“I don’t care,” Rod responded. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it might be?”
“I’ll have my Glock.”
“The possession of which could get you killed quicker than anything else. They won’t let you through the front door with it.”
“Then I’ll stand on the porch.”
He indicated the tattoo extending several inches below the short sleeve of her uniform shirt. “What, you think you’re going to flash that tattoo and they’ll believe you’re tough?”
“This has nothing to do with size or gender or—or toughness.”
“Sure it does! They won’t respect you, won’t be willing to give you the information you need, because they won’t fear you. If you think American culture can be sexist, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve experienced Mexican machismo.”
“I know. I’m experiencing it now,” she said. “But it’s not as if you look all that Mexican. There are white people with tans as dark as you.”
“So what? At least I speak Spanish. Do you?”
Divulging the truth would put her at even more of a disadvantage, so she began to hedge. “Enough to handle what needs to get done.”
“That’s a no.” He turned to Van Dormer. “Obviously, I’m the right candidate for this assignment. Not only am I fluent and more capable of blending in, I’m better prepared to defend myself with or without a weapon.”
Sophia stepped forward. “As a man, you’ll be perceived as more of a threat.”
Van Dormer pinched his lips as he decided between them. “Let him do it,” he said at length.
Sophia glanced from the SAC to Rod. These men didn’t understand. She didn’t want to hide behind them. Her experience in Naco had empowered her, made her feel she could hold her own in any situation. And she wanted to prove it. Maybe then her detractors would shut up and quit waiting for her to blow it so they could take her job.
“She won’t go along with it,” Lindstrom interjected. “She invites danger. She went into Naco alone a few nights ago.”
Sophia had finally had enough of Lindstrom. “And I got the information I went after. Information you were too scared to pursue. What’s wrong with that?”
Lindstrom’s nostrils flared as if she had a quick retort on the tip of her tongue, but Van Dormer held up his hands. “I don’t care if you two like each other or not. Make this easy on the rest of us and figure out a way to get along, huh?”
“What if I go with Mr. Guerrero?” Sophia emphasized his title to convey that he actually had no rank, no business being involved in the first place.
“There’s no need for both of you to take that risk,” he said and turned away.
Rod tried to catch Sophia before she left. He knew Lindstrom’s type, knew she’d been difficult to work with and didn’t want Sophia to assume he’d be the same. It was just that he felt strongly about keeping her away from the safe house, especially if there was any chance it was owned by members of the Mexican Mafia, who had no compunction about killing whenever and wherever they wanted.
But she’d turned on her heel and stalked out, and Van Dormer had stopped him to ask a few questions about his background and experience. By the time he’d been free to jog out of the building, she was already on her motorcycle with the engine running.
“Hey, where’s your helmet?” he called. Sounding like a bossy parent wasn’t the best way to convince her he wasn’t a pain in the ass, but he was afraid that was all he’d get in before she took off. He’d heard of too many accidents to feel comfortable having her on the road without that protection. One of his good friends had died in a motorcycle accident. And he knew she owned a helmet. He’d seen it on the seat of her motorcycle earlier, when he’d visited her house, which suggested she normally used it. The fact that she wasn’t wearing it today told him she’d been upset before she’d even left the house.
“Are you talking to me?” she shouted, then revved the engine, drowning out his response.
He’d never known a person her size who could handle such a big motorcycle, but she seemed skilled enough. “Why are you mad? You know I’m the better candidate to visit that safe house,” he yelled, trying to make himself heard.
With a shake of her head, she put on her sunglasses and raised the kickstand. “Sorry, I can’t hear you,” she said, and drove off.
Rod considered jumping in his car and going after her. She had no reason to be so angry. Maybe he’d embarrassed her earlier when he’d pushed the shirt incident too far, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done worse to him. He’d stood in front of her with his hands cuffed behind his back.
So why did he feel so frustrated, so intent on trying to improve her opinion of him?
He pulled out his keys, but didn’t move toward his car. The detective from the sheriff’s office had just appeared.
“Too bad she’s on the case,” Lindstrom grumbled. “She’s trouble.”
If not for the uniform, she’d look like trouble riding that Harley with her shades and tattoo sleeve. “You don’t approve of her?”
“She bristles too easily. Won’t let anyone get close to her.”
Sophia was sensitive and high-strung. But Rod sort of liked her mercurial nature. He couldn’t always guess what she was thinking, or what she might do next. Who would’ve thought she’d actually lift her shirt for him?
“She seems to have an aversion to you, too,” he mused.
“I don’t understand why. I’ve done everything I possibly can to get along with her. I can’t help it if she’s not cut out for police work.”
Rod bristled a little himself. “How do you know she’s not cut out for it?”
“You heard her. She thinks she should be able to waltz into that safe house and get her own answers.”
“She’s got guts. You have to give her that.”
“No, I don’t. She’s crazy. This case would already be solved if we were dealing with someone like Leonard Taylor instead of her.”
If she thought that, she had no clue how long an investigation like this could take. But he didn’t react to her inane statement. He was too busy remembering the newspaper article on the back of Leonard Taylor’s door. “You’re a friend of Leonard’s?”
“I grew up hanging out with his sister. It’s a shame what the powers that be allowed her to do to him.”