Page 66 of Tequila & Lace
“You shot them?” I asked Paul.
“They shot at you first.”
I looked down at my arm, blood trickled down and onto the butt of the gun I was aiming at Bryce on the floor. Sirens could be heard in the distance and I knew I would be fine. “Thank you.”
“When were you going to tell me you were FBI?”
I sighed. “I couldn’t.”
“Why? You told me other things.”
“I’m undercover.”
He gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Is your name even Andi?”
I was tired of lying. I was tired of lying to everyone. I’d been lying for twelve years. And most of all, I loved Paul. I loved him so much. I wanted to spend forever with him. I wanted to hear him call me by my real name—groan my real name when he made love to me. Tell thereal methat he loved me.
“You’ll want to hear this too,” I said to Bryce as I nudged his side with my foot. He snorted as if I lost my mind, but turned his head as if curiosity got the best of him.
“My name’s Joselyn Marquez.”
Chapter Twenty
Joselyn
Realization flashed across Bryce’s face the moment I uttered my real name and it seemed as though it vanished. Paul was still looking at me as though his heart was breaking in two. Everything was a disaster. It was the wrong timing for all of it to go down. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be reunited with my brother and arresting him because he was the ringleader in the sex trafficking case I was undercover in. I wanted to kick and scream at the thought of how this had happened. How he fucking grew up to becomethisman.
I’d never thought Paul would find out that I was undercover like this. I knew eventually the case would come to a close. I never knew when, though. He stared at me as if he didn’t know me from the next cop in the sea of them buzzing around the crime scene.
Before I could tell Paul that we’d talk at home and everything would be okay, the local police department was rushing in and both Bryce and Paul were handcuffed. I explained that it was Bryce who needed to be handcuffed, not Paul, and then immediately reached for my cell to call Eric.
After explaining on the secure line that I needed to get the local division involved to apprehend Bryce, they told me tohang tightwhile they contacted Eric and the local bureau. Paul was questioned by the local PD, my arm was patched up by the paramedics and then I was pulled aside by the head of the local FBI division.
“Agent Marquez, I’m Agent Reigles. Agent Green called me. If you want to come with me, we’ll take Martinez in and question him down in our office.”
I nodded and gave Paul one final look before we left for their headquarters. I wanted to tell him more, but he was being asked to make his own statement of what happened.
I was certain everything would be okay once we met back home.
In the short ride down to their bureau, Agent Reigles and I didn’t speak much. We couldn’t talk about the case and I was glad. I wondered if I should tell anyone that Bryce was my brother. I wondered ifhewas going to say he was my brother—if he understood he was even my brother. There was no way he didn’t remember… right? There were so many things I wanted to ask him and he was sitting right behind me. After over a decade, my flesh and blood was finally in the same car as me and I couldn’t speak to him. Couldn’t hug him, kiss him, tell him that I missed him.
What had Tony done to him?
We pulled into the parking lot and escorted Bryce into the building. I was starting to get sick to my stomach. Could I do this? Could I act as if Bryce was only another criminal I’d arrested several times? I wanted to ask him every question but the ones pertaining to the investigation. I didn’t care anymore about the case. I wanted to know what had happened the night of my birthday when I didn’t return home. I wanted to know what had happened the next day, the next week, the next month, year—years even. What had happened to our mother? Why was he was now Bryce Martinez and not Bryce Marquez?
Instead, as we sat him down in the black metal chair behind a white metal table under the florescent lighting in the small room, Reigles gave me the lead and again, like everything else, I faked it.
“Comfortable?” I asked motioning to the cuffs.
“Are these really necessary?” He raised his arms from his lap.
“Let’s see how this goes. Your men shot me and my arm’s a little sore.” Really the cuffs weren’t necessary, the door was locked, but for some reason a part of me felt as if I released him from them, it would show special treatment. It was ridiculous, but I needed him to be like a criminal and not my brother.
He chuckled. “They saw a gun—”
I slapped the table with my right hand, causing pain to radiate through my arm. “You don’t know what they were thinking!”
He rolled his eyes. Either we were both really good at faking it or he didn’t know I was his sister.
