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Paperback
First published January 1, 2011
It was five years ago.
At that time, like every time, Selena saw right away why he called himself La Serpiente, The Snake.
For one thing, he wore rattlesnake-skin boots with the steel toes that Bragg and her Anglo colleagues at Drug Enforcement sneeringly called "Fence Climbers." When he crossed his sinewy legs and swung his foot, the tip glinted.
For another, his unmoving onyx eyes fixed on her cleavage -- not all that uncommon when she met men -- but that gaze was not measuring her size. It was calculating a striking distance. She averted her eyes to the side, a demure Mexican custom she hadn't lost through acculturation. Locking eyes is also how snakes paralyze their prey. She wouldn't give him the pleasure.