One Wrong Move (20 page)

Never mind the way her heart hammered her chest.

“Don’t ask for money,” she said.

“I don’t intend to.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“You’ve grown claws,” Richard said in that throaty, irritating rasp that nearly always made her feel as if those claws—hers or someone else’s—were scraping down a chalkboard. Or worse, down her back. He rested on the bench as if they had all the time in the world. As if she weren’t planning on getting up before he said what he had to say.

She should have hated him. Seeing her father again should have left her with cold fear. She remembered clearly being twelve and shaking in dread as she sat on the witness stand, all eyes upon her. Someone actually had to wrap a blanket around her shoulders to make the quivering stop so she could talk. Even that hadn’t helped.

Now, she felt nothing. She saw her father as the pathetic man he was, and he could no longer hurt her.

He
was sick, not her. What happened was
not
her fault, no matter how much her mother wanted to blame her.

He no longer had power over her. He no longer had power to hurt her. To control her.

She was selfishly thankful she hadn’t received the brunt of his sickness. That was reserved for her friends and the children at the church,
as if he drew some line and touching his own daughter was worse than touching another child.
When the truth came out and he went to prison, Rayma herself took the witness stand against him, and her mother never forgave her.

“I didn’t come here for small talk.” Rayma couldn’t remember why she’d come. To prove to herself she didn’t need to be afraid anymore? To give him a piece of her mind, tell him how disgusted she was that he was released from prison? He’d wanted to see her, he’d told her he changed, but from what she saw he was only a worse specimen. Older, more bitter, but just as creepy.

She clutched her purse and began to rise from her seat when his words stopped her.

“Then let me tell you why I came.”

“Why don’t you?” she asked, sitting back down.

“I’m not your father.”

His words stole her breath, then she just wanted to laugh. Or cry. The air thickened, heat stalking down her back.

“Is this your way of liberating yourself from the guilt of touching your own daughter?”

“You aren’t my daughter. That’s what I want you to understand.”

“Not in my heart,” she replied. She’d craved his attention when she was younger, the kind he lavished on her brothers. He played ball with his sons, ruffled their hair, roughhoused in ways only boys could do, but ignored her. She remembered shrinking into the background when he’d walk by, because he never glanced in her direction when she called out to him. Now, it made her sick to think about what kind of attention she ultimately received. “You’re saying this like it makes what you did less bad.”

“Your mother had an affair with James Noose. Why do you think I’ve always hated him?”

“Because he sent you to prison?”

Richard smirked. “Yeah, he enjoyed that.”

Rayma rose on unsteady feet, but couldn’t find the will to move away. She gripped the back of the bench stay upright, her other hand clutching her purse. He stood along with her and reached out his hand.

She shook him off. “Get the fuck away from me.”

She didn’t trust a word he said. Never had and never would.

“Think back, Rayma. Look in the mirror. Look at James.”

“If you think this admission is going to absolve you of all sin—”

“That isn’t my intention.” He remained where he stood, close enough to touch, but he didn’t come closer. One foot angled back, ready to dart away. “I’ve served my sentence. I think it’s time you knew the truth of who your father is.”

“I’m glad to hear your blood doesn’t run through me.” She hated him. People had told her he was sick, but she could never understand that kind of sickness. She should be relieved he wasn’t her father, but grief and resentment ravaged her.

James Noose? The only man she ever trusted? Did he know?

“I just thought you should know the truth.”

With that, Richard walked away, as if somehow sensing she was about to blow and not wanting to catch the brunt of it. Waves crashed against the pier. She saw herself being carried away by their sway, the tide slowly taking her out to a point she could never come back from.

Richard was a sick freak, but there was no reason for him to lie to her about this. Maybe he wanted to hurt her for sending him to prison, or he had a revelation in prison and felt the need to make things right. Whatever the cause, the fact he wasn’t her father should have filled her with great joy.

She loved James like a father. She always wished he could
be
her father. If what Richard said was true, why hadn’t James told her?

That hurt. More, it filled her with a deep despair. James had lied to her. By not telling her the truth, he had lied to her about the most important thing in her life.

And at the most important
time
in her life, when she had to send the man she thought was her father to prison, when she’d cried in James’s arms day after day, yet went back to a home where she wasn’t welcome anymore. She was only twelve years old, and her mother couldn’t stand looking at her, as if it were her fault Richard was in prison.

