Jo Robertson - The Traitor

"So, what's the big disaster here in Podunk, California?" Max asked.

"Our sole witness in the Vargas case – the girl I told you about – was murdered this morning," Rafe said, suddenly bone-weary and wanting to sleep more than anything else.

"No shit!" Max exclaimed. "What happened?"

Max already knew about the hit on the transportation van and the deaths of the other eight girls and the drivers. Because the two men had California drivers' licenses, Rafe had asked Max to run their names through the L.A. databases. No hits, but Rafe had figured the licenses were fakes anyway.

"Long, sad story," Rafe answered, loosening his tie and slipping off his shoes.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his linked fingers. "Christ, Max, I'm so tired of this crap. Vargas and his organization have destroyed so many lives." He thought of Isabella and her sister Maria, of the drug overdoses and the girls sold into prostitution. "If I don't nail this son-of-a-bitch soon, I'll go nuts."

"You will, old man, you will."

Rafe shrugged and flipped open his cell phone. "God, I hope so." He punched in the speed dial number for Agent McNally at the Department of Homeland Security.

"Excuse me just a minute." Rafe stepped into the bathroom, lowered the toilet seat, and sat down.

When McNally answered on the other end of the line, Rafe went through the security code protocol even though he felt like a fool. Through the crack in the bathroom door, he could see Max laughing and made a circle with his forefinger at his temple.

"Did you find anything on the prints?" Rafe asked when McNally paused long enough for him to get a word in. He'd called DHS to run the prints on the Mexican van drivers when Max hadn't come up with anything.

"Zip. Which is suspicious in itself."

"What about the girl Esperanza?"

"The Mexican police don't have anything on her, not even a missing person's report."

"Damn." Rafe rubbed at the growing pain in his right temple.

"You've got a leak on your end, Agent Hashemi, and you'd better plug it quick."

"Or what, McNally? Or you'll take over the case? Don't be an ass. And don't be so sure the leak isn't on your end." He snapped the phone shut, wondering just how long it'd be before his superiors pulled him off the Vargas case.

"Trouble?" Max asked when Slater left the bathroom.

"A shit storm," Rafe growled. "There's a leak from somewhere and I'm worried it's in my own department."

"Anyone in mind?" Max asked.

Rafe took three aspirin, downed them with a swig from the liquor bottle. "Not a single idea."

Rafe parted company with Max thirty minutes later, and on the way back to the courthouse, he ran the names over in his mind again. Who he'd talked to, even tangentially, about the case, who'd have access to his files, who could be bought off and who couldn't.

By the time he arrived at his temporary office, he'd narrowed the list down to two people, and he didn't think either one was capable of this kind of betrayal. The leaks had to be in one or both of the two county sheriffs' offices. Or Homeland Security.

Not in DEA.

When Slater was wheeled from recovery to his room in the intensive care unit, the nurse warned Bella to limit her visit to the allotted five minutes. "He's stable, but critical," the horse-faced woman in her starched white uniform ordered, "so don't tire him out."

Bella stared at his swollen and bruised face. Tubes and IV lines, along with an oxygen hookup and other machinery made him look like a recovering Frankenstein. He was naked from the waist up and his chest bandaged in criss-crossed sections. His eyes jerked under the closed lids.

The purple and red flesh of his left shoulder contrasted starkly against the white bandage that covered the spot where the first bullet had been removed. A second bullet had struck a rib from the back, but fortunately missed the lung and the spine. Another bandage wrapped around his right thigh where the third bullet penetrated the skin and barely missed the femoral artery.

"Slater," Bella whispered, touching his arm gently.

He grimaced briefly and opened his eyes a moment later. "Hey, Torres. Glad you're here." He struggled to sit up.

"Oh, no, big fellow. The nurse will skin me alive." Bella carefully pressed him back on the slightly-elevated bed. "And where else would I be but here at a time like this?"

He groaned. "Whoa, I'm weak as a kitten. World's spinning a little."

"You've been through major surgery." She fiddled with the covers and plumped up the pillow. "But the doctor says you'll be fine. Eventually."

He sighed and glanced at the tubes and machines surrounding him. "A hell of a thing."

She pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. "I was worried about you." She patted his arm, almost afraid to stop touching him. "Your mom called. She'll be here tomorrow."

"And Kate?"

"She's flying back from D.C." Slater's girlfriend Kate Myers was on special assignment in Washington.

"I don't want them to worry about me." He stared down at his hands, the tube that ran from his arm, the monitors on his chest.

"Can you recall any details of what happened?"

Slater's jaw tightened under the pallor of his skin. "I've been remembering them since my mind crawled out of the damn anesthesia."

His eyes clouded with pain when he looked up at her. "Manuel Ruiz – that damn Ruiz – he was the leak in the department. In my own house!" His fist tightened on top of the covers and he winced when the IV line pulled.

"Ruiz, the new deputy?" Bella gasped. "How do you know?"

"He killed Harris."

"No, no, Harris is okay, recovering, probably faster than you. Big bump on his head, though, You saved his life, Ben." She lowered her voice. "Not McKidd, he's dead."

"Ah, hell, McKidd was a good man." Slater breathed a bleak sigh. "I saw the second shooter go down from my bullet, but when I passed out, Ruiz was aiming his weapon at Harris' head. I was sure he'd killed Waylon."

"No, he's okay, but are you sure about Ruiz, Slater? He's dead, too."

"Hell yes, I saw his face. He was definitely after me and Harris, probably killed McKidd, too."

"I can't believe it," she said. "He seemed so… friendly."

"How could I have made a mistake like that? I vetted Ruiz personally."

"He must've been deep," she said, covering his hand.

He shook his head, throwing off the words of comfort. "I trained him myself. I totally bought that young Hispanic pulling himself up by his bootstraps crap!"

"Nothing popped on him?"

"Nothing. No priors, no gang affiliations. Zip."

"That's all you could've done," she said, "but it makes you wonder why something didn't flag on him when you ran the check. A person doesn't go overnight from a clean record to a hired killer."

Slater was silent a moment, thinking. "Only one way he could've gotten by my screening."

Bella shook her head and frowned, not understanding.

"Deep cover, like you said, but with an assist from someone with deep pockets," he said with grim satisfaction. "Vargas must have recruited Ruiz, kept him clean for years, and placed him in my house."

"To be used like this," Bella finished, understanding at last. "When he needed him inside a police department."

"To silence a witness," Slater ground out.

"He was supposed to kill all three of you – Harris, McKidd, and you."

"Son of a bitch!"

She frowned thoughtfully. "But why get rid of Ruiz? Why would Vargas invest so much in an inside man and then kill him?"

Slater shook his head silently, suddenly looking wan and weary.

"Time for me to go." Bella watched the head nurse stroll by and peer through the glass doors of the ICU room. Checking up on her, she supposed. "The East German nurse just slipped by, spying on us."