INFORMANT by Ava Archer Payne

on his face, so does Agent Reardon.
    Reardon gives a curt nod. “I’ll make a call.” He steps into my mother’s bedroom and closes the door. I can hear him speaking, but I can’t make out his words.
    So we wait—Beckett, the tech guy, and me. One happy threesome. Although I might sound cool, I’m not. My heart is hammering, my stomach is tied in knots, and my hands are shaking. I clench them into tight fists and ball them at my sides. I’m wearing the red dress I borrowed from Jess—the one I wore to Romano’s that night with Beckett. She refers to it as my ‘lucky’ dress. What a laugh.
    After a minute, Beckett breaks the silence. “Nice stunt.”
    I bring up my chin. “What’d you think? You’re the only one who knows how to use people?”
    I hit the mark with that one. I watch it register on his face. He flinches as though I’ve slapped him. The tech guy clears his throat and looks away.
    My satisfaction is short-lived. Agent Reardon emerges from my mother’s room. He nods at the tech guy. “Agreed. Mike her.”
    Holy fuck.
    It’s happening. I half-expected them to turn me down, but they didn’t. The reality of what I’m doing slams into me like some monster wave, nearly knocking me flat. I am allowing myself to be miked. I am helping federal agents attempt to take down one of the biggest drug lords in the country. If Juan Diaz even suspects what I am doing, he will kill me. I will die a brutal, painful death and when it’s over, Diaz will cut my body into little pieces and dump me in the bay. My knees go weak and I am actually glad for the presence of the creepy tech guy, for he’s holding my arm as he secures the mike to my bra strap.
    When he finishes, he steps away. He returns to his toolbox, slips on a pair of headphones, and fiddles with some knobs. He looks at me. “Say something.”
    “My name is Kylie Porter.”
    He frowns, shakes his head, makes an adjustment to one of the dials. “Again. Keep talking until I cut you off.”
    My mouth is so dry that my first word comes out a croak. I swallow hard and try again. “My name is Kylie Porter. My sister’s name is Jess. My nephew Dally is seven months old. He has two teeth and when he smiles—”
    “That’s enough.” Tech guy looks at Reardon. “Loud and clear.” He shuts his case, locks it up tight, and leaves the flat.
    “Do you know where you’re going for dinner?” Reardon asks me.
    “Ricco said his uncle is staying at the Fairmont. We’re eating there—some restaurant in the hotel, I think.”
    “Fine. We’ll be in a white, unmarked van parked outside, listening to every word. You don’t want to spend a lot of time alone with Juan Diaz in his room. If anything goes wrong, get yourself out of there. Somewhere with crowds is generally your safest choice. A store, restaurant, bar—that sort of thing.”
    “All right.”
    “Is Ricco picking you up?”
    “No. He said he’d send a cab for me. It should be here any minute.”
    Agent Reardon checks his watch, and then studies me thoughtfully. “You ready?”
    “Yes,” I lie.
    “Good luck, Blue.”
    For a moment, I’m confused. Then I remember, that’s my CI designation. Blue That’s the name I impulsively gave Beckett, that’s how he identifies me in his reports. How apt, I think now.
    Code Blue in a hospital: an all-out emergency. Blue—the color your lips turn when you can’t breathe. To have the blues, to feel sad, even if you’re not quite sure why.
    Reardon looks at Beckett, obviously expecting him to leave with him, but Beckett shakes him off. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he says.
    The moment the door closes behind his boss, Beckett moves toward me, erasing the distance between us with three long strides. He pulls me to him, holding me against his chest. I simply stand there, absorbing his strength, his solidity. I can feel his heart beating against my cheek, feel his hands stroking my back. Then I remember: I can’t do this. I can’t allow Beckett