One Wrong Move (13 page)

The message was obviously from the boss and gave him hope. At least Darrell had enough scruples to keep the drugs from unsuspecting diners.

Camden always tried to give off a laissez-faire attitude toward drugs with his employer, but never wanted to present the wrong vibes. Obviously, nothing else was going to work except downright asking.

And he was willing to try anything—almost. He missed his family, but he didn’t dare contact them because of the risk to them.

It was a lonesome career, even though people were around him all the time. He often wished he could just shoot all the drug dealers and get it over with, quick and easy, save the taxpayers some money, and give him back his family.

His resolve never changed, though. His goal was to get as many drug dealers as he could off the street and out of business, even knowing more would come after them—a frustrating part of the business, but one that didn’t keep him down.

He stuck the package under the passenger seat and began to drive home before remembering he had to stop at Rayma’s house. She would kill him if he didn’t pick up the cat.

The apartment was as they left it. A wineglass along with the remains of a novel floated in the bathtub. She’d been reading a paperback, but it was impossible to tell what kind of book it was now. He reached into the water and pulled the plug, then wiped his hands on a towel. One she’d used before. His body tingled as he imagined her wrapped it in, and he jerked away at that thought.

“Beacon?” He explored the apartment, trying not to notice the femininity surrounding him. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called as he took shorts and shirts from the closet. He found her socks and panties, and stuffed them in a bag. The sooner he got them out of his hands, the better. He found shoes, sandals and her purse and by the time he filled the bag, it wouldn’t close.

He didn’t care. He needed to get out of here, away from the scents, away from her lacy thongs, and away from the tiny dresses hanging in her closet.

When he walked into the kitchen pantry in search of cat food, the cat waltzed up to him and circled his feet. Camden knelt to pet him. Beacon arched his back, purring.

“You hungry? Sorry about that, kiddo. Let’s get you back to your mom.” He found a few cans of food, dropped them into the bag wrapped around his shoulder and grabbed the cat, prepared to leave, when a shadow in the doorway stopped him.

Beacon scrambled from his arms and shot down the hall. Camden dropped the bag. Cans of food banged to the floor. The guy stopped one with his foot as it rolled toward him.

“Who the hell are you?” Camden hooked his thumbs in the loops of his pants, presenting a casual attitude but preparing to pounce if necessary. The guy filled the doorway, and there was nowhere for Camden to go but forward.

“Rayma’s boyfriend.” The guy remained still as a stone in a rippling pond. “Who the hell are you?”

“How did you get in here?” Camden asked. He recognized Dare’s accountant but had to play it cool.

“A key.” The guy held it up for Camden’s inspection, as if that would make the fact more powerful. “How did you?”

“What’s your name?” Camden asked.

“Excuse me. I am the one with the key to Rayma’s house, not you. Why don’t
you
tell
me
?”

“She told me she broke up with you weeks ago,” Camden lied.

“Hah, make that a couple of days.” He stepped toward him. “Did she already have you in her bed?” Camden held up his hands to fend off a fight, but the guy stalked closer, his nose a few inches under Camden’s. “My name’s Mike.” His eyes flickered, and he offered his hand, as if for a shake. He knew who he was. He’d been investigating him since they’d learned of him, along with everyone else in Dare’s organization.

Camden extended his hand to accept the shake, but Mike pulled his away and punched him in the stomach.

He should have doubled over and pretended like he was a pansy, but a man could only take so much. He grabbed Mike’s arm and twisted it behind his back, held it in a tight grip. Mike fell to the ground and screeched like a little baby. “I grew up in the military,” Camden warned. He’d learned plenty of fighting skills early on, with his dad and his dad’s friends. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“Okay, okay, I got it, I got it.”

Camden released his grip, finding a sick sense of satisfaction in Mike’s cry. Mike straightened, darted a glance his direction, and walked out the door.

He had to round up the cat again and get everything in the car, and was finally on his way home when red and blue lights flashed behind him.

“Shit.”

What the hell was this? A damn patrol deputy stopping him for doing, what, forty in a fifty?

The dissonant concert in his chest didn’t quiet when the officer approached. Camden, a special agent with the DEA, was actually scared shitless.

All he could think of were the drugs under the seat. After all his patient work, this could blow his cover right now, when he’d finally gotten a bit of Dare’s trust.

“How are you this evening, sir?” the cop asked as he approached Camden. One hand rested on his gun and the other held a flashlight.

Camden kept his hands steady on the steering wheel, even when Beacon climbed onto his lap and attempted to escape out the window. The damn cat had somehow managed to fight his way out of the carrier. “I’m fine, Officer. Just trying to get home after work. This damn cat escaped his carrier.”

“I’m Officer McMillan.” The officer shined his flashlight in the cat’s eyes. Beacon’s claws gouged Camden’s thighs. “Do you know why I stopped you?”

“No, sir. If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to put my cat back in his carrier.”

“You were going seventy in a fifty-five.” Camden knew that was bullshit, but kept his mouth closed. “Do you usually take cats with you to work?”

“No. I picked up my girlfriend’s cat on the way home. She’s staying with me.”

The officer opened his car door. It was a test of his reflexes to keep the cat from dashing out all while the officer shined his flashlight through the windows and nearly blinded him.

“Step out of the car, please.”

The cat howled as Camden grabbed him by the scruff and fought with him to get him back in his carrier. The damn cat did everything he could to resist, including wrapping his back claws on the door.

