Whiplash River Read Online Free Page B

is.”
    â€œEvi, shut up for a second, okay?” Cory was eight or nine years younger than she was, in his early thirties, but he’d probably been one of those kids who, in kindergarten, listened to classical music and wore sweater vests. The kind of man her daughter would probably marry someday. “You can’t be here, Evi.”
    â€œI’m on vacation,” she said.
    â€œVacation.”
    She shrugged.
    â€œDid you pack a bathing suit?” he said.
    â€œMaybe.”
    Cory sighed. “Evi,” he said, “I’ve known you for how long?”
    â€œSo you know I need a vacation.”
    â€œI know you’ve still got a major, major hard-on for the Armenians, even after you were explicitly told to cool it with all that.”
    â€œReal girls don’t get hard-ons, Cory. You’ve spent too much time in Bangkok.”
    â€œI know that Charles Samuel Bouchon, aka ‘Shake,’ alleged former wheelman for and close associate of the Armenian pakhan in L.A., allegedly owns a restaurant on this island. I know that you’re still pissed off that your ex-husband—”
    â€œStop. Thank you. Right there.” She didn’t need anyone to walk her back through it. Seriously.
    The short version was that Evelyn, a couple of years ago, had helped build a slam-dunk case against the Armenian mob. Evelyn had been this close to taking them down, top to bottom, pakhan to foot soldier, when the district attorney in Los Angeles blindsided her by negotiating a deal between the Armenians and the feds. It turned out that the Armenians knew the whereabouts of a fugitive Wall Street swindler that the Department of Justice was desperate to nail. So DOJ got their swindler, the Armenians got a time-out called on the racketeering investigation, and the asshole D.A. in Los Angeles—Andre Guardado, Evelyn’s ex-husband—was the hero of the hour.
    Well, that was then, this was now. Now, as far as Evelyn was concerned, whatever time-out the Armenians had earned two years ago had expired. Game on.
    â€œHere’s the thing, Evi.” Cory leaned forward, the shoulders of his allegedly tropical wool suit coat bunching up. “DEA has been down here since October with a major, major ongoing. Okay? Serious stuff, a drug kingpin here in Belize with ties to the Zeta cartel. You have any idea how long it took me to get the Belizean government on board?”
    â€œGood for you, Cory. I always thought you’d make an excellent liaison.”
    â€œDEA has put the kingpin together with Bouchon a couple of times. It’s maybe nothing, it’s maybe something. So help me God, Evi, if you step on this investigation, if you disrupt or compromise it in any way . . .”
    â€œI’m not going to step on anything.”
    â€œBecause you’re on vacation.”
    â€œExactly.”
    It had taken Evelyn almost a year to track down Bouchon. Alleged former wheelman for and close associate of the Armenian pakhan . Alleged, her ass. He’d worked with the Armenians for years, and his relationship with Alexandra Ilandryan, if the rumors were true, had been closer than close. With his cooperation, Evelyn could put her, and every Khederian, Ghazarian, and Bazarian, behind bars till the end of time.
    Bouchon wouldn’t want to cooperate. That was okay with Evelyn. She did her best work with shitheads who didn’t want to cooperate. Back in elementary school she’d been a gleeful playground bully, taller and stronger and craftier than the other kids. Her brothers, whom she had bullied relentlessly, still called her Evil Lynn.
    Cory was studying her. “And Mike,” he said. “If I called your ASAC, he’d confirm that?”
    She shrugged again. Mike was her supervisor, the assistant special agent in charge of the Los Angeles field office. “Mike knows I’m on vacation,” she said.
    â€œBut not where, I bet.”
    Evelyn had