But still James hadn’t told her. Did he know? Yes, he had to know. Why else would he be so interested in her? Why else would he remain friends with her all those years, even when her mother no longer wanted anything to do with him?

She should have rejoiced. She wanted to scream. She’d missed out on knowing her daddy, a daddy she had only dreamed of. She was furious at him and her mother for not telling her the truth. And she still wouldn’t know if it hadn’t been for Richard, the man she hated.

Her family hadn’t shared a Thanksgiving meal since Rayma was twelve, but she had plenty of love elsewhere. Like the time all of James’s family came to visit him, and there were so many people. She ate dinner with them and pretended they were the family of her fantasies. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and Grandma were all hers during that time, and though it should have been weird, it wasn’t.

At first, her mother and brothers had gone to the prison to share Thanksgiving dinner with Richard. It was something she would never do. As they grew, her brothers found friends to be with at that special time, and she was content to spend it with people who weren’t her family but treated her as though they were. And those times created memories that would last a lifetime.

Those memories could have been real. They could have truly meant something. Those people could have been her real aunts, uncles, and cousins.

She walked, zombie-like, with no idea where she was going, what she would do. She could keep running, but where would she go? Certainly not to James. She’d made it out of the safe house, so why go back?

When she saw a woman with a phone and a baby, she approached her and asked, “Excuse me, can I borrow your phone a moment?”

“Oh…”

“I need to call my dad. It’s an emergency.”

“Okay.” The woman handed the phone over, and Rayma punched in James’s number. Thank God she knew it by heart. She turned away, but not too far to concern the woman. The ring shrilled in her ear like a warning knell.

She would prefer to confront him in person but since he was hundreds of miles away, she would have to analyze the tone of his voice to know the truth of what he was feeling at her news.

“How could you do this to me?” Rayma asked when James answered.

“Rayma?”

“Who the hell do you think it is?” she asked, not disguising her anger or animosity, but instead letting it fuel her.

“I’ve been worried sick about you. What’s wrong?”

“I found out the truth, that’s what’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated. Maybe he didn’t know. But he had to know. Too many coincidences otherwise, and he worried about her more than her own mother did. “Why did you lie to me all these years?”

“About what?” he asked. What was that in his tone? Concern for her or for himself? Acknowledgment? Confusion?

“How could you do that, you son of a bitch. Or should I say
Dad
?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Camden

Every available agent searched through and around the house, but Rayma was nowhere to be found.

Beacon helped, his cat radar on high alert as he paced with Camden through the house, meowing profusely.

Fury and concern and downright dread washed over him in waves that weakened him. He pushed through, had to push through until she was found. If she was lying dead on the beach somewhere…

No, No. She was safe. Had to be. Had to be, or none of this would matter anymore.

How could she leave? How could the agents disregard her safety? Worse, how could they not notice she had gone?

“How could you just lose her?” he snapped.

“She promised she’d stay on the chair at the beach,” Lacey said, flitting around, eyes wide in panic.

How could Lacey be so damned stupid? What was more important than protecting their only credible witness? Didn’t they understand how vital it was that someone stay with her at all times?

Lacey promised she’d only gone grocery shopping and hadn’t been gone more than fifteen minutes, but Camden didn’t trust her judgment. There was no way to really know how long Rayma had been gone.

Darrell had left early today, giving Camden the rest of the day off, too. Dare claimed to have a hot date and said he would let Mike stay in jail another day, and would bail him out tomorrow. But what if that hot date included kidnapping Rayma?

She wasn’t at her usual place on the beach, and he realized how unsupervised she’d been. Although he hated to treat her like a prisoner, she should never have been allowed to step foot outside the door.

When he found her, he planned to give her a piece of his mind and tie her up until this was all over.

If Dare had learned she was still in Hammer Bay, he’d order her killed immediately, and probably wouldn’t let Camden be the one to do it. He thought she had the thumb drive, so he’d be trying to find her for that reason alone.

Camden took the lives of civilians seriously and would never risk one for a mission, but Rayma had touched him in a way that wasn’t normal, wasn’t safe. He would like to get to know her better, develop a deeper relationship with her, but she was off-limits.

This assignment couldn’t end soon enough.

