Page 187 of When Lies Unfold

My hands drop with a thud against my desk, my eyes flarin’ open. I stare at the woman in disbelief.

Anger rears its head, sinkin’ into every fiber of my body. “The fuck do you want?”

Agent Garcia meets my glare like I’m not threatenin’ to eviscerate her on the spot and waltzes into my office.

“So warm and welcoming, Mr. Hernández.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her black pants. “It makes me question whatever Miss Arias saw in you.”

I plant my feet and rise from my chair. “I’m not very hospitable these days?—”

A wry smile tugs at her mouth. “I’ve noticed?—”

“Which means Gordo’ll help you find your way out.”

She doesn’t give any indication she plans to leave. Instead, she casually strides over to inspect my office shelves, her perceptive gaze flittin’ over the various books to the drawin’s Alma’s given me. Most of those are of Alma, me, and Lola.

Tension seeps into my muscles ’cause I know what it says about me that I keep that artwork displayed.

“You haven’t given up hope of finding her, have you?”

I don’t answer her. It’s none of her fuckin’ business after she dropped the ball at helpin’ Lola get outta Hidalgo’s.

“You are a persistent man. That’s undeniable.” She ambles to another section of books. “Did you hear that her files disappeared?”

I pause, wonderin’ what she’s gettin’ at, before warily answerin’, “Yeah.”

Her abrupt turn to face me has my hand movin’ to my weapon. She smirks, noticin’ my reaction. “What you don’t know are the details that were omitted from the report on what happened at Hidalgo’s and the inconclusive evidence on the tunnel leading from his compound.”

Suspicion pollutes my bloodstream. “And why the fuck are you only tellin’ me this now?”

Instead of answerin’, she tips her head to the side and surveys me like I’m some unique specimen she’s never seen before.

“She was quite the overachiever. Not only did she leave me a thumb drive filled with incriminating details on many of my colleagues—specifically Juarez—but she also killed Hidalgo after those initial explosions.

“Subsequent explosions followed, and while someone tried to assist her in her escape, she sustained critical injuries from Hidalgo’s guards.”

Agent Garcia edges closer to my desk. “I’ve never seen a woman fight like that before.”

My hands curl into tight fists, and rage-filled anguish washes over me. “Get to the fuckin’ point, Garcia.”

Please don’t tell me she’s dead. There’s no fuckin’ way I can bear it.

“There were a lot of dirty agents involved in that shitshow.” Avertin’ her gaze to the dictionary on my desk, I get the impression she’s not actually seein’ it but lost in her thoughts. “I’m sure you’ll understand why you had to come across all those dead ends in your search.”

Her smirk and raised brows piss me the fuck off. “I couldn’t exactly have you continuously snooping around and compromise the investigation process that would put the right people behind bars.”

Motherfucker. “You’re tellin’ me you fucked around with my search for Lola?” My tone holds the promise of dismemberment, but it doesn’t appear to faze this woman.

Instead, she merely shrugs and says, “It took a while to clean things up—to make things right. Which is why I’m here now.” Her voice grows firm with determination. “I want to know if you’re hiring.”

I study her for a moment, wonderin’ what the fuck she’s gettin’ at. My response emerges slowly. “I don’t normally hire CIA agents, Garcia.”

“See, now, that’s a good thing.” She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Because I’m not an agent anymore.”

“Really.” Doubt bleeds from the single word, and I don’t bother to phrase it as a question.

“Nope.” She saunters over to one of the chairs opposite my desk and gracelessly slumps into one. “So, what do you say? Am I hired?”

Steeplin’ my fingers, I release a slow breath. It’s meant to calm me, but it fails to serve its purpose. “Garcia, you’re givin’ me conversational whiplash.”

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