One Wrong Move (8 page)

She straightened her posture and stood tall. He could admire the fact she was trying to put on a brave front. Or hell, maybe she was too stupid to be scared.

Her shudder gave her away.

“Thank God I’m not one of them,” he said as he dropped his hands and stepped back.

“What’s in that building?” she asked with a pointed glance in the direction of the place he suspected was Darrell’s next big drug operation.

Ignoring her, he pushed her aside and opened the driver’s door. “Get in.” She stood a moment, glanced at him then at the car, blinking as she contemplated what to do. He wasn’t there to harm her, but how could she know that? “I’m not going to hurt you. Get in. Slide over to the passenger side.”

“I’ve got my car. Thank you anyway.”

“Get in, before I haul your ass away.”

Her lower lip trembled. He sucked in a breath.

To his surprise, she complied.

Stooping down, he grabbed her purse and opened its contents.

“What are you doing?” she whined.

“Checking for weapons.”

“There are no weapons in there.”

He pulled out the pepper spray and pocketed it. He’d give it back later, but he didn’t want to give her any means of injuring him while he was driving. Of course, anything could work, but he refrained from dumping everything out.

“If you think pepper spray is going to protect you from the dangers of this world, you need to rethink your arsenal.”

She sneered when he tossed her bag in her lap.

“You can drive me to my vehicle, although it isn’t too far to walk.”

He drove off and called Moore to tell him to pick up the car he’d spotted hidden along the tree line on the gulf side, jabbering Rayma’s address, which he knew by heart.

She frowned at him, held up her keys, jangling them as she mouthed, “I’ve got the keys.” He shrugged. Keys didn’t matter when it came to his team retrieving a vehicle, but he didn’t bother telling her that and didn’t bother explaining his call.

“There’s got to be a reason a pretty little thing like you would be out and about on such a steamy night,” he said after ending the call with Moore.

“Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do, or any reason to be up early.” After she spoke, she shifted in her seat and bit her lip like she regretted her words.

“What do you mean by that?”

She shook her head and glanced out the window. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. It means something.”

He recorded her movements. Maybe she was locked into this deeper than he expected. He’d thought she was innocent, just someone dating the accountant, but maybe she knew something more. Maybe Mike had told her something, or maybe one harmless admission by him spurred her interest. Whatever it was, Camden had to make sure it didn’t go any further than tonight’s rendezvous.

“It means I got fired.”

Her admission stunned him. “You what?”

“Over that stupid blog post about you fighting.”

Camden chuckled, then regretted his mirth at the pure displeasure slicing through the shadows on her face.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He didn’t know what to think. With her inquisitiveness, work was the best place for her. Would give her less time for snooping into things she shouldn’t be snooping into. She needed to be kept busy.

They entered town, and he drove her to her condo. For a second, he considered taking her to the safe house, where she’d be protected against any dangers she might find. Rayma brought out his protective instincts. His gut clenched at the possibility of her coming to harm just for butting her nose where she shouldn’t.

As he parked, her phone buzzed. Even on vibrate mode, the sound could have roused the neighborhood. She grabbed it and answered.

“Hey, James. I’m fine. Yes, yes, I know. Yes, I promise. Okay. I’m home. I’m fine. About to go to bed. Love you too. Bye.”

Her sigh was laden with exasperation when she dropped her phone in her purse.

“Who was that?”

Her head jerked up, her eyes meeting his through the haze of the evening. Her lips pursed. “A friend.”

“Boyfriend?”

Her face softened as she laughed. “No. An uncle. More like a father to me. He was calling to check on me.”

“Did he have any idea the danger you were putting yourself into?”

She opened the door, clutched her purse to her stomach, and glared at him. “I expect my car to be here in the morning.” She stepped out, but before shutting the door, she said, “I’m going to bed. I take it you’ll see yourself home.”

He watched her walk away, into her condo, and he remained there for several minutes to make sure no one lurked nearby. He was glad that hadn’t been a boyfriend who’d called to check up on her, even though it meant nothing. She could have found another one after breaking up with Darrell’s accountant, and Camden certainly didn’t have time to pursue a woman.

