Page 64 of Shadow Dance

Ilinger in the driveway, pretending I’m checking my phone when really I’m watching Maeve put her overnight bag into the trunk of Callum’s car. They’re spending the next few days in San Anselmo with the De Leon family for Thanksgiving. It sounds festive, but I know the De Leons and so does Maeve. She’s been dreading this all week.

Sure enough, the pleasant smile clinging to her lips slips when Callum turns to talk to Griff. Our eyes collide as I toss my bags into the back seat, and I give her a small smile. She returns it, wiggling her fingers in a tiny wave only I can see. Dread whispers over me like an unexpected chill, burrowing beneath my skin. I’ve been so focused on what needs to be done over the next few days I haven’t given much thought to the fact that I won’t be with Maeve. I’ll miss her, more than I realized.

I don’t know why this is an epiphany. When we’re at the house, around the others, we’re practically strangers. But that changes the second my car clears the property. From making out on hidden hiking trails like teenagers to shopping at the grocery store like an old married couple, we just keep getting closer and closer. We know it can’t go anywhere, but we still do it, unable—or maybe just unwilling—to stop this runaway train.

I know that she’s ticklish behind her knees and that I can give her goosebumps if I trace my fingertips over her open palm. I know what her kissestaste like, what her laugh sounds like—the silly one and the hysterical one—the way she squirms and moans when I suck on her neck. I’m starting to be familiar with the contours of her body, like the way her hips flare and how her tits feel in my hands. And I love the way her hands feel when she slips them beneath my shirt, running them over my chest and my stomach until it’s all I can do to resist her. But we do resist, because we’re never in the right place and I’m not risking getting arrested for public indecency.

“You out?” Callum calls over his shoulder. As far as they know, I’m off to Santa Barbara to spend the holiday with friends.

“Yeah. Heavy traffic already, so I want to get going,” I say. “Have a good weekend, though. Happy Thanksgiving.”

I get into my car, wanting to leave first. For one thing, I don’t feel like watching Maeve go anywhere with that asshole. Especially knowing what he’s capable of. I thought his dismissive attitude, incessant cheating, and public bj’s were shitty, but when I think about him putting his hands on Maeve, I see red.

Maybe it’s good I’m getting away for a few days. Once again, I’m starting to focus on things that will muddy the waters of why I’m really here.

The gate swings open, and I pull onto the road. Despite what I told everyone, I’m not going far, just to Wolf’s. He and Analisse are visiting family for the weekend, but I have a key to their place and a room that’s mine whenever I need it. I haven’t been back there since moving into Cal’s guest house, but it’s coming in clutch now.

Keeping an eye on everyone’s locations, I settle in at Wolf’s and order dinner from a Korean restaurant Maeve turned me on to. I watch as Griff follows Cal and Maeve over the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge and into Marin County, where he then heads south to SFO. Once the trackers assure me that Griff’s on a plane and Cal’s in San Anselmo, it’s game time. I access the house’s video feeds, setting each of them on a loop, and drive back up the hill.

Checking the tracking app one more time to make sure everyone’s where they should be, I slip on a pair of gloves and grab my tools. Inside, I disarm the security system and sweep the house for cameras and bugs, ensuring that the only surveillance devices present are the ones Iinstalled. The last thing I need is a rogue camera, planted by Cal’s suspicious ass, catching me snooping. But the house is clear.

Using a bump key, I let myself into the office and shut the door. It’s messy as hell in here because it’s the one room Cal doesn’t let the housekeeper touch, but I ignore that and go straight for the ottoman. It’s a beautiful piece, most likely custom-made, its buttery, tan leather a perfect match for the couch. Kneeling on the floor, I lift the lid to reveal the safe inside.

After Leo asked me about the safe, I kept an eye on the office camera’s feed. It took a few tries, but eventually I was able to get a clear view of the code Cal used to unlock the safe. I enter that code now, hoping he hasn’t changed it since. I’m in luck. The safe unlocks with a muted beep, and I open it, my heart pounding in anticipation. And fear. For all I know, Cal’s got a bomb in here.