He headed for the boardwalk in a last attempt to find her, his heart breaking when, after several minutes, he didn’t. He couldn’t call out for her on the off chance he’d be spotted. There was no reason he should be out looking for her, and if Dare caught him, his pitiful calls would give him away.

He scanned one last time through the tables of a café on the beach and thought he was hallucinating when he caught sight of a tall blonde with her back to him, holding a phone to her ear. But this woman’s hair was different, more stylish than Rayma’s. She wore business attire and stood next to a woman and child.

Everything else matched Rayma. The way she stood—she had good posture despite her height—the way the wispy pants she wore caressed her ass, the way she clutched the phone to her ear. And the bag at her feet was definitely hers. And those pants looked familiar. Had he packed them for her?

He caught her scent, heard her voice as he approached, and didn’t give her a chance to notice him.

Anger, terror, and relief washed over him, but he couldn’t take the time to feel anything now. He planted his hand on her shoulder and turned her abruptly around. Eyes wide, she stared at him, words dying on her lips. Good, she
should
be afraid. It could have been Darrell who found her.

He smiled at the woman, who stared at him with squinty, suspicious eyes. The last thing he wanted was to create a scene and have her call the cops.

He rubbed Rayma on the shoulder to try to give the impression this was a friendly encounter. Inside, his body shook with rage. He was furious she held such little regard for her life and for this operation. And he was furious with himself for trusting she would stick around without proper surveillance.

Her mouth hung open, but she didn’t speak. He took the phone from her hand, pressed end, and caught her hand when it came up to hit him.

“What…how…” Her voice trailed off. The other woman’s brows bunched in concern.

Rayma’s face went from shock, to realization, to calm, and he knew she’d made the decision not to make a scene by the acceptance in her eyes.

“Thank you for letting me borrow your phone,” she told the woman as Camden handed it back to her.

“Is everything okay?” the woman asked.

“Fine,” Rayma said. “It’s perfect.” She hooked her arm through Camden’s and looked up at him, fluttering her lashes.

He was surprised at how complacent she was being. Surprised…and leery.

The woman frowned at Camden, then back at Rayma. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve been looking all over for my man.” She patted his shoulder then waved at the woman. “Thanks again.”

“Are you crazy?” Camden sputtered when they were out of the woman’s hearing range. His arm tightened through Rayma’s, pulling her closer. He’d like to think they seemed like a perfect couple out on a leisurely stroll, but suspected that wasn’t the case. “Don’t ever do that again,” he warned.

“I planned on coming back.”

“You shouldn’t have left in the first place. Darrell thinks you have something of his. He wants you dead.”

“I don’t have anything.”

“It doesn’t matter to him. You got in his way. You threatened his freedom. That’s reason enough for him.”

“Why don’t you send me away? I have family I can stay with.” Her voice cracked, but he wasn’t going to let up on his reprimand.

“Darrell wants you dead,” he repeated. “He’ll do what he can to make sure it happens. If he has to, he’ll find your family.” She shook her head in denial. Once they made it to an empty part of the beach, he stopped and faced her, sandwiched her body between his hands and forced her to look at him. She needed to know just how serious this was. “There’s a price on your head, Rayma. He gave me the option of bringing you to him and naming that price.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Don’t be foolish.” He dropped his hold and turned away, but made sure she planned to follow before he took too many steps.

“I’m serious,” she said, trailing him. “We could do a bait and switch.”

“No.”

“The idea has merit,” she insisted.

“No,” he growled. He stopped again, scanning the area before his gaze landed on hers. “We don’t need to do a bait and switch. We just need to make it a couple more weeks, until Darrell has his party. Then this will all be over. Don’t risk your life again.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, but she followed. As they walked, he surveyed the area to make sure no one tailed them. Her scent stole his breath, something like melon and musk, and it made him angrier and more frustrated.

He couldn’t help but think this operation needed to be over soon, before he did something stupid, like fall in love.

***

Rayma

Later that evening, Rayma almost talked herself out of going to see Camden. Halfway to his apartment, she’d begun to turn around and tread back to the house when she noticed him in the garden. He was kneeling in the dirt, his shirt pulled around his head like a do-rag, as if the heat of the day was upon him.

Which meant he was shirtless. Instead of the sun, moonlight embraced him, casting a luminous outline around every angle of his body, accentuating the lining of his arms, down his ribcage to where his waist tapered to the edge of his jeans.

Rayma shivered.

