One Wrong Move (11 page)

“You didn’t hear them?” he asked, knowing full well she had. She’d shivered against him, and his arms still burned where she’d gripped him. The stickiness on his leg was a stark reminder of what an idiot he’d been.

“Where are we going?”

He started the car and drove away before answering her question. Most levelheaded women wouldn’t like his answer, and she was certainly not levelheaded right now. “I’m taking you to a safe house where, obviously, you’ll be safe.”

“What!” It wasn’t a question—more like an expletive—and the words she began to spew out no longer made any sense.

“You’re no longer safe in your own house,” he told her calmly. “You now have a contract on your head.”

“Why would someone want to kill me?”

“Your article was very condemning to a powerful business. Did you not even consider the consequences to your safety?”

“I never mentioned any business.”

“Didn’t have to. This man doesn’t like lose ends.”

“Who? Darrell Weberley?”

Camden didn’t reply.

“What do you have to do with this?” she asked.

He sighed, wishing he were already within the confines of the safe house. He didn’t want to tell her now. She could open the car door and risk her life, yet again—and his, once she knew his secret. But he had to tell her before she met Lacey and Moore, who would be more than willing to give their two cents.

“I’m an undercover DEA agent.” His focus stayed on the road, but he watched her with his fine-tuned and well-practiced peripheral vision. She stared at him from the passenger seat as if she’d just discovered he was an alien from outer space. “The accusations you’ve made on your blog are true, and you’ve put yourself in a very dangerous situation. I’ve been undercover for nine months trying to prove some of what you’ve alleged.”

“You’ve been undercover for nine months?”

Camden nodded. “It’s one of the most controlled operations, which also makes it one of the most dangerous.”

“So you’re still one of them. I’m still not safe. I mean, most people undercover that long usually end up corrupt.”

He gritted his teeth. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard those assumptions, and it pissed him off. Why risk his life for something like this, for the scumbags he’d dealt with over the years?

He parked on the street, wishing for the safety of the garage, but since he was the tenant, he didn’t park there. He knew exactly where each agent was positioned and even though they’d recognize his car, he gave them his special wave as extra identification.

Rayma didn’t move, even after he turned off the car.

“I’m not a part of them,” he reassured her. “I’ve been posing as a chef, trying to get information, but haven’t yet succeeded in earning Darrell’s trust. I’m getting closer.” He hefted the canvas bag from the back of the car and held it up for her to see. “We hope this will help.”

***

Rayma

Rayma followed Camden into the house with nothing, not even her purse, or a change of clothing, or her toothbrush. She wore an old pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, since they had still been on the floor and the closest thing she could grab when she emerged from the attic.

Beacon was still at the apartment. Was he safe?

“What’s your name?” she asked as she followed him through the house.

“Camden.”

“No, what’s your real name?”

“It really is Camden.”

“I thought undercover agents used fake names.”

“Most of them do. The last name and everything else is false, but I always keep my first name. Less room for confusion, and it keeps my sense of self.”

Rayma snorted, which she realized wasn’t very ladylike. She didn’t care. It was hard to care about anything right now.

They entered a kitchen, where a woman who looked like she’d just been dragged from bed sat on a stool.

“Lacey, meet Rayma. Rayma, this is another agent who stays in the house.” He dumped the bag of intel on the floor. “She needs toiletries,” he said to Lacey. “Toothbrush, toothpaste. She’ll need clothes. Can you go shopping tomorrow?”

“What is she doing here?” Lacey asked.

“We’ll talk later. Where’s Moore?”

Moore was even less friendly, and she thought it might be better to take her chances with the men who wanted to kill her rather than have these people as roommates.

“I’ll put her in the spare room upstairs,” Camden told Moore, after he’d explained the situation and why she was there. His superior continued to glower with his lips cut in a straight line. Camden took her hand and led her out of the kitchen, dropping his hold as soon as she placed her foot on the stairs. Still, he practically forced her up the stairs with his palm now on her lower back. With each step, her foot dropped like an anchor. Heavy. Not wanting to move.

He opened the door to a room, but she hesitated in the doorway.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping.”

When she didn’t enter, he stepped around her and went through the door.

“I think I’d rather go back to my apartment.”

Camden whipped around to face her. “Where you can sleep in your own bed and be full of bullet holes by morning?”

She slumped. Each motion was like a slow, agonizing last breath. Feeling defeated, she stepped inside the room, and he turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I sleep in a small apartment out back. These people are my landlords. It’d look funny if I sleep in the same house with them.”

“Won’t it look funny if I do?” she asked.

“Would you rather sleep with me?” His devilish grin hammered fire into her skull. What a jerk! How dare he leave her alone after what just happened? He was using her, more than likely, for the information that he’d taken from her apartment.

Maybe he wasn’t a drug dealer, but he was still a jerk.

“You’ve got to go back for my cat.”

“Beacon is fine for the night. He probably found a better hiding space that we did.”

Air hissed between her teeth, and she fought to keep from bawling. The fact he remembered her cat’s name made him even more of an asshole right now.

“No one will know you’re here,” Camden said. “You’re safe. We’ll make plans for your future later.”

Future? She was beginning to think she didn’t have a future. Maybe God was playing a horrible joke on her.

She still couldn’t grasp what happened tonight. Camden had, more than likely, saved her life. He was a DEA agent. He’d barely touched her tonight, and she’d had the most erotic orgasm of her life.