Especially one who left him so breathless.

***

Rayma

Rayma’s body still trembled long after Camden had gone. She shouldn’t have done what she did, shouldn’t have gotten out of her car to traipse through the boggy plains surrounding Pier 18. What was she thinking?

She’d discovered a lot about people over her years as a journalist and didn’t believe in reporting every foul thing she learned. Some things were meant to be kept secret, but not when those secrets affected the general public. If Darrell Weberley was using Vin Doux as a cover to manufacture his own brand of designer drugs, the public needed to know. 

But no story or revelation was worth her life.

Camden had scared her today. When she’d first spotted him, she hid behind the tree and prayed he hadn’t seen her. Her body’s reaction to him baffled her. He’d yanked her up and pulled her close to him. He could kill her with his bare hands, but something told her he wasn’t that kind of person.

She wanted to know more about him.

Pacing through her home, she wondered how she’d gotten to the point where this mission was taking over her life. She’d dated a man she didn’t even like in an attempt to learn more about the restaurant, and now she was fantasizing over a man who worked closely with the criminal she wanted to help put behind bars.

Although people had often accused her of being impulsive, her impetuous decisions of late were over the top. Had to stem from boredom. She wasn’t meant to work in an office and read off news from a teleprompter. She was living alone in a city on the Texas gulf, her only friends the ones she’d made from work—and Beacon, who weaved around her feet as she paced.

Maybe she should take James up on his offer to work with him. Just follow people around and uncover their unfaithfulness. He said he did more than that, but none of it sounded appealing to her. At least she’d be back in Austin, maybe with a chance to meet a real man who didn’t believe in making a living through corruption.

She glanced through her phone at the pictures she’d taken of the pier and the building. The light and shadows of the sunset emphasized different themes of the photos. If nothing else, she could sell pictures instead of stories. She sat down to download them, edited a few. By the time she was done, her back ached and neck was tight.

She posted a photo of the pier with a quote about strength. Within minutes, her email chirped. The same anonymous person asked her to meet tomorrow at Bill’s Beer and Burgers.

I have information for you.

She replied this time.

Why not give it to the police?

The police can’t be trusted.

“Ugh,” she moaned, rubbing her fingers through Beacon’s fur. Sometimes people would go to journalists before they went to the cops. The media offered a good portal to law enforcement. It might be easier to go to the media. Many thought journalists could be trusted and would be hungry to uncover the information. In many cases, that was true. In Rayma’s case, it was definitely true.

This would be the last time. She wasn’t one to quit, wasn’t one to give up on the middle of something she considered big, but enough was enough. She’d take the information, hand it over to the police, and leave it alone. She’d give up this mission, delete her blog, ignore her email. Maybe even leave Hammer Bay for good.

Nothing was left for her here.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rayma dipped her fries in ketchup and surveyed the room, a typical hole-in-the-wall café with literally at least one hole in the wall and probably several others covered by the faded black and white photos.

It was cozy, in a no-frills way.

The grease from the hamburger and fries coiled her stomach, but she needed all the strength she could get.

She jumped when a hand touched her back.

“What are you doing here?” Camden’s voice shot chills down her spine. He snatched a fry from her plate and sat beside her, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, wearing that damn smile that twisted her with desire.

“I’m having lunch,” she said, almost too composed for her own ears, which still rang in alarm. She hadn’t realized until now how on edge she’d been. Of course, Camden always had that effect on her. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Was he her informant? No, impossible. Wouldn’t he have already told her? “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?”

“I’m having lunch, too.” He grabbed another fry, chewed with an impassive, somewhat bored expression that irritated Rayma’s nerves. He swallowed. “I do eat at other places besides Vin Doux.”

“Are you stalking me?” she asked. His arrival here was too convenient, and she wondered again if he was her informant. He had been at Pier 18 when she figured he’d be working, and now he was here.

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m meeting someone here. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.” If he was her informant, she hoped he’d tell her soon.

He reached his arm over and stole another fry, but she slapped his hand away before he had a chance to pilfer her ketchup, too. That didn’t stop him from eating the fry, smiling as he watched her.

