Traitor, the
“Isabella relaxed behind the desk, her feet propped up on one edge, her shoes off. Pretty red-painted toenails peeked from the hem of her slacks. She'd removed her jacket and slung it across the back of the chair, and the firm outline of her breasts showed beneath the sheer white blouse when she locked her fingers behind her head.
"Why murder the drug dealer, someone so low in the organization?" she mused aloud.
Rafe slouched against a wide bookcase filled with law books and case law journals to the right of the desk. He found it easier on his imagination to think of Isabella by her last name and he figured it bugged her a little. "Someone was worried we're getting too close, Torres, that we'd squeeze information out of him." "Or it could be retaliation for the botched buy," Slater suggested. The sheriff lounged in a comfortable arm chair that he occupied with annoying familiarity.
Torres bit her lower lip. "But he wasn't killed in the same manner as Lupe." "Close enough," Slater answered.
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