One Wrong Move (28 page)

She thought she was going to die as she rode him. Or maybe she already had died and was in heaven right now. She clenched around him, tilting her head back as her orgasm hit in a long wave of gratification.

When they finished, she sank to the bed and presented her back to him. He spooned her and pulled her closer. She guessed he wasn’t normally the type of man to cuddle, and her feelings were too damn scary to consider. She couldn’t afford to think about what might happen tomorrow, and she couldn’t allow herself to fall for this man.

Love and lust were two very different things. Lust was in the moment and love was meant to last forever. Lust was all about selfishness, and love was about giving things up for good.

“Haven’t you had enough?” she murmured as he nibbled her ear.

“I could never get enough of you. Besides, I’ve got to keep showing you that you’ve never had better.”

His words belly flopped in her stomach. He didn’t mean forever. When this was all said and done, they’d both move on.

She turned to face him, grinning devilishly. Might was well enjoy what she had while she could. “Well,” she said as she traced his chest muscles with the tip of her forefinger. Camden groaned. “You can keep trying,” Rayma continued. “To see if it gets better. But it’s probably going to take a few runs.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

Camden

Camden worried when Darrell changed his plans. He had his own servers while Camden would be bustling around in the kitchen preparing the main meal. Dare now wanted him to be the one to personally serve dessert, so everyone could have a chance to meet his renowned chef.

As he cooked dinner for Darrell’s drug friends, he considered several different ways to alter their mood, starting with pouring the same drugs they sold into their food. He might have chanced it, but he was being watched too closely.

It was all going to end tonight.

Camden hoped it would be soon. He touched his chest, wishing there was a Kevlar vest beneath his shirt, but he knew it wouldn’t work for him to wear one. Vests, wires, guns…he couldn’t chance wearing any of those.

Everyone praised him as he served dessert, and as he approached Darrell with the tray of choices, the man nodded to a couple of bodyguards. They quickly surrounded Camden and began to pat him down. Camden looked into Dare’s eyes, unflinching, unmoving as the guards touched him, prodded him in search of anything incriminating.

His heart sank.

His breath stopped.

Darrell knew.

“Gentlemen,” Darrell said as he sipped on a glass of scotch and puffed a cigar. “We come to mourn the passing of what once was, and to celebrate a new beginning. Camden here”—he nodded his head toward him—“has been with me for almost a year. The best damn chef I’ve ever had. He helped me with the plans for this party in this new building we’re in today.”

Darrell stopped talking. The bodyguards left his side and flanked him. He nodded for Camden to have a seat.

Camden sat in the overstuffed chair easily, comfortably, as if he had no worries. On the outside. Inside, he was alert to every expression, every nuance of sound passing through the room. His heart pounded as he waited to hear Darrell’s next words.

Agents were waiting to come in and bust him. He wasn’t armed, but Casey was here and had strategically planted listening devices for those on the outside.

“Come to find out,” Dare continued, “he isn’t really a chef but an undercover agent with the DEA.”

The door opened, and two men stormed through, pulling someone behind them.

Lacey.

Camden studied Dare, who had an evil smile on his face as he watched the men drag her across the floor to stand in front of him. “Seems like I’ve been surrounded by DEA agents. Anyone else I should know about?”

Lacey looked toward Camden, her eyes begging him. For what, he didn’t know.

He said nothing, he did nothing. He waited, watched, observed. He didn’t see taking on so many men by himself. He knew the agents would be here soon. Until then, he had to play it cool.

“You can thank Lacey,” Darrell said as he turned to Camden. “She exposed Cyndi. She’s the reason Cyndi is dead. And she’s the reason you’ll be next.”

Dare’s bodyguards yanked Camden from his seat. He went without a fight. They held onto his arms, one on either side of him, and two more pushing Lacey behind him.

When they were out of Dare’s vicinity heading down a hallway to wherever the goons would probably shoot them in cold blood, Camden figured the time had come to defend himself. His training, his rough life, and his strong foundation made him able to surprise his rivals.