Despite the lack of sun and the quakes in her body, it was hot outside. He was covered in sweat and probably bug spray—a necessity around here.

He pulled weeds and, when he came across a ripe vegetable, picked it and placed it into a bag next to him. A small birdbath complemented a bench in the corner of the garden, which glittered with flowers along the fence on both sides. No outside lights marred the perfection of the panorama, and the lack of light created a peaceful and cozy atmosphere.

It didn’t help to calm her nerves.

She padded toward Camden, and he tensed, whipping his head up. When he noticed her, he relaxed somewhat and turned his attention back to the plants, but his body was still rigid and waiting.

“Moonlight gardening?” Rayma opened the small gate to the garden and stood away from him. His muscles bunched, the tension radiating from his body matching hers.

“Yeah.” Camden stood and wiped the grime from his hands onto his jeans, which were already covered with dirt.

She wished he wouldn’t stand. It was hard enough to make sense of her feelings, especially when her nerves were clashing around inside. The length and breadth of his body sapped every ounce of energy she had left. Her legs trembled.

“Even in the moonlight it’s as hot as a mo-fo,” he said.

“Exactly how hot is a mo-fo?” Rayma asked as she knelt down to pick a weed. It was safer to sit, and she let her butt hit the dirt.

Camden laughed, shrugged, then knelt back down and joined her. “Not real sure, but probably pretty intense.”

As intense as your anger earlier?
She wanted to ask, but didn’t.

“I don’t have time in the day anymore to tend the garden.” He picked a flower and placed it behind her ear. She smiled, all the while debating what she would say to him.

Will you do to me what you did on the beach? Will you let me taste you? Will you forgive me for leaving and understand that I had to without me having to explain it? Will you stop ignoring me? None of those would be appropriate, but at this point, she was tired of being prim and proper.

“I don’t know if I ever thanked you for saving my life.”

Camden’s eyes widened, but he quickly schooled his expression and shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Well, thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

Silence. He resumed pulling weeds and picking vegetables, and she raked her fingers in the earth, enjoying the soft loam in her hands and urging it to relax her. The soft glow of the moonlight helped her to be more open and honest, as if the darkness was hiding her vulnerabilities.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult. I have a hard time trusting people, especially men.”

Camden paused, holding his trowel in the air before he dropped it. “Who hurt you?” he asked as he sat fully on the dirt and regarded her as if he’d wait as long as necessary for an answer. She wanted to like him for that, but the intensity of her emotions from past to present caused her to back away.

“Which time?” she asked with a laugh, doing whatever she could to lighten the mood. Though she felt shielded by the dimness, she could see every inch of him. Still, the mask of protection was there, making her more brave. “My mom, my dad, ex-boyfriends.”

“Tell me about your parents.”

“The man I thought was my father wanted to see me. That’s who I was meeting today. He’s been in prison.”

Camden’s breath emerged in a low sigh. His eyes flickered, but he quickly recovered and cocked his head, studying her. “Why?”

She let out a mild laugh. “To inform me he wasn’t really my father.”

“I mean, what did he do?”

“Don’t you already know everything there is to know about me?” When he didn’t answer, she laughed and continued. “My mom went halfway insane when he went to prison and checked into a facility, where she met a woman. They’re living together now.”

“What did your dad do?” he asked again, this time more forcefully.

Rayma couldn’t tell him. Even though she knew none of it was her fault, the shame of Camden knowing was too much for her to bear. Tears welled in her eyes and he scooted closer to her. He took her chin in his hand, and his breath grazed her mouth with a light touch.

“He told me the man I’ve always wished was my father
is
my father. Just another deception in my life I’ve had to deal with.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m sorry for the hurt it’s caused you.”

“I was on the phone with James reaming him out for not telling me he was my dad when you hung it up on him. He’s probably worried sick.”

“Serves him right,” Camden said. “But how do you know he even knew? Maybe he was never told the truth, either.”

“I know he knew,” Rayma said. “It all makes perfect sense now.”

Camden, as if not knowing what to do or what to say, picked at another weed and patted the dirt around a tomato plant.

Rayma slapped at a mosquito.

“You wanna go inside?” he asked. “Have a glass of wine? Talk about families?”

Rayma laughed, but inside, her heart felt like a leaden vessel pulling her deeper downstream. “Make love to me,” she whispered.