Lust shot straight to her thighs. He had a nice smile—crooked, but with straight teeth. His hair was mussed, unlike the neatly combed look he sported at the restaurant. This was sexier, more dangerous.

The heat from his body scorched her. He was sitting right beside her, his thigh pressed into hers, and it was all she could do to keep her mind functioning normally.

She had to remind herself he might be a drug dealer. Dating a would-be felon wasn’t on her agenda

“This is our third date. Doesn’t that mean—”

“No!” She imagined the rest of his sentence. She glanced at his large hands and imagined them touching her body. Strong and masculine hands. Arms constructed of ropy muscle so thick and perfect that if this were really a date, she could have easily considered it the third, and everything that implied.

She averted her gaze. What was wrong with her? Lack of sleep played havoc with her senses. A nice warm body in bed would help lull her to sleep after a good bout of lovemaking.

No, not lovemaking. Sex. She wasn’t planning on being in love any time soon. But Camden…oh, she bet he’d be good.

When he tried to snatch another fry, she elbowed him away and encircled her plate with her hands, drawing it closer. She scooted as far against the wall as the booth would allow. “This is not a date, and if you came here to eat, why are you eating
my
fries?”

“I’m still hungry,” he said.

“I will be, too, if you keep eating my food.”

She noticed a man peering her direction and tried to catch his eye, thinking he might be the person she was supposed to meet. If Camden wasn’t the one, he’d obviously ruined that encounter. The man looked away.

“Would you just go?” she asked Camden.

“Waiting for your boyfriend?”

“Yes.” Maybe that would get rid of him. Because as nice as he was to look at, he needed to leave. If this informant had proof of Vin Doux’s
drug business, she wanted to get it and get out of here.

“Shall we meet for lunch again tomorrow?” Camden rose and placed money on the table as if he were paying for her meal.

“No.” She grabbed the money and thrust it toward him. “And it’s already paid for so don’t bother.”

He shrugged, took the money, and glanced around. Rayma did, too, and noticed the man was gone.

“I’ll call you,” he said, whistling as he walked out the door.

Rayma waited another half hour to see if her informant would drop by, but the man she suspected might be him had long since gone, and no one else approached.

She blamed Camden. He was funny, charming, a great cook, had an incredible body, and was gorgeous. So she enjoyed his company. How could she not? But she didn’t trust him. Could he be her informant, or was he playing her?

The oppressive heat ate into her skin as she stepped out of the café. The burger smoldered in the pit of her stomach, as if the sun still cooked the meal inside her. Not a pleasant feeling. The tea she drank rested heavy on her. She almost turned to go back inside for the bathroom when someone grabbed her by the elbow.

Thinking it was Camden, her temper soared. She tried to jerk away, but the man gripped her harder and pulled her into the back of the alley beside the café.

She realized it wasn’t Camden first by the smell. Camden had a masculine smell, even if he was in a kitchen all day. Musk combined with ginger. Rum and lime. Something that made her think of sex. This guy’s smell was more like the bottom of an ashtray worsened by the hot sun.

She forgot all the self-defense lessons she’d learned, and the pepper spray she always carried did her no good buried in the bottom of her purse. When her abductor turned her around and put his finger to his lips to indicate she shouldn’t make a sound, she saw it was the guy from the café. She tried to nod her head but he was constricting most of her movement.

“Why was that guy with you?” he asked when he dropped his hand. “I told you to come alone.”

Rayma chugged in air. It wasn’t like he cut off her air supply, but his smell made it impossible to breathe. “I did come alone. He just happened to be there. He recognized me and stopped to talk. I didn’t want him there.”

“Looked pretty cozy to me. I thought you were interested in what I have.” He held up a military-green bag and shook it in front of her. She tried to stand straight, but her stomach roiled.

“I am, but I can’t be stupid about it.”

“How much is this worth to you?”

“I don’t know. What’s in it?”

“For two-hundred dollars, I give you the bag and we go our separate ways. You can use the information as you will.”

“Two hundred? How will I know if it’s worth that if I don’t know what’s in there?”

