beneath the door handle and settled himself into the seat beside her.
“Nice car. I should’ve known you’d drive a Ford,” he said, a thread of heatless sarcasm woven through the words.
In an instant, Isabella’s armor was locked back into place. “Do not speak ill of my baby. I’ll leave you here before we even start.”
“No you won’t.” His teeth flashed in a smile that Isabella felt in the pit of her stomach even though she really didn’t want to. He said, “The Camaro’s two blocks over, in the opposite direction of Kylie and Devon’s apartment. Everything’s good to go.”
“Great.” She turned the key, the Mustang’s engine growling quietly to life. The job in front of her wasn’t small. She needed to pave over memory lane and get to business. “So listen. Before we do this, there are a couple things you need to know.”
Walker didn’t budge in his seat, but everything about his demeanor said he was all ears. “Shoot.”
“Carmen’s a little, ah. Prickly. Especially in front of people she doesn’t know.” The woman had good reason to be rough around the edges, what with the former junkie/prostitute part of her past. But for now, Isabella was keeping that nugget tucked safely away. No need to air her CI’s dirty laundry. Carmen might give off nine different brands of attitude, but she was getting her life together. “Her abrasiveness is just her way of testing the water, so don’t take it personally. She’s going to be on edge enough as it is when she sees me.”
“Wait. Doesn’t she know you’re coming?”
Walker’s tone was all surprise over judgment, and Isabella couldn’t help it. She laughed, long and loud. “Some CIs are easier to work with than others. Carmen needs a little finesse. Especially if I want to get useable information out of her.”
“Ah.” His chin lifted in a single nod of understanding, the passing street lights allowing small glimpses of his expression. “So you think she’ll be more likely to come out with the truth if you take her by surprise.”
“Now you’re catching on.” Isabella traded one street for another, the asphalt growing dingier and more warped with poorly patched potholes and faded yellow lines as she headed toward the notoriously rough section of the city down by the North Point River pier. “Carmen’s had a hard life. She’s on the upside now, but she’s still pretty wary. Especially of cops.”
“Duly noted.” After another minute, he added, “Anything else I should know?”
A ribbon of surprise uncurled in her belly, but far be it for her to say no if he wanted to go the whole knowledge-is-power route. “I might have to withhold some things or even bend the truth when I ask her what she knows about the house and who was in it. You’re going to need a decent poker face.”
He shifted, his black canvas jacket shushing over the passenger seat as he turned to look at her. “You’re going to lie to your informant in order to get her to give you information.”
“Not if I don’t have to, and I’d never lie about what she’ll get in return for useable intel,” Isabella qualified. After all, CIs were an asset. Jerking hers around wouldn’t get her anywhere, not to mention it was a dick maneuver of the highest order. “But yeah. If I have to massage the truth or be tough on her in order to get her talking, you can bet your ass I will.”
“So it’s more like angling for what you want,” Walker said, and she nodded in reply.
“Yes. Rule number one is to tell as much truth as you possibly can. People have all sorts of tells when they lie, even for the best of liars telling the tiniest untruths. Plus, Carmen’s smart. The more truth I tell her, the less there is to get caught in if she calls me on it.” Isabella paused to lift a quick brow at him through the shadows of the Mustang’s interior. “For example, it would probably be damn near impossible for me to sell you as my boyfriend than as some nosy, pain in my ass firefighter.”
Funny, he raised a brow right back at her. “You wouldn’t date a guy like me?”