By the time my shift ends, my nerves are shot. The prison gates close behind me, and I take a shaky breath, sucking in air that’s damp and heavy with evening rain. I cut across the cracked asphalt lot, passing the chain-link fence, keeping my head down. There’s no point looking around—nobody here is a friend.
I walk the two blocks to the cheap motel where I’ve been living all month. It’s the kind of place with flickering neon, peeling paint, and cigarette butts ground into the concrete outside every door. My room faces the back lot, so I can keep an eye out. I don’t bother turning on the lights. The glow from the streetlamp outside is enough to see the battered dresser and the faded floral bedspread.
I don’t let myself sit down or think too much. Rodriguez could show up any minute. I keep my bag close, phone tucked in my jacket, just in case.
Around seven, a black Crown Vic pulls into the alley beside the motel. Rodriguez always drives the same unmarked car. I spot him through the dirty window, waiting, engine idling, eyes locked on my door.
I pull my hood up, heart pounding, and slip outside. The air is damp, heavy with the smell of rain on pavement and something sour from the dumpsters. Rodriguez doesn’t get out. He just leans over and pops the passenger door open.
The inside of the car smells like old coffee and leather. I slide in, shut the door, clutching my bag in my lap. He doesn’t say hello, just glances over, his jaw tight.
Rodriguez doesn’t say a word at first. He just pulls away from the curb, slow and careful, eyes scanning the rearview mirror.
This isn’t normal. He usually just talks in the alley, shoves some paperwork at me, reminds me of all the ways he can ruin my life. Tonight, he’s got both hands on the wheel, mouth set in a flat line.
I try to keep my voice steady. “Where are we going?”
He glances at me, then looks back at the road. “Somewhere nice. Thought you deserved a change of scenery.”
My stomach tightens. “Why? What’s wrong with the alley?”
He gives me a half smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not always a bastard, Carrie. Maybe I wanted to show you I can be generous too.”
I stare out the window, trying to track the turns. He takes us out of the motel’s neighborhood, toward the edge of town where the city lights start to thin. Every instinct in me screams that he’s up to something.
My fingers dig into my bag. I keep my phone close, ready to call for help if I need it, but I know nobody’s coming. I look over at him, trying to read his face, searching for any sign of what’s coming next.
I force myself to breathe slow, silent, watching the streetlights flicker past. My mind races, thinking of every possible reason he’d want to take me somewhere private—and none of them are good.
I’m trapped in this car, at his mercy, and for the first time since this started, I realize just how alone I really am.
Rodriguez finally pulls into a strip mall parking lot. A neon sign glows over the door:Gino’s Brick Oven Pizza.The windows are fogged from the heat inside, families and couples scattered at small tables, the smell of garlic and tomato sauce rolling out every time the door opens.
He parks close to the entrance. I half expect him to keep driving, but he turns off the engine and gets out, waiting for me to follow. I do, trying not to show how on edge I am. He opensthe door for me, even smiles at the hostess. “Table for two,” he says, all fake charm.
We’re led to a booth in the corner. The place is warm, busy, alive with chatter. Rodriguez shrugs out of his coat and leans back, suddenly acting like we’re on a date.
“Order what you want, Carrie. It’s on me,” he says, waving at the menu.
I order something basic, not that I could eat anything if I tried. He orders a pizza with everything, hands the menus back, and looks at me across the table.
I waste no time. “Why are we really here, Rodriguez?”
He laughs, tries to play it off. “Relax. Can’t a man buy his favorite informant a slice?”
I shake my head. “I’m not stupid. Why the special treatment?”
He taps his fingers on the table, eyes flicking around the room. “You’re doing good work. That’s all. Keeping your head down, staying close to the guys. We appreciate it.”
I lean in, lowering my voice. “Then tell me the truth. What exactly are you looking for? What evidence do you even have on them? It’s all rumors, isn’t it?”
He puts on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know I can’t share details. It’s an open case.”
“You threatened me,” I say, voice hard. “Told me I’d go down if I didn’t help. But you can’t even tell me what you have?”
His mouth tightens. “We have enough. Guns, money, club business—all of it points back to Calhoun, and the Maren brothers. We just need something that sticks.”
I push. “What about Jinn? The one who started all this. You have anything on him?”