He jerked his arm away from the man on his right and kneed him in the stomach. The guy went down. Startled, the one on his left loosened his grip. Camden dropped to the floor and kicked him in the balls. The man fell, groaning and covering his groin.

Camden slid across the floor and snatched the guy’s gun from the holster on his jeans, then elbowed him across the head. The first man had recovered himself and ran at him. Camden spun on the floor and shot his foot out, kicking the goon in the knee and taking him down, bashing the gun in his face as he fell.

Camden jumped up, cocking the gun on the men holding Lacey. Stunned, they just stood there, eyeballing him.

“Put your hands up and let her go,” he said as he walked backward.

They did as instructed, holding their hands up after shoving Lacey forward. She stumbled.

“I should leave you here to die,” Camden told her, never taking his eyes off the men.

“Uh, uh, uhhh,” a voice behind him said.

Camden whirled to find Darrell standing in the hallway. The gun he held was pointed straight between Camden’s eyes.

***

Rayma

Rayma ambled out of the bedroom and hesitated when no agents guarded her door. “Thanks a lot,” she muttered. Tonight was a huge night, and no one thought her safety mattered? She wondered if she could slip out, or if Dex would appear as he always had. She wasn’t dumb enough to try. She preferred to be right where she was, in the midst of protection.

James was in the command room, helping the agents with communications, but they didn’t want her in there. She hadn’t fought that decision at first. Being in that room and listening in on everything going on would kill her, and she was worried enough as it was. Although Camden hadn’t gone in with wires and special equipment, they had set up small cameras and microphone devices through other agents and busboys. Moore had assured her he’d be safe.

An agent strolled up the stairs as she started down. She didn’t recognize him, but the house was crowded with new faces. Unease tightened her spine. She was expected to trust people she didn’t even know, and she had a hard time doing that even when not in the middle of a dangerous investigation.

“I just have to run to the kitchen a moment.” She pointed toward the area, that extra movement making her limbs feel even heavier.

As she stepped onto the next landing, she was hit hard from behind. She tripped, stumbling down the stairs. Her head pounded as she fought for control of her fall, tried to grab the railing, anything to keep herself from tumbling to the bottom. She tasted blood—sharp, acidic venom.

Her head hit the floor, then she blacked out.

***

Camden

Camden and Lacey plodded down the hallway, footsteps heavy as they followed Dare and his thugs. His hands were bound tightly in front of his body, but Lacey’s were free. Camden refused to look at her to see if she was okay. She was the reason they were in this mess. Sweat poured off his body, and he wondered if that would help his efforts to get out of the zip tie. Fear clenched his stomach.

He didn’t try anything stupid again.

“Oh, come on, Dare, you can’t think this is a good idea,” Camden finally said, keeping his tone even.

“About as good of an idea as you investigating me.”

“I only know enough to net you a few years in prison, maybe five. If you kill me and Lacey, you’re guaranteed life.”

“Let’s not forget Cyndi.” Dare’s voice was like the cold waters of the gulf on a stagnant day, and Camden knew his mind was made up. Whatever he planned to do couldn’t be bargained with. He just hoped the agents busted in on time.

“I don’t know a Cyndi,” Camden lied, prolonging the inevitable.

Dare tapped the guy standing by the door on the shoulder to indicate he should open it, and Camden’s world tumbled when he saw Rayma. A blend of cigarettes, cigars, and marijuana smoke wafted toward him. The combination with high-end scotch and the testosterone of the men in the room repulsed him.

Rayma was zip-tied to a chair. A blue and purple welt stained her beautiful face. The face he thought to never see again. The face he wished like hell he wasn’t seeing right now.

His heart stopped. He tried to lunge toward her, but the thug’s fist in his chest stopped him.

“Who wants to die first?” Darrell pointed his gun at Rayma. “You?”

If Camden didn’t do something, the woman he loved was going to die in front of him. A cold, cruel, painful death. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

But he wasn’t. As long as he was still alive, still standing, he could fight. He blew out a breath, imagined his target, and stepped forward. He performed an axe kick to Dare’s face, and nearly lost his balance with his hands tied. Dare stumbled, shocked and confused. The impact dazed him.

