Chapter 4
A staple of Old San Juan, Barrachina Restaurant was one of Rocco’s favorites and the birthplace of the pi?a colada, although that was a hotly contested debate. All he knew was that he liked the drinks best here and needed one now.
“Here you go, man,” the bartender said, topping off the two frozen drinks with a healthy shot of premium rum. “Want me to keep the tab open?”
Rocco shook his head and tossed a couple of bills on the counter. He wouldn’t be staying long. It was one thing to keep his secret from the other agents in the DEA. It was an entirely different thing to keep one from his close friend—former DEA Agent Everett Gilliam.
Some could argue this was a good test for him. If he could convince Everett that he was a dirty agent planning to join the cartel, he could convince anyone.
But Rocco wasn’t sure he could.
He and Everett had been through too much together. There had never been any secrets between them until now.
Grabbing the drinks, Rocco approached a table in the corner where Everett sat, staring at him with a pensive frown. His crystal blue eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
Rocco placed a pi?a colada in front of Everett. “You’re still not sleeping, are you?”
“I’m not here to talk about me.” Everett grabbed the glass and took long gulps.
Rocco sat in an ornate iron chair across from Everett and asked the one question he shouldn’t. “When was the last time you talked to Remi?”
Everett’s gaze turned ice cold. “When was the last time you took drug money from the thugs you treat at the clinic?”
Rocco bristled. He walked a tight line with his undercover operation at the clinic. The DEA needed him in the communities, gaining the trust of the various gangs as he treated their stab and gunshot wounds. He operated on the mules who were near death after bags of cocaine exploded in their stomachs. His role as the “gang doctor,” as he was known on the streets, gave him unfiltered and unfettered access to information he fed back to the agency. Information used to generate a steady flow of arrests and stifle the drug problem on the island.
It was the reason the DEA looked the other way as he pocketed payments from the gangs. There was no better feeling than taking money they’d gotten from downtrodden drug addicts and funneling it back into services to help those addicted.
But no one was privy to what he did with the funds. Rumors had surrounded him for years. Which was why his cover as a dirty agent taking money from the cartels was perfect. Most of the other agents in the San Juan office wouldn’t be surprised if he walked away from the DEA and joined forces with one of several cartels.
The only person who would struggle to buy that story was sitting across from him.
“You, of all people, know it’s not black or white out there. Sometimes you find yourself making moves that aren’t entirely by the books and feeling like it’s … okay,” Rocco said, fighting the urge to defend himself.
Everett’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. “It’s not okay if what you’re doing has triggered an internal investigation of your actions. They’re saying national is sending a team to look into this.”
“I’m not worried about it,” Rocco said, then took a sip of his drink, appreciating the heavy dose of rum the bartender added.
“You need to be worried,” Everett insisted. “You broke the rules. Betrayed everything we’ve worked for. You’re headed down a dangerous path … one you can’t return from.”
Rocco gripped his drink. The frigid glass numbed his palm as the last golden orange rays of the sun cast across the flamingo-pink walls of the restaurant. He hated the patio umbrellas that covered the tables, blocking the view of the sky. Thought it was a waste of relaxing tropical space.
“I know what I’m doing,” Rocco said. “For years, I’ve been on the front lines with these monsters, and along the way, pieces of you harden and become like them to survive. That’s all I’m trying to do here.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Rocco I know,” Everett countered, then leaned back in his chair.
Rocco squirmed under his friend’s scrutiny. The last thing he wanted was Everett pointing out why it was damn near impossible for Rocco to do what he was accused of. If they went down this road, Everett might figure out he was going undercover. And that the story was a ruse to protect him in case those in the Sombro Cartel found out he had connections to the DEA.
“The Rocco you know has seen and been through too much. You think it was easy for me to see what the DEA did to you in Jamaica? Everything you lost because of the agency and how they left you dangling when it was over.” Rocco shook his head. “Maybe blind loyalty to this cause isn’t worth it.”
