Authors: Angela Smith
“Every man’s fantasy,” he commented.
“What’s that?” She sat on the other side of the table, putting distance between them, and dreaded his explanation. She was having a hard enough time as it was hiding her attraction.
“Having a beautiful woman tend to his wounds, then bring him whiskey and drink one with him.” He held up his tumbler. “Cheers.”
She nodded, but didn’t toast. He was charming, way too charming for her sensibilities, and she fought the urge to succumb to the desires teeming through her body. Of all the stupid decisions she’d made in her life, falling for an undercover agent topped the list.
Ice clunked against the glass as she took a swig. Her throat burned, nose flaring with a fiery heat. Stifling a cough, she took another sip.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” She didn’t normally favor the stuff, but it wasn’t like she’d never had a drink of whiskey before. She’d handle it if it killed her.
Camden shot down the rest of his, closing his eyes to savor it. She studied him, trying to avoid his chest, the way it rippled and bulged with his movement, and his shoulders, tensing and relaxing.
He set his glass down with a thump. “I don’t know what happened to Mike tonight,” Camden stated as he looked at her.
Rayma grimaced. “I don’t care,” she said, not really meaning it. She wasn’t a big fan of Mike, but she hoped he was okay.
“He could be dead.”
Rayma’s heart constricted. She felt sorry for her ex, but he was just as guilty as Darrell. “Mike got himself in that predicament.”
“We could probably cut him a deal,” Camden said, “if he’s alive. If he’ll turn on Darrell and testify against him. Otherwise he’ll likely be going to prison himself.”
“Good. He needs to.” Mike was working with the devil. He needed to be put away, to have time to think of all the wrongs he’d done.
“You’re harsh.”
“He’s a bad person, working with a dangerous man. He’s just as dangerous as Darrell. Just as culpable.”
“What if I hadn’t come home tonight?”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
She brushed her hand across her forehead to move a piece of hair. Her biggest fear was Camden not coming home, but she couldn’t explain that reasoning to him when she didn’t understand it herself. “This is your job. You’re doing your job.” Her voice constricted. She hated his job, hated that it put him in danger every day of his life. Just going to work, cooking for other people, was a risk. If Dare found out he was undercover, he’d send someone to kill him, just as he’d sent someone to kill her, all because of a stupid article.
To keep her quiet
. What would he do to Camden if he found out his chef was betraying him?
She didn’t ever want to know the answer to that question.
Camden slid forward in his chair, arms resting on the table. His scent, a soapy clean, was nothing like his earlier grime. “Dare confronted me today. He’s looking for something he said was in that bag. Did you take something out?”
Rayma thought of the bag and everything in it, imagined her going through the papers at home. Everything she’d removed, she’d put back in. “I didn’t take anything out. Maybe your agents lost something when they were making copies.”
“No,” Camden said, denying her unspoken accusation.
“Of course not. You people don’t make mistakes. It must have been me.” She couldn’t help the bitterness in her voice. Staying locked up in this house day after day and worrying about Camden was beginning to get to her.
“It’s important to him, whatever it is, and it could be important to us. Think back. He indicated it was a thumb drive or something.”
A drive? Chills erupted on her arms, spiraling down her spine. She slapped herself on the forehead. “Oh my God, I completely forgot about that.”
“Forgot about what?”
“When I bought that information from that guy, he took out a thumb drive when I wouldn’t agree to pay his full asking price.”
“How much did you pay?”
“A hundred and fifty dollars. It was all I had on me.”
“How much did he want?”
“Two hundred.” Rayma shrugged, but she knew this was a big deal. She would have handed over the cash if she’d had it.
“And you thought the thumb drive wasn’t important?”
Moore breezed in, the papers he carried flurrying as one fell to the floor and he kneeled to retrieve it. “Found out who the men were,” he announced, waving the papers. “Undercover cops, not on Darrell’s payroll.”
“Motherfucker,” Camden cursed, then turned sheepish as he looked at her. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Rayma said, but she doubted any of them heard her as they started talking about cowboys interfering in their long-term investigation. Camden kept glancing over at her, like he didn’t want her to be a part of his conversation.
