I follow her into the cramped bathroom and close the door behind us.She's already turning on the shower, hot water hissing against cheap tile.Her foot taps an impatient rhythm on the cracked floor—nervous energy with nowhere to go.
I release a sigh and rub at the back of my neck."You want an explanation."
"You bet I do.You dragged me into that.I could have sat outside and waited."Her voice is steady, controlled—professional.But there's steel underneath."I need to know there wasn't another way."
I keep my voice low."There wasn’t.I vouched for you—that means if Marquez wants you somewhere, you go.”
Her jaw tightens, and I can see her readying another question, so I get ahead of her.
“Paco would have shot him—one bullet to the head.That’s why Marquez had him callmeto deal with it.He knows Paco is a hothead."
She stares at me, processing.Her jaw works once, tension rippling through it.
"It was the lesser evil.The only choice I had."
"The lesser evil."She repeats the phrase slowly, like she's testing the weight of it, trying to decide if it's enough.“Is that how you live with evil?You think it’snecessary?”
I’m not about to justify my actions to someone who has no real understanding or first-hand knowledge of what long-term, deep cover actually looks like, or what it does to a person.If we pull this off, I’m done.New Orleans will be in my rearview, and I can move on to the next job.She’s a passenger.
“You could have—” she starts to say.
Three sharp knocks shatter the tension.
We both freeze.Our eyes meet.
I move on instinct—strip off my shirt, boots, and socks, then stick my head under the shower spray just long enough to plaster my hair to my skull.
No one knocks at this hour.Not friends.Not neighbors.Nothing good comes from a knock after midnight.
“Do the same,” I say to her.“Marquez likes to drop by unannounced.”
I learned that the hard way, and I’m not repeating that mistake with her here.
Understanding flashes across her face, and she removes her jacket and pulls her weapon out.
I grab my FN from where it's resting on the vanity, chamber already loaded.Check it by feel, not sight."Lock the door behind me.Don't open it for anyone but me."
When I’m sure she’s ready, I step into the hall, pull the door closed.The lock clicks behind me immediately.It won’t hold, but if anyone tries to get to her, they’ll have to go through me first.
Three more knocks, harder this time.
Water trails down my spine as I cross the apartment, each step deliberate and quiet despite the wet footprints I'm leaving on the hardwood.I tuck the gun behind my back, grip familiar and cold, and check the peephole.
Of course, it's Paco.
Speak of the devil, and you conjure him.
I open the door just wide enough, angling my body to block the view inside.Water drips from my hair onto my bare shoulders, slides down my chest.Perfect.
"Little busy, man," I say.Let irritation color my voice—not too much, just enough to sell it.
Paco grins, but it's all teeth and no warmth.His eyes are flat, assessing."Got news."
Something cold settles in my gut."What kind of news?"
"Luis."He shrugs, casual as discussing the weather."Didn't make it."
The floor tilts slightly.I force it steady."He's dead?"
