“Whose design?”
“My mother’s.” He doesn’t elaborate.
Chris waits. Rafael doesn’t fill the silence.
“That’s a lot of effort,” I say. “Keeping someone completely off the grid. Requires resources. Connections. Infrastructure that doesn’t come cheap.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Rafael’s gaze is steady, assessing. “But I’m more interested in something else right now. You two are federal agents. CIA, DEA—I’m guessing one of each.” He looks between us. “And you’re sitting in a hospital waiting room with two cartel bosses, not making any arrests. Not even pretending to.”
Chris goes still.
“Vicente Amador has a federal file thicker than my arm,” Rafael continues. “Arturo Flores isn’t far behind. And yet here you are. Bringing them coffee. Pacing the halls. Acting like family.” His head tilts. “That’s not standard procedure.”
“It’s complicated,” I say.
“I’m sure it is.” Rafael leans forward. “Here’s what I think. There’s a deal. Something that keeps Vicente and Arturo out of prison, probably in exchange for information or access. Something big enough that the federal government is willing to look the other way on decades of cartel activity.”
Neither of us confirms it. Neither of us denies it.
Rafael nods slowly, reading our silence. “I’m not going to pretend my family’s business is entirely legitimate. My mother has her own arrangements. But I’ve spent my whole life on the clean side of the line—publicly, at least. That was the point of keeping me invisible.” He pauses. “If there’s a framework here that could extend to her interests—to mine—I’d want to know about it. I have a lot to offer US intelligence.”
“That’s above our pay grade,” Chris says.
“Then run it up the chain.” Rafael’s voice is calm, but there’s steel underneath. “I just gave you actionable intel on an international assassination network. I’m offering more—everything my mother has on the Serbian and Yakuza operations, plus the methodology she used to keep me hidden for three decades. That’s tradecraft you could use. Plus my own skills.” He spreads his hands but doesn’t elaborate on what “skills” he has to offer. “All I’m asking is a conversation.”
Chris and I exchange a look. He’s right—this is way above us. But Rafael just handed us leverage we didn’t have before.
“We’ll make some calls,” I say.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
The debrief continues for another hour. Rafael gives us everything he has: names, financial trails, safe houses, communication methods. It’s good intel. Enough to give the Agency a real foothold.
I stop the recording and pocket my phone.
When we’re wrapping up, Rafael asks, “The woman at the house. Tatiana. Is she one of yours?”
Chris and I exchange a glance.
“She’s complicated,” I say.
Rafael nods slowly. “I noticed.” His expression shifts, more than professional interest. “She fights like someone who learned it the hard way. And she tracked me through Topanga in a storm, on those roads, in the dark.” He pauses. “If she resurfaces, I’d appreciate knowing.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.”
She vanished before sunrise. Wherever Tatiana is now, it’s not anywhere we’ll find her unless she wants to be found.
I think about what I know of her, mostly from Tatiana’s file and Nina’s psychological assessment. A woman who survived things that would’ve broken most people, rebuilt herself into something dangerous and self-contained. Rafael has that same quality. That same careful distance.
His interest in her isn’t casual. I file that away for later.
Callie finds us as we’re leaving the quiet room.
“Official update,” she says. “Vicente’s stable. Vitals are strong, no sign of infection. They’re keeping him in the ICU overnight for observation, but barring complications, he should be moved to a regular room by tomorrow.”
The relief is quiet, exhausted. We’ve been running on fumes for too long to muster anything more.
“He’s going to be okay,” Callie says, softer now. She’s looking at Chris. “Whatever else happens—he’s going to survive this.”
