Sara’s mouth found his. She sucked his tongue. Bit his lip. Her heels dug into the backs of his legs. Will flinched when her hands slipped underneath his shirt. She didn’t care. She scratched the scarred flesh on his back. Words came out of her mouth—filthy words that told him exactly what to do. Again and again she met each thrust until she had to clench her teeth to keep from screaming.

There was no slow build, just an uncontrollable rush that flowered deep inside her. The ecstasy was unbearable. Sara bit down on Will’s shoulder. She tasted the salt of his sweat. Every molecule in her body pulsated from the intensity. She cried out his name. She couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stop the exquisite torrent of release.

Will collapsed against her. Neither one of them could stand. They slid to the floor, both breathless, both shocked by what they had done.

“Sara—”

She covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t acknowledge what had just happened.

“Sara—” Will’s mouth was close to her ear. The brush of his lips brought an involuntary shiver. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Sara, please—”

She pushed him away. She could still feel him throbbing between her legs. She felt craven. Deviant.

“Sara …”

She shook her head, wishing she could disappear. “Go,” she begged. “Please, just go.”

“Sara—”

“Go!” she screamed.

Will struggled to stand. She heard him zip up his pants, tuck in his shirt. There was a loud click as the door opened, then again as it closed.

Sara looked up.

He was gone.

11.

FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE RAID

Lena sat in the cramped surveillance van with her hands thrust into her jacket pockets. There were three monitors in front of her. The computers under the desk were blowing out heat. DeShawn and Paul were wearing short-sleeved shirts. They were both sweating, but Lena was so cold she could’ve been sitting in an igloo. She was only six weeks pregnant and already her body was out of whack. This was why pregnant women were always so cranky. Their thermometers bounced up and down like Ping-Pong balls.

DeShawn scrolled through the security cameras, asking, “Where are you, Mr. Snitch?”

“Mr. Snitch,” Paul echoed, giving the name a showman’s flourish.

All confidential informants had code names. Protecting a CI’s identity was part of the devil’s bargain. You used the name on all your paperwork. You used it in the field, where the slip of a word could mean the death of an informant. “Mr. Snitch” wasn’t the most creative name, but it suited the junkie they’d turned a few days ago. There was something about the man that was slithery, like a snake. Lena thought maybe it was his scaly skin and beady little eyes.

“Come on, Snitchy.” DeShawn tapped the keyboard, toggling back and forth through the cameras outside the Chick-fil-A. “Here, Snitchy-Snitchy.”

Paul reminded him, “We padded in an extra hour for a reason.”

Lena watched the monitors change as DeShawn scrolled through the different angles. She’d always hated junkies—probably because her uncle was one. Hank was clean now, but that didn’t change his basic, junkie personality. Everything about him asked, What’s in it for me?

“Here we go.” Paul pointed at one of the monitors. A white car pulled into a parking space near the door. The emergency brake was pulled. The windows rolled shut.

Lena asked, “Does he have his mic on?”

DeShawn twisted the dial on the tuner that picked up Snitch’s transmitter. They heard his car radio playing an ad for a pizza place. The sound cut. Keys jangled. The car door opened.

Snitch was short and wiry and needed a shave. His ballcap was pulled low on his head. Dark sunglasses wrapped around his face. He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt. He kept checking over his shoulder, looking left and right, as he walked toward the restaurant.

“Moron,” Paul groaned. “He couldn’t just get a neon sign?”

Snitch kept looking around as he entered the restaurant. He stood in line at the counter. A woman steered clear of him as she headed toward the side exit. Lena had scheduled the meet for just after the lunch rush, but a few stragglers were waiting around for refills. She heard soft conversation under the rustle of clothes. Snitch moved up in line. He ordered an iced tea. He kept scratching himself, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Junkie needs his pills,” DeShawn noted.

Lena said, “Junkie needs to do what he’s supposed to do before I pull his immunity.”

Mr. Snitch waited at the counter. He kept twitching. Lena wanted to reach through the monitor and make him stop.

Their entire operation depended on this junkie scumbag. For almost two weeks, Lena’s team had been surveilling a shooting gallery off an anonymous tip. They didn’t want to just shut it down. They wanted to decimate Sid Waller’s operation. The job had quickly become an exercise in futility. Normally, there was always some lowlife who was willing to flip for cash and prizes. This time was different. No one would turn on Sid Waller. No one would wear a wire while they made a buy. No one would go on the record about the drugs and guns.

No one, that was, until Mr. Snitch.

Paul seemed to read her mind. He asked, “You still think Snitch is working both sides?”

“I don’t know,” Lena admitted. Mr. Snitch had asked for her by name. She’d been leaving the doctor’s office when the call came through. Her celebratory dinner with Jared had turned into takeout at the station. “It’s weird that he showed up right when our case was falling apart.”

Paul asked, “How would he know it was falling apart?”

Lena shrugged. “Snitch was locked up for less than two hours when he told the guard to get me. How did he even know my name?”

Paul and DeShawn guffawed. Lena liked to break balls. Every junkie in town knew her name.

“All right, all right,” she allowed. “Still, we’ve all been at this long enough to know that nobody does you any favors.”

“I dunno,” Paul said. “Scrawny guy like that, his first time behind bars—two hours sounds like the right amount of time for him to freak the fuck out.”

DeShawn added, “Oxy’s hard to come by in the pokey.”

“Not if you suck enough dick.” Paul held up his hand for a high-five. DeShawn readily obliged.

“Where’d he go?” Lena leaned forward, scanning the monitors.

DeShawn worked the cameras again, toggling through the different views. “There he is.”

Lena saw the top of a door closing. Snitch had gone to the playground. Brightly colored plastic slides and swings circled around a sandpit. Two kids were playing on the rope climb, a boy and a girl. There were more cameras on the playground than inside the restaurant. Every corner was on display.

Snitch sat down on a bench. The sun was on his face. He stretched his arms out along the back like he had all the time in the world. They heard him humming through the microphone taped to his chest.

“They’re gonna kick him out,” Paul said. “Grown man ain’t allowed on the playground without a kid.”

“I think he’ll be okay.” Lena could see the staff moving lethargically behind the counter. They had all downshifted for the postlunch lull. One of the kids tossed a cup in his hand. The others watched him with a mixture of boredom and exhaustion.