Authors: Angela Smith
“We’ll see,” Moore said.
“What else am I supposed to do all day?” Rayma spat. “File my nails?”
Lacey shot Rayma a condescending look. “You’re not stuck inside. It’s safe outside as long as you stay around the perimeters of the house. The beach is right outside our doorstep, there’s a gym you can use, and I have plenty of nail polish you can borrow.”
“How long am I
stuck
?” she asked, emphasizing Lacey’s word.
Lacey turned her glare on Camden. “I’ve been here almost a year.”
A
year
? That’s how long it had taken? No, no way. She’d already given up a year of her life after Keegan, trying to transition back to normal. She’d given up too much control of her life, and she wasn’t about to do it again.
Rayma was sitting at the kitchen table, contemplating her life and her fingernails, which she wasn’t in the mood to file.
“I believe we got off to a bad start,” Lacey announced as she waltzed into the kitchen, her words grating on her nerves.
Lacey had been gone all day. Shopping, from the looks of things. She threw a bag at Rayma’s feet.
“I bought you a few things. We’re about the same size. Well, almost.” Lacey glanced at Rayma’s much flatter chest, and Rayma fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Plus, you’re taller, but it doesn’t matter with shorts.”
“Thanks.” Rayma glanced through the bag, relieved to find a toothbrush, soap, a long T-shirt and shorts. The pants were starting to feel clammy on her legs.
She was hot, she stank, and she was pissed off at the world. Camden had taken the bag of information from her and planned to give it back to Darrell after agents made copies of everything inside. He needed to get on Dare’s good side.
She’d bet all these clothes Lacey brought that Camden was already on Dare’s good side.
“You want to go outside, enjoy the sunshine?” Lacey asked. “You look a little down.”
“Would you blame me?” Rayma asked.
“Hey, I’ve been living here for almost a year and haven’t had sex in, well, almost that long. I don’t even know my real name anymore, and I can’t get in contact with my sister, whom I heard through the grapevine is pregnant.”
“I’m sorry. That must be hard,” Rayma said. Although she didn’t talk to the majority of her family anymore, she couldn’t imagine not speaking to Caitlyn or James. They were her real family now.
Lacey opened a cupboard and pulled out a large bottle of wine. “You want to have a drink outside?”
A drink sounded like a great idea. Getting drunk sounded even better. And if she was going to live with Lacey for any amount of time, she better at least put in an effort to like her.
“Sure. Let me get changed.”
The shorts were way too short for her comfort, but the long shirt made up for it. Lacey was waiting outside, sipping wine under an umbrella covered chair and looking spiffy in a bikini. Rayma wondered if Lacey had intentionally bought her clothes that didn’t fit well.
She grabbed the glass Lacey brought and poured some wine. “What does Moore do all day?” she asked as she sat on the lounger. She hadn’t seen Moore since this morning, but every time Rayma tried to escape outside, an agent appeared to keep her in.
“Makes plans, watches tapes recorded at the warehouse. Listens to tapped phone lines hoping he’ll pick something up. Takes direction from
his
boss, the one he doesn’t like to acknowledge.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, I pretty much do all the grunt work. Run errands, do the laundry for all the agents, make sure they eat. You know, the things women do best.” Lacey downed her wine, poured another glass and downed it, then sipped on a third.
“I think you might be the one who’s depressed.” Rayma grabbed the bottle and poured another glass for herself. “Have you talked to Moore about this?”
“Are you kidding? ‘You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this,’” Lacey mimicked, using a deep but mousy voice to mimic Moore. “‘If you can’t handle it, we’ll get another agent in who can.’ It’s not that I can’t handle it,” she continued in her own voice, “but I’m going crazy here with all this inaction, watching the waves crash against the shore, making sure all the agents get fed. I’m completely losing my identity.”
“What about Camden?”
“What about him?” Lacey turned to face Rayma, a scowl written across her features at the mention of his name. “He’s perfect, he never screws up. He keeps his first name to keep his sense of identity. He’s charming, a great chef, good-looking, and yet it’s still taking him a year to do this job. He’s still not on the inside.” Lacey used her finger to make quotes and deepened her voice.
“Why is he the only one involved?” Rayma asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Lacey splashed more wine into her glass. Rayma held up her near-empty glass and Lacey filled it until it overflowed. Rayma licked it off her fingers and Lacey held up the bottle to indicate it was gone. “Oops,” she said as she dropped the bottle.
Rayma felt a twinge of pity for Lacey, but wasn’t quite sure what to think of her. The waves gurgled in the sand as if taking their last breath, spinning in lost circles trying to find their way back to the ocean. She’d regret it later, but she polished off the glass of wine.
“Camden’s been on this job for nine months and got nothing,” Rayma said. “I just recently starting looking into it and got almost all the information you need to crack this case.”
“Damn right you did.” Lacey tipped up her empty glass in a salute. “I think you should go undercover.” Her words had begun to slur. “Ever since Fletcher was killed, Camden is now the lead. Well, Moore is the boss, but Camden is the top guy, the right hand man to Dare.”
The name was familiar. “Who is Fletcher?”
“He
was
the lead investigator on this case, but Dare killed him. Or more likely had him killed.”
Rayma’s stomach dipped to her toes. The wine curdled in her stomach and burned. “He…was killed?” Bill Fletcher, Dare’s chauffeur, had been an undercover agent?
“Yup.”
Fletcher had been killed. She’d accused Camden of being on the inside with Dare, but she’d never really believed that. “What if this Dare guy kills Camden?” she asked, voicing her concerns. She’d wanted to pretend the risks weren’t there, but she knew from experience that wasn’t true.
“It could happen. That’s why they need to put me on the case.”
