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By Duane Swierczynski


It's risky adequate whilst a standard university lady turns exclusive informant. much more harmful while she's smarter than the killer, kingpins, and law enforcement officials who regulate her.

Honors scholar Sarie Holland is busted via the neighborhood police whereas doing a want for her boyfriend. Unwilling to betray him yet wanting to keep away from destroying her destiny, Sarie has no selection yet to turn into a "CI"--a exclusive informant.
Philly narcotics cop Ben Wildey is hungry for a career-making bust. The detective thinks he is chanced on the most important in Sarie: her boyfriend rankings from a mid-level broker with alleged ties to the main drug gangs.
Sarie seems to be the precise CI: a brief research with an incredibly willing realizing of the felony brain. yet Wildey, determined for effects, pushes too difficult and inadvertently sends the nineteen-year-old right into a dying seize, leaving Sarie hunted by means of crooked law enforcement officials and killers alike with not anything to avoid wasting her--except what she's realized in the course of her harrowing weeks as an informant.
Which is undesirable information for the police and the underworld. simply because by way of payback, CI #1373 seems to be a very speedy study...

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Wildey! I’m contained in the development at Columbus and Race! He’s locked front door! I fight to damage loose, however the giant man has all of his weight opposed to me. I’d be at an advantage attempting to nudge a boulder. D’Argenio chuckles as he pulls a black gun out of his pocket. My belly turns to water. —Wildey, huh? Is he your handler? good, i suppose we’d higher be sure he hears. D’Argenio takes a step again, places his arms on the facets of his mouth, gun nonetheless in a single of them, and bellows. —Officer Wildey! Come speedy! Your woman wishes you! Wildey! What, are you deaf or anything? holiday down the door! D’Argenio pauses, cupping a hand round his ear, as though listening carefully. —Huh. bet he particularly can’t pay attention us. Then, to the boulder at the back of me: —Hold her nonetheless. My arm is knotted up at the back of my again so challenging it takes my breath away. The discomfort is electrical. D’Argenio tucks the gun away within the waist of his pants, then touches each side of my abdominal lightly, as though attempting to calm a wild animal. —Now let’s locate that cord. What the fuck? Wildey’s listening to not anything yet engine. C’mon, Honors woman, consult me. I informed you to maintain the remark going, whether you’re caught in site visitors. specifically if you’re caught in site visitors. Shouldn’t have taken you this lengthy to make it to the Towers. Don’t inform me you killed the cord back. He tests the apparatus however the trojan horse continues to be stay, transmitting completely. The transmission from CI #137’s pen, despite the fact that, goes to Rem Mahoney, and God aid him, he’s either sickened and titillated via what he’s listening to. (Maybe he's a perv for folks, too. ) How a long way is that this loopy wop gonna cross? D’Argenio lifts my gown over my knees, then up over my thighs. I jolt involuntarily. My arm is knotted up more durable, giving me one other sharp surprise. D’Argenio exams out my legs, supplies me this skeevy appreciative nod, lips pursed, sooner than lifting the costume even greater. Oh God. no longer this. now not fucking this. —Huh. form of suggestion there’d be a kind of old-school wires taped on your stomach. bet nowadays, with expertise and shit, you may conceal it pretty well at any place. We’re going to need to do a true TSA-style seek, ain’t we. physique cavities and every thing. The asshole’s eyes leisurely travel my physique, from hairpin to footwear, and that i can’t do a fucking factor approximately it. —Looks like this can be going to be a celebration finally, am I correct, Ringo? I communicate fast, hoping that this can be all only a probability, that if I inform him the place the cord is, he’ll cease. —It’s in my handbag! It’s a pen! The gown drops back off. D’Argenio smirks, grabs my handbag from the ground, snaps it open. He unearths my iPhone, seems it over, asks if it’s a kind of new 5Cs or no matter what, yet I’m too numb to talk. He shrugs, takes a number of steps, drops my mobile right into a plastic bucket of water. Then he says the scariest phrases I’ve ever heard: —You’re unlikely to be wanting that anymore. D’Argenio makes an immense exhibit of losing the contents of my handbag one by means of one—gum, eyeliner, compact, minipads—one by means of one into the water bucket ahead of ultimately pulling out the secret agent pen. He waves it round like a magic wand.

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