***

A few hours later, after tossing and turning without really sleeping, Rayma tiptoed to the kitchen and searched the cabinets. There had to be something in here to eat. Breakfast was usually a big thing for her. She found bread and plunked it in the toaster. It’d do.

Maybe she should sneak off. Maybe she shouldn’t even try to eat, just leave before everyone woke up. She was peeking out the window to check that possibility when Camden walked in.

“What are you doing?” He wore athletic pants and a tank top, revealing broad shoulders and a physique carved like a Roman god.

Rayma ignored him. She hated him for no other reason than he looked so damn good.

So he wasn’t a drug dealer. Neither was he a chef, but he could cook better than anyone she’d ever known. So he was a good guy, trying to bust a criminal. That didn’t make him great.

“You’re not getting out of here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Camden opened the refrigerator and grabbed the milk.

She was used to getting up early for work, but now she had no work to go to.

“You can’t stop me.”

“I work for the U.S. government. I can do whatever the hell I want. You’re under my protection now—”

“The hell I am,” she said. “I didn’t ask for your protection.”

“No, but you damn sure needed it.”

She wheeled away and stomped toward the back door. Okay, so she’d either have to steal his car or hitchhike, but she would get out of here.

The door wouldn’t budge. She pushed it away from her, she pulled it toward her. She jiggled the lock. Nothing moved. She kept jostling the door to and fro with no results. Her eyes burned. She wanted to break something—preferably the door standing between her and freedom.

She’d been so scared last night. So scared. Camden, breaking in while she was bathing, hiding her in the attic. Doing crazy, wonderful things to her body. Leaving her alone. She was supposed to be safe here in Hammer Bay. Safe.

Camden stepped behind her and pulled her away from the door. “You have other options. I can take you into a different kind of protective custody. The kind with bars. Or you can stay here a few days until things settle down.”

Rayma lurched away from him. “Go to hell.”

“What’s going on?” Lacey walked in, wrapped in a robe with a towel around her head. Rayma couldn’t help the bitter twinge making her wonder why Lacey even bothered with a towel around her head. She didn’t have much hair to begin with.

At least she had a shower. Fresh clothes. Her teeth were probably brushed.

Moore stepped in right behind Lacey and it was like he’d been listening to their conversation the whole time. “Camden’s right. You’re staying at the safe house.”

“The safe house?” Rayma asked. “It’s a home, without even a security gate to block someone’s entrance. What makes it any safer than my apartment complex, which has a security gate and requires a key to get in?”

“I didn’t have a key last night,” Camden said.

“You’d be surprised,” Lacey said, as she stood near the stairs and filed her nails. “The place is surrounded by agents that no civilian could possibly notice.”

“So place them around my apartment. Won’t Dare’s people be suspicious if I don’t follow my routine?”

“You don’t exactly have a routine anymore, seeing as how you got fired from your job for being so careless about your blog.” Lacey’s derisive comment rang in Rayma’s ears, and she swallowed the urge to lash back.

“Lady, you have no idea the manpower we’ve used so far to save your ass,” Camden said.

Lady?
He wanted to insult her by calling her ‘lady’? No, they hadn’t had sex but they’d come damn close. If they’d kept seeing each other, they probably would have.

And were they all out to fire word-missiles at her? Make her feel guilty for something she had no idea she was doing wrong? She knew posting the blog was risky, but she thought she’d suffered her punishment by getting fired. How could she know there was an undercover operation underway?

“You butted your little nose where it doesn’t belong,” Camden said. “You almost fucked up our operation. You’re here until we can cart your ass off somewhere else, or until Darrell is behind bars.”

“Screw you.” It was the only expletive she could find at the moment. Camden merely smirked and gestured a ‘whatever’ motion by lifting his shoulders.

An angry growl curled in her throat, but tears held it back. He’d been assertive with her before, but never crass. She had no idea where this attitude had come from. “I have to get my cat and some other things from my house.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“I can’t leave Beacon there. Please.” She hated the whine in her voice, but her emotion was real. Her cat was like her child.

“I’ll bring Beacon to you tonight,” Camden said, “and pick up some things for you.”

“I need to check my computer. My email. My blog.”

“No can do.”

“It’s been deleted,” Moore stated.

“What?” She whirled to face Moore. He hadn’t said much to her yet, but she could tell by his tone that he shared the others’ sentiments about how she’d screwed everything up and their failed mission was all her fault. She didn’t care.

“Your blog was deleted last night.”

Her mouth soured as she fought back everything she wanted to say. He had no right to delete her blog or revoke any type of access she had to it. She didn’t give a shit whether he was the U.S. Government or not.

“Were y’all up all night trying to destroy my life? Just because of a blog post that most people won’t ever read?”

“We don’t get much sleep around here,” Lacey muttered.

“It means something to a very powerful man,” Moore said. “Someone who could have you killed with the mere nod of his head. Someone who already tried to have you killed.”

“But didn’t,” she interjected.

“Thanks to me,” Camden said with a twist of arrogance.

“Did you delete the post, or the whole blog site?”

“All of it. It doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You know, deleting that blog is only going to make him more suspicious. Especially because I up and disappeared the night he wanted to have me killed. Unless the killers lie and say they took care of me. Which I can’t see happening if he’s as scary as you make him out to be. I have a lot of faithful followers. He offered to let me interview him. You should let me continue to post. I can make stuff up, provide misinformation, pretend I moved. Something.”