He opened the bag and showed her pictures of a building she recognized as Pier 18, along with photos of the restaurant, a few thumb drives, and miscellaneous documents.

“One-fifty,” she said, handing him some bills.

He grabbed the money and removed a thumb drive, which he kept. When she protested, he shook his head. “You don’t get all of it if you don’t pay for all of it. Two-hundred was a bargain.”

She agreed. She didn’t have fifty bucks to be bargaining with and shouldn’t be spending any money right now, especially the type of money that would feed her for a few weeks, or help pay her rent. She was no longer employed and should be saving every penny.

She breathed deeply when she was seated safely in her car, but that only started a fit of coughing. As she drove, fear heightened, then turned into an adrenaline rush—rapid heartbeat, shaking hands, clammy skin, dry mouth.

She watched as she drove home to make sure nobody followed. She was probably being too cautious, the result of being an investigative reporter for too long, but the thrill inside when a news prospect came along elevated her senses and her vigilance.

Was she attracted to danger? Was that why she always fell for the wrong guy? Was that why she couldn’t stop thinking of Camden and how his lips had felt on hers?

Was that why she very much wanted to experience that again?

***

Camden

Camden shouldn’t have followed her to the burger place. He knew that. But he’d still done it. Worse yet, he waited outside the café to see what she was going to do next.

Rayma wasn’t just another person to him, another subject to watch over. Rayma was…well, Rayma. A woman with a personality he was beginning to like, a person he cared about because she was a human being, a person who had a cat depending on her.

A person he wanted to get into his bed.

He saw the man hiding in the shadows even before he approached Rayma, then watched as the guy grabbed her and pulled her to the back, away from the public eye. He almost intervened then, but thought better of it, his heart pounding as he waited to see if she needed saving.

They talked. The man offered her a bag, she gave him money, and she was on her way.

Aware he couldn’t watch her house forever to see where she would go next, he arranged another agent to keep up surveillance.

Which began the argument with Moore.

“We can’t waste our agent’s time watching some woman you’re infatuated with,” Moore said.

“She’s a part of our investigation. She has information on the restaurant, and her life could be in danger. Plus, let’s not forget she dated the CPA. Maybe she found out something when she was with him. Maybe she’s trying to blackmail them now. Something’s going on, obviously.”

Moore rolled his eyes, shifted his feet, and bit on the end of an unlit cigarette. Camden cringed. How could any man be serious about a job when he had tobacco stuck between his teeth?

“She could be involved in something else. Something that has nothing to do with the restaurant. Or she could be a dealer. Who knows what was in that bag.”

“Dammit.” Camden yanked the unlit cigarette from Moore’s teeth and tossed it behind him, heedless of where it fell. He wasn’t going to talk to a damn piece of nicotine. “Use your fucking head.”

That seemed to shock Moore, who just stood there staring. Camden continued, “She met with an informant today. She’s been posting stuff on her blog that could put her in danger. She was dating Dare’s
accountant
. If she has information that could help us, and somebody besides me knows about this, I’m not about to let her die for it.”

“I’ll let the agent stay the rest of the night,” Moore said. “But tomorrow morning we’re pulling him. She has nothing to do with this investigation.”

“On the contrary, she could play a vital role if she has information we need.”

“You don’t know she has anything.”

“I know she has a large bag full of documents.”

“That you suspect pertain to this investigation. Not a sure thing.”

“For the leader of this pack, you’re showing poor leadership skills,” Camden said. “After nine months of spinning our wheels, we might finally have something.”

“I’m not going to ruin our investigation over your damn infatuation.”

Camden turned away. He couldn’t hit the agent in charge and had no other options.

Lacey bounced in, like a cat chasing a ball of string. She looked like she was on a mission.

“What’s this I hear about an infatuation?” she asked. “Wish I had time for that.”

Camden donned his jacket and glanced at his watch. It was time to leave. His pulse pounded. He was reaching his boiling point and didn’t know how much more he could deal with the attitude, the aggression, or the lack of support he was getting from his so-called team.

“You know,” he said as he twisted the doorknob, “if I wasn’t doing everything around here, maybe this op wouldn’t be taking so damned long.”