Camden pushed forward again and kicked the gun out of his hand. It smacked hard to the ground and slid a safe distance away. Dare quickly recovered and lunged for the weapon. Camden threw his shoulder into his chest and kept springing into him. They both fell.

Lacey dove for the gun.

Dare jumped up, grabbed an extra pistol from somewhere out of his pocket, and cocked it at Rayma’s head. “That was stupid,” he said. “Now she’s going to die.”

“No!” The sound of gunfire was deafening. One shot, two shots. Camden couldn’t be sure. The image of Rayma’s face right before the blast would haunt him for the rest of his life. He closed his eyes, expecting to feel the agonizing blow, hoping to feel it because life wasn’t worth living anymore.

“Camden.”

Rayma’s voice.

He opened his eyes to see Dare slumped on the floor at her feet. His blood pooled on the ground. Lacey kneeled on the floor, whimpering.

Rayma was alive. Her eyes bulged as she stared at him, her lower lip trembling.

Agents thundered through the door. Camden managed to pull his ties loose seconds before gunfire erupted. He grabbed Rayma’s chair out of the way as bullets whizzed between the agents and the rest of Dare’s men.

They ducked behind a couch as bodies fell. He cut her ties and freed her from the chair, wrapping his arms around her and shielding her from the danger. All he could do was keep Rayma safe. He was willing to give up his life for hers, even without a gun or any means to fight. His hands shook, but he’d keep fighting. With every volley of fire, he cringed and gripped her tighter. The soft whine of fear was unmistakable. The tang of gunpowder left him nauseated.

The gunfire ended. More agents swarmed in. Lacey lay in a heap on the floor.

“Lacey needs help,” Rayma called. “She saved my life.”

“What?” Camden asked, still not sure if this nightmare was over, except that Rayma was alive.

“Before he could shoot me, Lacey shot Darrell.”

***

Rayma

Moore sat beside Rayma in the hospital waiting room and patted her knee. “Lacey’s going to live,” he assured her.

Was her stress that obvious? She dropped her purse to the floor. The strap had become something to wring around her hands while she waited. James was on her other side, where he’d sat with her, silently, for the past two hours.

She longed for Camden. His arms. His protection.

“She’s going to have a lot to answer for. Her badge will be taken away. She could be looking at a prison term.”

No matter. She deserved it, though Rayma was relieved to hear she’d live. She’d gone back to the safe house last night in a vapid haze, drinking three glasses of wine while she lounged in the bathtub, trying not to think about what just happened. She slept, though not well, hoping Camden would come to her bed.

He never did. This morning she’d come to the hospital and waited for news of Lacey. At least that gave her something to do, more to fret over.

“A lot of men were hurt,” Moore continued. “A few of Darrell’s were killed, and most of them are talking now that they’re behind bars. Joe Donahue has come forward, and he’s safe. We’ve gone over and over the details and now we’re tying up loose ends. It’s almost over on our part. It is over on yours. You can go home.”

Rayma released a shuddering breath. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Why hadn’t anyone mentioned Camden? Was that how it was to be? Crazy wonderful sex, a near-death experience, and no good-bye?

Or was he dead? Had he been shot in all that gunfire—after he’d seen to her safety—and no one told her? She’d never know.

“Where’s Camden?” she asked.

“He has a lot of things to do, a lot of paperwork, reports, answers to give. He has a few weeks of hell left before he either takes on another case or goes on vacation.”

Will I hear from him again
? She wanted to ask, but didn’t. She knew how it’d be. No sense fooling herself. As long as he was safe.

Which she still wasn’t convinced he was.

***

Camden

The past few months of Camden’s life seemed wasted now that Darrell Weberley was dead. Camden hadn’t even had the pleasure of being the one to kill him. There would be no trial, no proving the last almost-year of this lie was worth a damn. Hell, he could have killed Darrell in the beginning and saved himself a lot of trouble. Cyndi and Fletcher would still be alive, and he never would have fallen in love.