They peered over the pictures and papers Moore had brought in, and muttered things about the investigation that Rayma had a hard time keeping up with. She considered taking notes, but she simply didn’t have the energy at the moment.
“Mike’s been arrested,” Moore said.
“I should probably call Darrell.” Camden stood and brushed his palms down his shorts. “So he doesn’t suspect me.”
“You go on to work tomorrow, give him the drugs, and explain your situation. You were lying low, you didn’t know if Mike had survived, and you didn’t want anyone to follow you back to him.”
“We’ve got to find Rayma’s informant, get that extra thumb drive.” Camden explained the situation to Moore, and suddenly it was Rayma who felt sheepish. Moore didn’t chastise her, but Camden unintentionally made her feel stupid. He was intimidating when he was frustrated, even though that frustration had little to do with her.
She considered their options. She had no way to trace the informant and ask for the information, and the email had bounced back when she tried to reply.
“Let me have my blog again. I’ll post something and see if he emails me.”
“No,” Camden and Moore said in unison.
“Why not?”
“Darrell thinks you’ve disappeared, so you’re staying quiet.” Camden said. “We’ll figure something else out.”
Rayma blew out an exasperated breath. Of course they would figure it out. She bit back the urge to tell them they should have left this to her a long time ago and it would have already been figured out. She could still be blogging, still be getting information, and risk nobody else’s life. Even if hers at been at risk, she was in a safe house now, and well protected.
Her heart was still in danger, but that was beside the point.
Camden
Camden walked into Darrell’s office at Vin Doux carrying the backpack full of drugs—already field tested by his agents—and didn’t say a word. Darrell sat at his desk, holding a drink and swiveling his chair from side to side. He jumped up and dropped his glass when Camden walked in. Scotch sloshed across his desk. He loped forward, pushed his forearm in Camden’s chest, and shoved him against the wall.
The backpack struck the floor. Camden grunted as his back hit the wall. He cringed, still hurting from last night’s escapade.
“Where the hell did you go last night?”
“I didn’t want to risk coming back here,” he explained, “in case someone was following me. I didn’t want to lead anyone back here. I couldn’t call you because I had no idea what was going on or who might be listening. So I hid out.”
“Mike’s in jail.”
“That’s better than dead.”
Camden hated to see that faint shade of distrust clouding over Darrell’s eyes.
“I don’t know about that. If he talks…”
“What is he going to talk about? They couldn’t have found anything on him. I had the drugs, so they’ll have nothing to pin on him. Who the hell were those people?”
“Undercover cops, not on my payroll.” Dare released his grip on Camden. “They weren’t investigating us, they were investigating Sammy.”
Sammy. Was that the name of the woman with the drugs last night?
Camden continued to play dumb. Since he hadn’t contacted Dare last night to try to make things right, he had to make the man believe he was on the up and up about what had happened.
Darrell bent over and retrieved the backpack. “All the goods still here?”
“Everything they gave me.”
“I thought you were involved in this raid.” Dare took the pack to his desk and opened it. “When you didn’t show up, I thought you must have taken off with the drugs or the money.”
“I told you, I didn’t want to risk coming over last night. I thought it’d be best if I just showed up for work the next day, like nothing ever happened. I don’t know, they might have seen my face, but it was pretty dark.”
“Smart thinking. I’m glad to have you on my team. Now I just have to figure out what to do with Mike.”
“What do you mean?” Camden asked. He couldn’t have Darrell kill anyone.
“He could be a mole.”
“I doubt it. The poor guy was arrested because he was doing a job for you.”
“If they grill him and he buckles—”
“Give him a chance.” Camden had no idea why he was taking up for Mike. It would be best to take him into federal custody and give Mike a chance to roll on Dare, but Camden thought he was better off being out here. Mike was just foolish enough to let something slip, as long as he stayed on the streets. In federal custody, he’d probably clam up and refuse to give any information. “Be cautious around him, sure, but don’t immediately suspect him. Better yet, let him stay in jail for a while.”