***
Camden
The army green canvas bag over Camden’s shoulder contrasted with his white shirt, and he gained a few stares from Dare’s sentries as he trudged down the long and narrow sidewalk leading to the man’s home. The house was situated far from the road, and even after he’d been granted entrance through the gates and parked, he felt like a prisoner.
He waited inside the massive entry while the maid went to fetch him. The area was stark and sterile with only a window bringing color to the room. Camden assumed Dare didn’t want to comfort most people awaiting his appearance. That could explain the lack of plants, color, and energy.
“Camden, my man.” Dare walked in, slapped him on the back, and took his hand in a light grasp. Although he was hospitable, the tightening of his mouth indicated he didn’t appreciate his company. He glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting to work soon?”
“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“You could have talked to me at work.”
“This is too private for work.”
Dare gave the woman a pointed stare. She made a small curtsy, pivoted, and left the room.
“I don’t normally receive visitors without an invitation.”
“I’m sorry, but like I said, I didn’t want to discuss this at work.” Camden glanced around the room. Though they were completely alone, the space made him uncomfortable. Too many angles for someone to sneak up on him. “Maybe somewhere a little more private? This is something we shouldn’t discuss in the open.”
“Sounds serious.”
Dare turned, and Camden followed him into an office replete with leather and wood. Despite the warmer color, the stilted décor choked him. He loosened the tie around his neck so he could breathe.
“What’s up?”
“I went out with that girl on the news, the one with the blog. Rayma. I went out with her last night. I stole this from her apartment. I thought you might be interested in what she has on you.” He tossed the bag on the desk. Everything in it had been copied last night, and agents had been going through it ever since.
Dare sat and stared at the bag as if waiting for it to explode and reveal the contents. Camden tore it open and whipped out the documents, then dropped them on the table to show him.
“What the hell?” Dare muttered as he grabbed some of the papers and thumbed through evidence of his illegal activities. He glanced at Camden, who stood on the other side of the desk. “Where is she?”
“She spent the night with me.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “She’s messed up, though. Pretty depressed. She got fired from her job because of her blog.”
“Serves her right.”
“I thought so,” Camden lied.
Dare opened his drawer. Camden froze, expected a gun in his face. Instead, Dare pulled out a cigar and rolled it between his palms. “Why are you bringing this to me?”
“Because I thought you might want to know what’s out there.”
“You think this is about my business?”
Camden remained standing. Dare hadn’t indicated he sit, and he preferred being on his feet. He could defend himself better on two feet. Dodge bullets. Run. Tackle. Any offensive or defensive moves.
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“And why is that?”
“I’ve worked with you almost a year, sir. I see the signs.”
Dare’s eyebrows drew together as he studied him. As he continued to roll in between his palms, the cigar crackled like wood tinder about to ignite. “Signs?”
Camden blew out a breath. “I’ve been around drugs a long time. Did some stupid shit when I was younger. Almost went to prison. Didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid you wouldn’t hire an almost felon. I’ve changed. Grown. But…I hear talk.”
“Talk?”
“Yeah, talk.”
“Who’s talking?”
“Nobody in particular. Just lots of secrets. Are you not aware of the drug activity?” When Dare didn’t say anything, he continued. “Look, I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. I work for you, loyal to the bone. But if there’s some shit going on where more money can be had, I want in on it.”
Dare dropped his cigar on the table and blew on his hands, then stood. “You going to keep that girl quiet?”
His comment shocked Camden. He knew the man would resort to violent measures, but to ask him to keep Rayma quiet was a step in his favor. He needed him to believe he was on his side.
“She’s gonna be too busy with my dick in her mouth to be talking much.”
“That’s my boy.” Dare circled toward him and patted his back, then bent his thumb to indicate Camden follow him. “Any idea where she got that information?” he called over his shoulder as he opened the door to his office. Obviously, he was through with their visit.
“None, sir.”
“You find out, you’ll deserve a raise. If I can trust you with this, I can trust you with more.”
“Yeah, well, there’s something that will help me do that.” Camden rubbed the back of his neck as he followed him out the door.
Dare stopped and turned. “What’s that?”
Camden took in a deep, obvious breath, letting him think he was nervous. “I’m not sure how to ask this.”
“Just ask.”
He looked around to make sure no one was within hearing range, another manipulative trick on his part. “I need some drugs.”
Dare spewed out a mix between a cough and a laugh, the incredulous twitch to his eyebrow more than showing Camden he’d accomplished his deception. “I don’t allow my chefs to take drugs. That’s grounds for termination.”
“Not for me,” Camden said. Dare’s eyebrow raised another notch, indicating he was waiting for the rest of the story. “For Rayma. I need something…different. Something to keep her on my dick longer.”
“Something like Liquid X?”
“Something that makes her oblivious to life.”
“What makes you think I have something like that?”
He shrugged, lowered his head, and massaged the back of his neck in an attempt to appear ashamed. “I was wrong in asking. I just thought, you know, I could get her to tell me where she got that stuff on you. And I thought if I could keep her off that stupid blog, keep her quiet and all, I could enjoy her company without having to, you know, kill her.”
He raised his head. Dare stared at him for an interminable time, his face a mask, unreadable. Maybe he’d crossed the line. Although Dare was suspected of smuggling cocaine, the DEA’s main investigation hinged on the manufacture of his own brand of designer drugs. The bag of information Rayma received almost proved it.
“I’ve been with you almost a year, Darrell,” Camden said, using his real name for effect. “You can trust me.”
He nodded and turned away, so Camden could no longer read his expression. “I’ll see you at work later,” he said and walked away, obviously dismissing him.
Camden left, thinking about his reaction, wondering what to expect once he got to work, and wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have crossed over that line.
***
Camden contemplated the words of the young courier who’d given him a discreet package before he left for the night: “Don’t even think about putting anything in the food, or there’ll be hell to pay.”