Using my phone, I make a video of the contents: several banded stacks of twenty-, fifty-, and hundred-dollar bills, three phones, a bulging accordion file, a wooden box, and enough cocaine to down a herd of elephants. And, not surprisingly, Maeve’s driver’s license and passport.Motherfucker. I had a feeling the license was in here.

It doesn’t matter anymore, though. I knew she’d need an ID for the shooting range, as well as flying when the time came, so I called in a favor. My guy accessed Maeve’s records and made a copy of her license, overnighting it to my PO Box in Oakland. That’s the one she has now.

The accordion file is a true treasure trove. I photograph its contents carefully: fake passports and birth certificates, insurance policies, cash ledgers, investment portfolios, and records of bank accounts—some of which are offshore. Several correspond with the islands we visited last summer. There are weapons permits, blueprints for unknown properties, and lists of individuals who could be anybody from allies to future hits. I don’t have time to analyze any of it; I just record it and move on. Between my wire taps and video evidence, this is what we need to break the Oliveras and De Leon cases wide open.

Finally, I reach for the wooden box.

Inside lies a pistol, its polished steel frame inlaid with a swirling silver filigree, patterns of vines and trees etched into the metal. The subtle gleam of the grip suggests it’s made of black pearl or somethingsimilar, and it bears an image I recognize all too well: a serpent coiled at the base of an olive tree.

The Oliveras family crest.

Back at Wolf’s,I sit down with a beer and contemplate my next move.

I know what I’m supposed to do, obviously. Our investigative team knows about today’s mission, so they’re expecting something from me within the next few days, Thanksgiving or not. The stuff I saw today was damning, and it’ll most likely implicate not only Cal, but the entire De Leon organization. The Oliveras family, too.

And herein lies the rub. When I first went undercover on this job, nearly three years ago, my goal was to infiltrate the notorious Oliveras crime family and help take them down. Despite their notoriety and the lore surrounding them as far back as 1850s Mexico, they’ve always been difficult to pin down. Lots of money, fierce loyalty, and useful connections have made them nearly invincible.

But when I became a member of Cedro’s trusted inner sanctum, the investigation really took off. I now had access to places and events and conversations I hadn’t before, and it wasn’t long before I was delivering a steady drip of intel to my superiors on the investigative team.

Cedro tapping me to spy on his business associate’s nephew was never part of the plan, but I couldn’t exactly turn him down. He’s my boss for all intents and purposes, and what he says, goes. We feared that my new assignment might derail the investigation, or at least push it back a few months, but instead it’s revealed a whole new layer of criminal activity. I would’ve eventually secured sufficient evidence to take down the key players of the Oliveras family, but now we have the De Leons as well.

Lewis hasn’t mentioned possible concurrent investigations that might be going on with the De Leons—our relationship doesn’t work like that. The flow of information goes up, not down. But a family as influential as the De Leons doesn’t operate in a vacuum. If they weren’t being looked into—and I’m sure they were—they sure are now. Mystumbling into Cal’s world was a stroke of luck that will have exponential reach.

That said, one of the risks of going so deep undercover is that you start to identify with the people you’re entangled with. When the relationships are good, like mine with Leo and especially Cedro, what starts out as surveillance can start to feel like betrayal. Cedro treats me like a son. His trust is hard-won, his approval worth more than gold. Earning those things affected me more than I anticipated.

There were so many afternoons Cedro called me out to the patio with Leo, sharing plans for the future as well as tales of the past. Leo knew all of that stuff already, as he’d grown up under his abuelo’s tutelage and care, but I always listened intently. Cedro reminded me of my own grandmother, and sometimes I struggled to reconcile the affectionate man before me with the criminal mastermind he was.

But that was a slippery slope. I needed to remember that while I genuinely liked Cedro, I was also investigating him. I could never lose sight of that. The Feds I worked with would pull me off the job in a heartbeat if they caught even a whiff of emotional compromise.

So, I send Leo the evidence he and Cedro would want the most, including the picture of the stolen pistol. And then, a couple of hours later, I send everything to Lewis. I shut my eyes, saying a quick prayer for absolution, and then I let it go. I have to.

It doesn’t matter what I do at this point; I’m betraying somebody. Cedro, Leo, Cal, the Feds. Maeve. Myself. But I knew what it was gonna be when I took on the job, and I’ve gone too far to turn around now.

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