INFORMANT Page 26

  Far easier for you to just lock me up and silence me forever. Or worse, put me on the stand against The Corporation. I’d be dead for sure.

  I’m not going to let that happen.

  It was your idea for me to write down my involvement in this situation. I’ve done that—but I’m taking it one step further. I’m going public with my story. In the tradition of Linda Tripp, Edward Snowden, and whistle-blowers everywhere, I’m posting every word of this online. I’ve put my testimony into this book, down-loadable to anyone who wants to read it. Let the public judge who was really at fault here. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to answer for her actions. Maybe Reardon and everyone at the DEA need to feel a little heat, too.

  Not that the program is all bad. As long as there have been crooks and cops, there have been informants. People like me. Even FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover instructed his agents to “develop qualified, live sources within the upper echelon of the organized hoodlum element who will be capable of furnishing quality information.”

  I like Hoover’s wording. The organized hoodlum element. I think Ricco would find that amusing, too. The Ricco I first met, that is—the Ricco who flirted with me in chem lab. The Ricco with dark, soulful eyes, sexy accent, and quick smile. I never really knew him—if he existed at all. Maybe that’s fair. He never really knew me, either. I guess neither of us was ever who we pretended to be.

  Moving on. Time to clear up a few details. Was my arrest real? Yes. And no. Of course Brad Morris didn’t screw up the Immunity Agreement he wrote for me and Ronnie. The mistake was deliberate. Anyone but the most obtuse idiot (Agent Reardon, are you reading this?) knows that the one thing Morris is good at is striking up immunity deals for his clients.

  The mistake was Beckett’s idea. We’d already gotten my mom, Jess, and Dally out of town. He wanted me safely locked up after the takedown at Pier 96. Literally locked away, so that nobody could touch me until he could arrange to get me and everyone else I love out of the country. Someplace totally secure until we were ready to leave town. Beckett refused to budge on that point. That’s how crazy worried he was.

  Let’s see. What else… Oh, the half million the DEA paid me at the end? Gone. Spent on establishing new identities and buying fake passports. I figure that was only fair. The DEA got me into this mess, they could certainly fork over the cash to get me out of it. I’m not running away from my obligation, by the way. Beckett assures me the arrest was good. They’ve got enough evidence on Miguel, Ricco, and the rest of the Cuban crew to put them all away for a very long time. Hauling Sun Yee in with the same net was just dumb luck. Bottom line, they don’t need me anymore.

  And Ronnie? Of course he stole Sun Yee’s money. You don’t give a guy like Ronnie Hoyt half a million in cash and expect him not to take it. He’s gone, too. Left San Francisco for good. He, Jess, Dally, and my mom only live an hour or so away from us. He’s got a new name and a new job. He swears he’s going straight. (I hope that’s true, but I’m not holding my breath.) Good news: Jess is expecting again. She’s thrilled. If it’s a girl, she wants to name her Emma.

  I’m back in school now. I’m no longer interested in forensic science, however. I’ve had enough of dealing with cops and crimes. Also, I’ve decided I’d like to help people while they’re still alive, so I think something in the nursing field is a better bet.

  By the way, it turns out Beckett is actually a genius when it comes to financial investing. He’s got a crazy gift for making money. We’re together, living comfortably. Taking things day by day.

  This brings me to your final question—I think I can guess what it is. Where am I? Sorry, but that’s the one question I refuse to answer, thank you very much.

  I’ve got a new name now. A new life. I miss my city by the bay, but I’m starting over. People can read my story and balance it against whatever half-truths and lies the DEA chooses to feed to the press. Hopefully this whole ugly episode will get Brad Morris interviewed on the Today Show and CNN. He’d love that.

  Wait—I hear Beckett calling me. He’s been waiting patiently, but now he’s ready to go for a swim. Hey. There’s a clue, Your Honor. A freebie to help narrow it down. If you or Reardon decide you do want to chase us, look for someplace in the world with a pool, a beach, a lake, a river, or an ocean. That’s where Beckett and I will be.

  Happy hunting.

  It’s time for me to go, so I’ll end like this:

  My name was Kylie Porter. During my freshman semester at SFSU, I was a paid informant for the DEA. Every word I’ve written here is true. This is the end of my testimony.

  Thank you for reading Kylie and Beckett’s story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As many of you may have guessed, I’ve lived in San Francisco for several years. It’s one of my favorite places in the world.

  By day, Ava Archer Payne is a wife, mother, and author. By night, she writes smart, sexy, sizzling romance novels. She doesn’t do a lot of online marketing (when she’s in front of her computer, she’s always writing), so please click on the handy Amazon button to receive an email whenever she has a new release. Also, if you like what you've read, let the world know! Please shout it out in a review and you will make her day. You'll also earn lots of good karma. ♥

  Her books:

  Contemporary Romance

  WANNA PLAY?

  New Adult Romantic Suspense

  INFORMANT

  The Sun Never Sets Series, Hot Historical Romance

  OUT OF HER LEAGUE

  THE WEDDING BED

  WICKED GAMES

  HERS AT MIDNIGHT

  Historical Romances Written as Victoria Lynne

  WITH THIS KISS

  CAPTURED

  CHASING RAINBOWS

  WHAT WILD MOONLIGHT

  HER HOTTEST HEROES

  She loves to hear from readers! Please feel free to message her on Facebook or write to her at AvaArcherPayne@gmail.com. Best wishes to all, and happy reading!