Free INFORMANT by Ava Archer Payne Page B

disappointed. Now it looks like everything’s changed.
    “I’d like that,” I say. Then, “Your uncle’s visiting from Cuba?”
    “No. He lives in Miami.”
    I nod, doing my best to quell the nervous excitement that surges through me. Miguel Diaz, Ricco’s father, also lives in Miami. There must be some connection. Uncle Juan. I run the name through my memory. I’m sure Beckett mentioned it.
    “Tonight?” Ricco says.
    I start to agree, and then realize I can’t make it. “Oh. Sorry. I can’t. I’m babysitting.”
    He looks confused, and then horrified. “Sitting on a baby?”
    “No!” I reply with a startled laugh. “Not sitting—”
    “Kylie,” he drawls, “I know what babysitting is.” He sends me a look of mocking superiority. “You’re watching your nephew so your sister and her low-life shit head husband can go out and enjoy themselves.”
    I can’t help but smile. See what I mean about Ricco? He gets me every time.
    “No problem,” he says. “Tomorrow night will be fine.”
    I nod. “Good.”
    Jess returns to the table. She looks totally composed, back to her usual bright, cheery self. The three of us talk for a while, then Ricco glances at his watch and says goodbye. He’s got to go.
    “So that’s your Cuban hottie,” she murmurs as he walks away. “Great smile. Kinda sexy, too.” He stops before a sleek black Mercedes sedan, opens the door, and slips inside. “Wow,” she says, shooting me a questioning glance, “Is he rich?”
    “I don’t know.” How odd that I’ve never seen what Ricco drives. Whenever we get together, we always agree on a time and place to meet. When the evening’s over, he walks me to my bus stop. He’s never once offered to drive me home. It occurs to me that he’s as guarded about his personal life as I am about mine. Interesting.
    “Well, he must have some money. Or maybe his family does. That’s an eighty thousand dollar ride.”
    I shrug it off, but she’s right. His dad’s got money—lots of it. International drug lords normally aren’t broke. A car like that would be pocket change to him. What puzzles me (deeply disturbs me, actually), is that Ricco is driving it. I think back to the photo of Ricco lying in the hospital bed. Miguel Diaz’s doing, according to Beckett. Something’s not right. If Ricco’s trying to distance himself from his father, why is he cruising around in a luxury Mercedes?
    Later. I’ll think about it later, when I’m alone. I stand, suddenly anxious to leave.
    “Jess, it’s getting late. Maybe we should—”
    “Whoa,” Jess interrupts me. She lets out a throaty giggle. “Too bad I’m married. Would you just look at that guy.”
    Ricco’s gone, his sleek Mercedes swallowed up by traffic, so I turn my gaze in the direction she indicates. Beckett. I freeze. I don’t know where he came from, but suddenly he’s there. If he was a superhero, that would be his superpower—the ability to appear and disappear, seemingly out of nowhere. Right now he’s sitting at a café table with a group of four other students, drinking beer.
    “God, is he gorgeous,” Jess says, her voice almost reverent. Then she lets out another giggle. “Oh my God. He’s looking this way. Do you know him?”
    I take a breath to steady my voice. She cannot know about what I’m involved in, what I’ve agreed to do. She just can’t. So I give a loose shrug. “He’s in one of my classes. He’s an asshole.”
    “Really?” Her disappointment is palpable. “Figures,” she sighs, “the gorgeous ones always are. Except for Ronnie, of course.”
    I let the comment slide. We just made up—no sense stirring the pot again. I’ve got Dally in my arms, so she reaches down to grab his diaper bag. When she straightens, she cocks her head and looks at me, as if something suddenly occurred to her. Jess may not be good at school, but she’s not stupid. She’s putting things together. “Hey. Whatever happened to that guy you went out