Page 147 of Jagger's Remorse
The lights of Redding spread below us like conquered stars.
"From college girl to cartel queen in five years," he muses. "Hell of a journey."
"It started with a bullet," I remind him. "That night in my father's office."
"Do you regret it? Any of it?"
I think about the bodies left in my wake. Diego. Pablo. Eduardo. The innocents caught in crossfire.
The girl I was versus the woman I've become.
"No," I decide. "Every cut, every scar, every death led here. Led to us."
"And our kid?"
"Will be born into power instead of scrambling for it." I lean against him. "That's worth everything."
My phone buzzes. Surveillance alert from the cameras we've placed around Digger's neighborhood.
I check the feed and laugh.
"What?"
"Look." I show him the screen.
A woman sits in a car outside Digger's house.
Professional blazer, hair in a tight bun, camera in her hands.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Yuki Nakajima, based on the files.
She's taking pictures, documenting his evening routine.
"Should we tell him?" Jagger asks.
"He knows. Look at his window."
Sure enough, Digger stands there, backlit and clearly visible.
Shirtless, tattooed, dangerous.
He's baiting her. Drawing her in like moth to a flame.
As we watch, he does pull-ups on a bar mounted in his window frame.
Each rep deliberate, showing off.
"The hunter thinks she's hunting," I observe. "She has no idea she's already prey."
"Think she'll take the bait?"
"Oh yes. Righteous prosecutors always think they're untouchable." I save the footage. "She'll learn differently."
Yuki Nakajima adjusts her camera, zooms in.
Her face is visible in the streetlight—pretty, determined, completely unaware she's being watched by multiple cameras.
"How long before she crosses the line?" Jagger wonders.