Dare grunted as he rummaged through the bag.
“I thought you were the one designing the drugs,” Camden continued. “What are you doing handing over your money for something like this?”
“Testing my competition,” Dare said as he stacked bottles and bags next to each other. “Plus, I get a few ingredients and use this to make something even better. Change the name, call it something different.”
Camden stored that information for later. They could prove Darrell was buying and selling, but evidence of his own drug creation would help seal the deal of a lifelong imprisonment. “You know there’s a lot better ways to exchange drugs without sending your men to troop through pastures of cow shit,” he said.
“What, like sending you out on a luxury yacht? That’s not my style.”
“Well, at least use some four-wheelers or something to make it easier to get away.”
“It’s also easier to get caught. At least on foot, you can duck and hide without making a sound.”
“Huh, maybe you should give that a try,” he murmured.
“You don’t like my way of doing things, I can always pull you from the project.”
“Well, I think I’ve earned my way out of dealing in cow pastures,” Camden said.
“Hey, you wanted in on this.”
“I want in on the fun stuff.”
“And what might that be?”
“I’m a cook, Dare. That’s what I do. Cook.”
“So you want to keep cooking for me?”
“Whatever drug you’re designing, that’s what I want in on. You asked me for recipe ideas. Let me experiment with what you’ve got.”
Darrell nodded and stroked his mustache. Camden almost regretted the offer, but this opportunity was exactly what he’d worked for the past few months. He wanted to be able to prove Darrell’s production, and being involved in the cooking process was a sure-fire way, but he refused to be a taste-tester.
“Maybe soon,” Darrell mumbled.
“I don’t like to be micromanaged during my creation process.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, just give me something to work with, and let me work alone.”
***
Rayma
Even the sun was starting to piss Rayma off. She wasn’t the type of person to sit still and study things for hours on end. She’d finished the book she’d been reading. It was interesting enough, but she wasn’t ready to start another one. She was tired of writing, tired of talking to Lacey when all she did was gripe, and she was tired of the absence of clouds in the sky.
Dex was taking a break from babysitting Rayma because Moore had something bigger planned for him. Lacey had taken over, but Rayma personally thought Lacey was the one who needed the sitter.
She’d told herself that she’d try to escape and meet her father, but only if things worked out for her. She never thought it’d actually happen. How could she possibly slip away? But things couldn’t have worked out any better.
Lacey needed to go out, but she didn’t want to tell Moore. Rayma promised Lacey she’d sit right where she was, basking in the sun. She wore a bathing suit, for goodness’ sakes, where would she possibly go?
Oh, the bag she carried? Towels, books, magazines. Definitely not full of clothes she planned to change into so she didn’t have to meet her father in anything less than her best. She hadn’t planned to actually need it, but had packed it the past couple of days just in case.
Today was her just in case.
She was crazy for wanting to meet with him anyway. She half expected her scheme to sneak out would fail, and she wouldn’t be able to go. That might be best, and it would take the decision out of her hands. But so far, things were looking good for her, and she was going to follow through.
It wasn’t as hard to sneak away as she expected, even if she did cringe at every sound. Would Darrell or his cronies be out there waiting to spot her? If a bullet hit her, would it be immediate?
Usually, Dex was with her every step, a little too close for comfort even when she took a bathroom break. Now, every step seemed like she was dodging landmines. She’d sworn she’d never speak to her father again, so why do this? Why now, when her life was falling apart?
She considered turning back around, going back to the safety net of the house where she’d grown comfortable, but curiosity kept her moving forward.
Curiosity, and the urge to tell her father exactly what she thought of him. Give herself some closure at least in that aspect of her life.
Every move she took through the sand sent splinters of heat through her feet. Flip flops didn’t offer the shield she needed. Within a few minutes, though, she was on the concrete pathway, and she ducked into a bathroom to change. No way would she meet her father in her bathing suit. She needed to show him she was successful in life. She damn sure didn’t need his approval, but she wanted to make sure he knew she wasn’t a mere beach bum.
