11. The Shipment
The Shipment
By the time Mateo Vargas finally gave Chris Roman what the FBI had spent months trying to get, Chris had almost forgotten what victory was supposed to feel like.It happened on a Tuesday night.No dramatic meeting.No warehouse full of armed men.No whispered conversation in the back of a black SUV.Mateo simply poured two glasses of whiskey in his study and said—“I’ve got something coming in.
”Chris sat across from him.He didn’t react.
That was the first rule.Never look too interested.Mateo slid one of the glasses across the desk.Chris picked it up.“What kind of something?”Mateo smiled.“The kind you don’t ask questions about.”Chris took a drink.“Then why’d you bring me in here?”
“Because I need you.”There it was.Chris leaned back.“For what?”Mateo stood and walked toward the enormous windows overlooking the darkened grounds of the Vargas estate.
The mansion was quiet tonight.No party.No politicians.No music.Just security moving beyond the windows and the occasional headlights traveling along the private drive.
Chris had been inside this house enough times now that the guards barely looked at him.
Mateo trusted him.That was the point of the entire operation.Gain access.Build credibility.Become useful.Make Mateo Vargas believe Chris Roman belonged beside him.
Chris had done exactly that.And somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with the man’s sister.That hadn’t been part of the fucking plan.Mateo turned.“Thursday night.”
Chris’s attention sharpened.“Okay.”
“Three trucks.”Chris said nothing.“Coming north.”Still nothing.Mateo watched him.Testing.Always testing.Chris took another drink.“You going to tell me what I’m doing with three trucks or am I supposed to guess?”Mateo smiled.“That’s why I like you, Roman.”
Chris gave him a bored look.“You’ve told me that before.”
“And I meant it.”Mateo returned to his desk.He opened a drawer.Pulled out a folded sheet of paper.Set it between them.Chris didn’t reach for it.Mateo noticed.“You don’t want to see?”
“If you wanted me to see it, you’d hand it to me.”A beat.Then Mateo pushed the paper across the desk.Chris unfolded it.His heartbeat changed.He didn’t allow his face to.Times.
Routes.Vehicle descriptions.A location.A second location.Names.Jesus Christ.This wasn’t intelligence.This was the case.Chris scanned the page once.That was all he needed.Years of training had taught him to memorize details quickly.Thursday.
11:40 p.m.Three tractor-trailers.Transfer outside San Antonio.Secondary vehicles waiting at an industrial property.
The warehouse location Chris had been trying to confirm for months.And the shipment—Chris looked up.“How much?”Mateo’s smile disappeared.“Enough.”
“That’s not a number.”
“You don’t need the number.”
“If I’m responsible for making sure it gets from one location to another, I do.
”Mateo studied him.Chris held his gaze.Finally Mateo said it.The estimated amount of narcotics coming across the network was staggering.Chris had spent years working major investigations.He’d seen enormous seizures.He’d seen organizations move quantities that made headlines across the country.This was bigger.Much bigger.And Mateo was finally telling him.Chris folded the paper. “You’re expecting trouble?”
“Always.”
“Diego?”
“Handling the receiving end.”Chris almost laughed.Of course he was.“And me?”
“You’re with me.”That was interesting.“Why?”Mateo leaned back.“Because if something goes wrong, I want somebody driving who knows what the fuck he’s doing.”Chris smiled faintly.“So that’s what I am now?”
“My insurance policy.”
“Expensive insurance policy.”
“You’re getting cocky.”
“I was cocky when you hired me.”Mateo laughed.Then his expression changed.“There’s something else.”Chris waited.“My sister knows nothing about this.”The humor disappeared from Chris’s face.“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
“Camila isn’t part of this.”Chris’s jaw tightened.Mateo didn’t notice.Or maybe he did.“She stays out of my business,” Mateo continued. “That’s how it’s always been.”Chris looked down at the whiskey.“She asks questions.”“She always has.”
“She knows something’s happening.”
“She doesn’t know what.”Mateo leaned forward.“And you’re going to keep it that way.”
Chris looked at him.“You worried I’m going to discuss narcotics trafficking over breakfast with her?”Mateo’s eyes hardened.“I’m worried about my sister.”
“So am I.”The words came too quickly.Silence.Fuck.Mateo’s gaze changed.
Chris didn’t move.Finally Mateo smiled.“I know.”That somehow made it worse.
Mateo reached for the folded paper.Chris handed it back.“Thursday,” Mateo said.
“Thursday.”
“Eleven.”
“I’ll be here.”Mateo nodded.Chris stood.He’d made it three steps toward the door when Mateo spoke again.
“Roman.”Chris turned.Mateo lifted his glass.