“You don’t have to tell me how fucked up what I went through in Kingston was,” Everett said, pain evident in his voice. “But don’t use me for your disillusionment. I didn’t leave the DEA because I stopped believing in the agency or its mission. I left because I’m fucking broken right now. I’m of no use to anyone …”
“I don’t believe that.”
“And I don’t believe you would cross lines and turn your back on everything you believe in. Everything your father instilled in you,” Everett said. “You had a front-row seat, watching how drugs can decimate a family, yet you never used that as an excuse. Never took the easy way out. You became a doctor and returned to the community that took your father from you. You found ways to heal and protect them from drugs. The kind of passion that’s in your heart doesn’t fade away.”
“There are people within the San Juan office who could say the same things about you. But you walked away, didn’t you?”
“You’re not listening to me?—”
“No, you’re not listening to me. I may not have lost as much as you, but I’m definitely not the same man who walked into the DEA’s office with a proposal of how I could stay a doctor and help them with intel to dismantle the gangs selling drugs,” Rocco said, doing his best to convince Everett that he didn’t know him as well as they both knew he did. “I’m tired of fighting a war that can’t be won.”
“Now, I know you’re lying. You’ve always believed that turning things around was about touching one life at a time. If you could help one kid out of the drug life, it was a win,” Everett said, glaring at Rocco. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”
Rocco opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Everett wouldn’t stop until he found out the truth, one way or another. With his old DEA friend snooping around, it could hinder the undercover operation. But if Everett knew the truth, then things would be different.
Lowering his voice, Rocco said, “None of what I’m about to tell you can be told to anyone. This is take it to your grave information. My life is on the line if it gets into the wrong hands.”
Everett glanced around to ensure no one was close enough to hear their conversation, then said, “You’re going undercover, aren’t you?”
“Yes, same setup as I’ve been doing in Puerto Rico.”
“That’s all I need to know.” Everett slid his hand across the table toward Rocco, then pulled it back, revealing a dark metal card.
Rocco turned it over. The outline of a stingray was etched on one side. “What’s this?”
“A backup plan in case you get screwed over like I did.” Everett stood, drained the rest of pi?a colada, then gripped Rocco’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Sometimes we can do more good working outside the confines of law enforcement groups.” He pointed to the card. “An open invitation to join the security consultants Ike is pulling together to help people.”
Rocco flipped the card in his hand.
Ike da Costa was a childhood friend of Everett and one of the heirs of the Hullabaloo Coffee empire. A billionaire and former Palmchat Islands Special Command Operator, Ike had abruptly left special ops and rejoined civilian life under a cloud of disillusionment.
Everett nodded. “Never expires.” He grabbed his drink and downed the rest of the frosty liquor. “I’m always here for you, Rocco. Don’t ever forget that.”
Rocco leaned back in his chair as Everett left the restaurant. But his attention was quickly diverted to the woman entering as she passed Everett.
Smoldering heat like lava flowed across his skin.
He couldn’t stop looking at her as she maneuvered her way to the bar. She was dressed in a sleeveless orange shirt that created a perfect contrast to her deep brown skin and a beige skirt that hugged her hips. His mind processed every part of her at lightning speed. She was tall and lithe, athletic and feminine, with an ample chest, curvy ass, and thick, luscious thighs.
But it was her beautiful face, framed by molten chocolate wavy locks with honeyed highlights falling loose beyond her shoulders, that had a strange sensation piercing his chest. Underneath the graceful arch of her delicately defined eyebrows, her eyes, pools of deep brown, were soft yet sharp, assessing her surroundings.
When she turned in his direction, her lips pressed in a natural pout that oozed with confidence and sensuality. His cock twitched at the thought of those lips wrapped around his length, taking him deep.
An image that should be far from his mind, considering that the woman was the Group Supervisor of the DEA’s Proteus Team, Jemma Winters. The woman who held his fate in her hands. She would determine if he would be the undercover operative infiltrating the Sombro Cartel or if he’d be replaced by one of her Proteus team members.
Rocco sucked in a deep breath.
He should leave her alone.
Wait the two days when he’d be officially introduced to Jemma and the Proteus team.
Too bad Rocco had no plans to do what he should.