She glanced around to make sure no one followed her, and didn’t see any gun-toting strangers. No one looked out of place, though how could she really know for sure until it was too late?
It was a good twenty minute walk to the downtown piers.
She should have been afraid. Even if her father wasn’t likely to kill her for revenge, Darrell Weberley could be waiting just around the corner.
***
Lacey
Lacey followed Darrell, she in a classy but inconspicuous metallic blue sedan she borrowed from a friend, and he in his sumptuous green Jaguar convertible. As she watched, he pulled Bimbo Blonde from the car and they entered a Tex-Mex restaurant, a place with way less panache than he was accustomed to.
Cyndi clung to his arm like a decoration, and Lacey couldn’t bite down the distaste forming in her mouth. Cyndi was sleeping with the enemy, and Lacey was jealous. She wanted that job.
They were supposed to meet at the beach today, and she’d been there, primed and ready. But he never showed up. And now he was with Cyndi.
She walked into the bar of the restaurant and ordered a margarita. She watched as he cozied up to the other woman in a corner of the room, as if they’d come here specifically to make out.
She longed to scratch his eyes out. Not, she told herself, because he was with another woman but because he had ruined her life for the past year, dealing drugs, killing people. What kind of person was she to want to have anything to do with him?
She gulped her margarita, took a tequila shot, and wrote him a note on her napkin.
After paying for her drinks, and feeling a little more daring, she slipped by his table. “Mr. Weberley, how are you?”
If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. “Good, and you?” He shook her hand as if they were old friends but didn’t stand. That fact insulted her. “You remember Cyndi? She works at Sanctions Gateway.”
She ignored Cyndi. “You’re being disloyal to your own restaurant.”
“Just need something different every now and again.”
“Good to see you,” she said and, before leaving, she dropped her napkin in his lap.
She sauntered to the bathroom, resisting the temptation to glance back to see if he read her note. Apparently he had, because a few minutes later, he followed her into the ladies’ room.
“I missed you at the beach today,” Lacey said, taking him in her arms as if they were lovers. She had to be bold with him or his interest in her would wane. No one else was in the bathroom. She pushed him into a stall, unsnapped his jeans, and unzipped him where he stood.
“Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t able to make it.” His tone was flat, impossible to read.
“I see that,” she said, teasing him with her hand. Though she was perfectly lucid, the alcohol had given her an extra shot of audacity. She used it to her advantage.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“No worries. If you want to take bimbo blonde out on a date, that’s your business.”
He grimaced. She stood her ground and did her best to be rough enough to keep him interested.
“Besides,” he said, “you’re married.”
“I never thought I’d be the only girl in your life,” she said before kneeling and taking him into her mouth.
He groaned and she rocked against him, taking all of him yet wanting to inflict pain on him as well. When he came, she stayed with him and muttered against him, “I only hoped you’d find someone better than an undercover agent.”
“What did you say?” His body tensed, and she was glad to be down on the floor, close to his sensitive spot. At least if he tried anything, she could defend herself. No such luck. She didn’t even struggle when he gripped her hair and pulled her up, forcing her to look at him. She tried to back away, but his hold on her tightened.
Had the alcohol made her dense as well? Or was that just plain stupidity? Either way, there was something about this man that made her
feel
stupid, and she knew it wasn’t love.
She’d just blown Cyndi’s cover. She could deny everything, but he wasn’t stupid. Cyndi couldn’t be linked to the rest of them, but telling him had been a risky move. Why did she feel so good about it?
“Check her out if you don’t believe me.”
***
Rayma
Rayma sat with her dad on a bench at the downtown piers as the sun shone high in the sky. Waves crashed against the shore, the mellow atmosphere making her heart sink. She gritted her teeth and repressed the urge to flee as her father spoke, but dread weighed her down. Dread and curiosity.
“You’ve done well for yourself.” He flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette and onto the concrete slab. Richard O’Riley eyeballed her silk chartreuse pants and matching shell top as if he resented her. She’d arranged her hair in a tight bun, trying to appear professional and strong, almost like a schoolmarm yet with class. She was no longer a child, and his stare could not panic her anymore.