Page 13 of Drawn Blue Lines

I glanced down and gritted my teeth. The white button-up shirt underneath my navy-blue suit was splattered with José’s blood. I always kept a spare in my car for situations like this, but my mind hadn’t exactly been focused lately.

I calmly stared back and waited for her to speak. She didn’t, and neither did I. A successful prosecutor controlled the narrative by forcing the defendant’s hand. So, we stood in silence. The longer we stood, the more unsettled she became.

Most people considered silence to be peaceful. I found it to be a necessary evil—one I masterfully manipulated to my advantage. Quite the impressive family trait. Reserve was a façade we were forced to wear like a crown.

And by the look on bar bitch’s face, I was still the king.

As expected, she broke first, narrowing her heavily lined eyes. “Did you cut yourself?”

“No.” My lips twitched while attempting to hold in a smirk.

Her mouth fell open, and the sound of metal crashing against tile shot through the cantina. My smirk widened. Shock value always delivered a guaranteed pick-me-up. However, as much as I enjoyed a good blindside, I also had a business to run. I couldn’t have what’s-her-name using this as an excuse to be late for work.

I made myself a mental note to buy her a new cell phone.

Once I remembered her name.

The thin skin underneath her eye twitched, and her whole demeanor changed. With a weak smile, she offered a courteous nod, fighting to keep her gaze impassive and failing miserably.

Not that most people would’ve picked up on it. Years of working in the DA’s office taught me to notice the slightest involuntary human reaction. The twitch of a witness’s eye told me more than their entire testimony. Hers told me she’d heard the rumors about me. She wanted to ask if they were true, but she wouldn’t.

Even she knew curiosity killed the cat.

Our conversation ended as she turned her attention back to whatever the hell it was she did every day instead of her job. I wasn’t offended. As long as she kept her mouth shut, I would too, and we’d both live to see tomorrow.

Continuing down the deserted hallway, I realized being stuck at a dive bar in the middle of the day had its perks. At least I’d have a few hours of privacy before the booze brigade rolled in. Houston’s town drunks were more punctual than any of its so-called professionals. They wouldn’t flood the cantina until at least three o’clock.

Which gave me plenty of time to call in a favor.

Plus, we were still short-staffed, so I wouldn’t have to deal with nosy waitresses who didn’t know their place. That wasn’t a generalized chauvinistic statement. It was a brutal fact, considering the last two employees I vouched for ended up in the obituary column.

Needless to say, women had crossed over to my shit list months ago.

Making my way to my office, I unlocked the door and collapsed in my chair. In the solitude of my own space, my lungs finally began to heave much-needed air into my body, and I clicked on the desk lamp, bathing the tiny office in dim yellow light and shining a spotlight on the reason I was going to hell.

Well, one of them anyway.

Sinking into the chair, my fingers flexed around the picture frame as I dragged it toward me. Even protected by the glass, the photo was worn and faded. Destroyed by time just like each one of us.

Four smiling Harcourts. One living on borrowed time.

I closed my eyes and sighed. “None of us had to end up like this.”

Sure, if my mother hadn’t sold us out and my sister had trusted me with the truth then one wouldn’t be in jail and the other wouldn’t have wound up in the obituary column.

Unfortunately, it was too late by the time I saw through my family’s carefully constructed personas. Maybe if I had, things would’ve ended differently. Bitter laughter rumbled in my chest.

Should’ve. Could’ve. Would’ve.

But didn’t.

Story of my fucking life.

Of course, none of that mattered now. Things had changed, and so had I. My job wasn’t to protect and serve anymore as much as manipulate and destroy. Preferably, before anyone else beat me to it.

Like the Muñoz Cartel.

Opening my suit jacket, I pulled out my cell phone and rolled it over in my palms. Carlos said he would take care of things, but I didn’t like leaving my fate in someone else’s hands. If there was one valuable thing I learned from my mother, it was that political officials’ morality had a price tag. Luckily for me, the consulate general at the Mexican Embassy was just as corrupt as she was, only with half the intellect.

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