“I trust you.”There should have been satisfaction.Instead, something cold settled in Chris’s stomach.Because Mateo shouldn’t.Chris gave him a small nod.Then walked out.Camila was in the kitchen.Of course she was.Chris stopped the second he saw her.She was sitting on the counter wearing shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, eating strawberries directly from the container.Her hair was piled messily on top of her head.Bare feet.No makeup.Nothing like the woman who had descended that staircase at Mateo’s ball and nearly made Chris forget his own name.
Somehow this version was worse.Because this version felt like his.Camila looked up.
“There you are.”Chris glanced toward the hallway.“Why are you awake?”She looked at the clock.“It’s ten-thirty.”
“Exactly.”
“Some of us aren’t eighty.”Chris walked toward the refrigerator.“Some of us have jobs.”She gasped.“I have a job.”
“Annoying me isn’t employment.”
“It should be.”Chris opened the refrigerator.He needed to leave.Immediately.He had information that could dismantle her brother’s organization sitting inside his head.And Camila was ten feet away smiling at him.“Want one?”Chris looked over.She held out a strawberry.“No.”
“You’re weird tonight.”There it was.Camila Vargas.Human lie detector.“I’m always weird.”
“No.”She jumped down from the counter.“You’re different.”Chris grabbed a bottle of water.“I’m tired.”
“Bullshit.”
“Camila.”
“What?”He closed the refrigerator.She stood in front of him.“Did Mateo say something?”Chris stared at her.“Why?”
“Because you were in his office forever.”
“Your brother talks.”
“My brother interrogates.”
“That too.”She searched his face.Chris hated how good she’d become at reading him.“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“Stay.”One word.That was all it took.His chest tightened.He wanted to.God, he wanted to.
Instead, he touched her waist.“Not tonight.”Her expression fell slightly.
“Why?”Because I’m about to give the FBI enough information to arrest your brother.Because everything changes after tonight.Because the life you’ve known might be about to collapse.Because I don’t know whether you’ll ever forgive me when you discover what I really am.Chris leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“I’ve got something to do.”Camila caught his wrist before he could move away.
“Come back?”He looked down at her hand.Then into her eyes. “I’ll try.”
She frowned.“That’s a weird answer.”Chris forced a smile.“Go to bed.”
“Bossy.”
“Camila.”
“Fine.”He kissed her once.Quickly.He shouldn’t have.Then he walked away.“Chris?”
His hand stopped against the doorway.He looked back.Camila smiled softly.“Be careful.”
Chris stared at her.She had no idea.“Always.”He left.Thirty-five minutes later, Chris Roman disappeared.Special Agent Christopher Walker walked into an FBI operations room.
Mercer was already there.Sloane sat behind a laptop.Logan stood beside a wall covered with surveillance photographs, maps, timelines and connections the FBI had spent years assembling.Chris entered wearing the same clothes he’d worn at Mateo’s mansion.The door closed behind him.Everything changed.His posture.His expression.His voice.Roman vanished.
“Thursday night,” Chris said.Every person in the room looked at him.Mercer stood. “What?”
“Shipment.”Sloane’s hands stopped over the keyboard.Logan straightened.Chris walked toward the table.“Three trucks. Transfer begins approximately eleven-forty. Mateo leaves the mansion around eleven. Diego is handling receiving.”Mercer moved closer.“How much?”
Chris told him.Nobody spoke.Logan finally muttered—“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”Sloane started typing.“Location?”Chris gave her the address.She entered it.
Satellite imagery appeared on one of the monitors.A warehouse.The warehouse.
Mercer’s face changed.“We’ve been watching that property for six months.”
“Now you know why.”
“Routes?”Chris gave them everything.Every turn Mateo had shown him.Every highway.
Every vehicle description.Every backup location.Every name.Every detail.Sloane typed furiously.Logan began writing across the operations board.Mercer stood completely still.
Chris finished.Silence filled the room.Then Mercer looked at him.“You’re certain?”
Chris’s eyes hardened.“Mateo gave it to me himself.”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”Mercer looked toward the board.Years of work.Wiretaps.Surveillance.
Informants.Dead ends.Burned sources.Failed warrants.Bodies.And now—A shipment.
A route.A warehouse.Mateo.Diego.Everything converging on the same night.
Mercer exhaled.“This brings down Vargas.”Chris should have felt relief.Instead, the first thing out of his mouth was—“What happens to Camila?”The room changed.Sloane slowly stopped typing.Logan looked at Chris.Mercer’s expression hardened.“She’s not our target.”
Chris stared at him.“That’s not what I asked.”Silence.Mercer glanced toward Sloane and Logan.“Give us the room.”Neither moved immediately.“Now.”Logan left first.Sloane followed, but not before looking at Chris.She knew.Hell, they all knew.The door closed.
Mercer faced him.“What exactly are you asking me?”
“You know exactly what I’m asking.”
“Camila Vargas isn’t under investigation.”
“She lives in Mateo’s house.”
“We know.”
“When you hit him, what happens to her?”
“We secure the residence.”