Beacon fought, and Camden gained a few scratches from the altercation. Hell, he didn’t know how to control a cat. Why not just let him jump from his arms and run off into the dark?

Because Rayma would hate him.

Once he got the cat inside, he closed the carrier and checked to make sure it was one-hundred percent latched. The officer continued to study his vehicle, without consent.

“Looks like you have a woman’s purse,” the officer stated.

“Picking it up for my girlfriend.”

“Your license and registration, please.”

Camden showed Officer McMillan his license while Beacon scratched against the carrier and wailed.

“May I search your vehicle?” he asked as he returned the license.

“No, sir. I don’t agree to that.”

“You don’t agree to that? How about popping your trunk?”

Camden popped his trunk, just so the officer could see there was no dead body hidden inside.

“Where do you work?”

“Vin Doux.”

“For Mr. Weberley, huh?”

Ah, the officer knew Dare. At this point, he could only hope McMillan was one of several on Dare’s payroll.

“Yes.”

McMillan shut the trunk and moved around to the backseat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Camden asked. If the stash was found, it wouldn’t be admissible in court, but the illegal search was still unethical and pissed Camden off. He made a mental note to add McMillan to the list of cops working with Dare. They’d never work for law enforcement again once this was over.

“What’s this?” The officer pulled out the package and tore it open. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s a bottle of sauce. Nothing to be concerned about.” More like a bottle of drugs that looked like a bottle of lime green sauce, but if this officer was in with Dare, he likely knew more than Camden.

The DEA had suspected that’s how Dare was hiding his designer drugs, and this almost proved it, even if it didn’t have Darrell’s imprint. Camden still hadn’t figured out where it came from, where Dare hid his stash, and where it was cooked, or even who cooked it.

Camden continued to glare, his body tense. The officer could prove nothing right now, had nothing to arrest him on, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

Officer McMillan thrust the package into his arms. “Get yourself home,” he said, then walked back to his patrol unit.

Relief washed over him and as he drove off, he couldn’t stop thinking of next time. Next time he saw McMillan, he hoped the officer would be behind bars, along with all the other crooked cops on Dare’s payroll.

***

Rayma

Drumsticks pounded Rayma’s head, pins needling their way into her stomach when she tried to sit up. The alcohol buzz had dissipated after a nap, but the ache and nausea that accompanied the wine binge remained.

She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The thought of food brought a sickening thud to her insides, but she needed sustenance.

She tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen in hopes no one would hear her. She wanted to grab a quick snack and get back to her room before anyone noticed her.

It was almost midnight, most of the lights were off, and there was no sign of Beacon. That told her Camden hadn’t made it in yet, or if he had, he’d forgotten her cat.

Thank God the kitchen was empty. She popped a slice of bread in the toaster and raided the refrigerator for anything to appease her rumbling stomach. Footsteps behind her made her jump, and she almost dropped a jug of milk as she turned from the fridge.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Moore said as he walked in, holding an unlit cigar.

“Just startled me, that’s all.” Finding no hope of food in the fridge, she closed it and grabbed her toast, intending to head back to her room.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?”

“There aren’t many more options,” she said, though a bag of salad, some ham and fruit, and something that looked like it’d been there longer than everything else occupied the fridge, she couldn’t stomach any of it right now.

“I thought Lacey went to the grocery store today.”

“There’s food in there,” Rayma said. “I’m just not that hungry.”

“Yeah, a hangover will do that to you.” Moore smirked and chewed on the end of the unlit cigar like it was a piece of candy. Rayma returned an acerbic grin and headed for the door.

“Is your room to your liking?” he asked.

“Yes, it is, thank you.”

“I’d like to talk to you about something.” His words made her halt. She turned, waited for him to continue, and he ushered her back into the kitchen with a gesture. “Please, sit down.”

What could he possibly want with her? Only because she was dying of curiosity, she sat down and nibbled on her toast.

“We could use your help,” he said. “Since you’re going to be staying with us for a while, I thought you could help us do some investigative work.”

“Like what?” She didn’t know Moore well enough to know whether she should question his objectives or doubt his sincerity, but she suspected his request wouldn’t be to her advantage.

“You’re an investigative reporter, so you must have some skills. I’ve seen the work you’ve done in Austin. We still have a lot of deciphering to do on those documents you got from your informant. You can help with that. I’ll even agree to let you continue to blog. A fake one, like you said. You write the blog, my agents log in and post it for you. You check your email, but only with the supervision of my agents.”

Rayma pondered his proposal, unsure how to feel. Someone would be monitoring her words, reading her emails, posting her articles for her. Not exactly freedom of the press.

Moore continued. “When this is all said and done, I promise you an exclusive story. But you’re going to have to stay here for a while.”

“Why?”

“You’re the closest thing we have to a witness, but expendable to Dare and his associates. I won’t take that risk.”

Rayma scanned the kitchen, thinking about what he said. An exclusive? That would catch her attention, if nothing else. She was sure he knew it. The house was extravagant, there was plenty of room for her to go unnoticed, and the exercise room—although she hadn’t seen it yet—was a plus. No rent, no utilities. If she could resume somewhat of a normal life and have an exclusive story afterward, how could she say no?

She was
stuck
here anyway. What choice did she have?

Before she had a chance to answer, Camden strolled in, set the cat carrier down along with a bag of litter and food, and opened the door. Beacon bolted out. Rayma lunged forward and scooped him up in her arms, cooing. No telling what stress he’d encountered after being with this man.