One Wrong Move Read online

  “Any luck?” Mike asked. For a moment, Camden wondered if it had been Mike. He and Rayma had, after all, dated. But then he remembered she’d dated him after the information, just to see if she could get more. Mike was likely not a suspect, but he wouldn’t totally discount him.

  “Not really,” Darrell said. He glanced at Camden in the mirror. “Yours were obvious. You brought the items back to me, so I can figure why yours were on them. There were several smudged prints I can’t make heads or tails of, more prints than should be on there, but there was another one that really bothered me. A partial match.”

  “Who’s that?” Camden asked, dreading the answer.

  “Shawn.”

  “Shawn?” Mike asked.

  Oh fuck.

  “Shawn and his friend Joe Donahue.”

  “Who’s that?” Camden asked.

  Darrell tapped the steering wheel to a beat only he heard. A steady drum of anticipation built in Camden’s chest. “Joe was a guy Shawn met when he was young. They went to school together. I had him under my wing for a while, but he grew up and decided he wanted to go to college, to better his life. He came back to town, and I accepted him with open arms, but he disappeared a few weeks ago. I figured he probably hooked up with Shawn thinking they could take me over.”

  Camden ran a hand over his face. What a nightmare. And definitely not a good way for this guy to better his life.

  They still hadn’t found Shawn. Camden had hoped he’d found a safe place to hide out, hoped he’d learned and moved on, far away from Darrell and his hounds of hell, but what if he hadn’t?

  “Where is he now?” Camden asked, hoping to glean more information about Joe Donahue. If they found him, maybe they’d find Shawn.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Dare pulled into his private drive at Vin Doux and parked. “Let’s take the rest of the day off. We all need to relax before the upcoming party.”

  Camden didn’t unbuckle, not yet. He needed to know more, but he had to be subtle. “So what’s next with Shawn and this Joe guy?”

  Darrell’s face was carved from stove when he replied. “Do you really need to ask that question?”

  ***

  When Camden came in later that day he was worn out from work, sick with grief over the fight he felt he was losing, and ready for a beer, a hot woman, and slow, saucy music. Not necessarily in that order. He grabbed a beer and summoned Moore so he could explain the newest situation.

  “Why didn’t we get matches on those prints but Darrell did?” Camden asked as he stomped across the command room. Other agents listened, took notes, or searched records, but Camden paid them no mind.

  “Calm down,” Moore warned, as Camden squeezed the empty beer can. “You know it isn’t always so easy if they don’t have a criminal history. Darrell takes prints of all his men. He took yours.”

  “We should have found them by now. We have to find them now.”

  “We’re running searches for Joe Donahue. It would have helped if you’d asked more questions, but—”

  Camden whirled to face the agent in charge. “But what? But I didn’t want a gun pointed at my head? I tried to ask, but all I could get was his name. They went to school together, and then Joe decided to run off and go to college. You know enough about Shawn. Search his records.”

  “We’re doing what we can.”

  Rayma stormed in. Camden whirled around to face her. She wasn’t allowed in the command room, and he didn’t like the fact she was there, but the pained expression on her face said something important had brought her. They hadn’t spoken since their last meeting, when she’d unceremoniously told him she’d had better. He wanted nothing but a chance to prove her wrong.

  “What is it?” Camden asked.

  She held up a manila envelope. “This came in my mail today.”

  Moore grabbed the packet and studied it. “Check this out. No return address. Block lettering.”

  “Let me see,” Camden said, and eyed the envelope in question. Rayma had long since cut off the phone, electricity, and television from her apartment, and the mail was routed to a box even she wasn’t aware of. An agent picked up her mail only one or two days a week. The packet was postmarked four days ago.

  Rayma wiped her hands on her jeans, that simple action speaking of her worry. Camden handed the envelope to their tech. “Get this x-rayed before we open it,” he said.

  He studied Rayma, concerned for her. She was strong, a lot stronger than he credited her with, but he hated for her to have to be involved in this. It was an ugly business, and mentally demanding on even the toughest of agents. He didn’t doubt that Rayma was good at her job, but the ordeal of living in a safe house could break anybody’s naiveté.

  Once inspected, they opened it to find two thumb drives, one with a yellow sticky note that read:

  You owe me $50.

  “This could be the answer to our prayers,” Camden said.

  Arnie took over. Arnie, the computer geek who seemed to know everything there was to know about the machines. He didn’t look like a geek. Damn guy probably had less body fat than Camden.

  Rayma brewed coffee as Arnie tried to break the password. After two hours, they finally got somewhere.

  Several files were on the drive—lists of names, another string of numbers, plus some pictures and video.

  Camden picked a video of a figure aiming a gun and shooting someone. Not someone. Shawn.

  His chair tumbled over as he shot up. “Dammit.” Cold fury threaded its way through his body. Helpless, he watched the video replay, over and over again. Shawn, on his knees, his hands bound behind his back, begging for his life. His body slammed backward as the bullet pierced his chest, then he toppled over as his life ended.

  A strangled sob escaped Rayma. She shouldn’t be here, watching this. She wasn’t part of this investigation. Only she’d become part of it, part of their team.

  He didn’t know if Rayma recognized Shawn. He wasn’t sure if he should tell her. Remember the chef I fought with the first time we met? Yeah, that was him.

  “We were supposed to keep him safe!” Camden exclaimed.

  Moore didn’t reply, didn’t need to reply. They hadn’t kept him safe, and it was Camden’s fault for bringing the kid into it. The shooter wasn’t visible, so there was no way to prove Darrell’s involvement. He rubbed a hand over his face then smacked his hands on the table. “Dammit!”

  “I recognize him,” Rayma said, pointing at one of the guys in the background.

  “How’s that?” Moore asked.

  “He’s my CI.”

  Confidential Informant. This is the guy who’d chosen to risk his life to bust Darrell. Camden recognized him, too, from the café where Rayma had met him. This had to be Joe, the man Darrell had told him about. He cursed himself for not figuring out who he was earlier, not going after him the day he’d met with Rayma, not saving him. Now his life could be lost among many in the war against Darrell Weberley.

  “Fuck.” His breath sizzled out of him, the word dying in a tomb of empty promises.

  Arnie plugged in the other drive. “This looks like his payroll.”

  Camden scanned through the system quickly to get the gist of it for now. They’d do a more thorough search later. “And a list of every drug run he’s had up until two months ago.”

  A fusion of hot and cold surrounded him. Darrell was a dangerous man, he’d always known it, but somehow this information seemed to make it real.

  They finally took time to eat as they inspected the drives and printed documents for further research. The sun went down, and rain pounded on the rooftop, making it sound as if someone was throwing gravel on the coffin Camden was buried in.

  “He told me he was missing some recipes,” he said as he examined the documents Arnie had printed. Recipes for his designer drugs. Another file on the new drive revealed shipping instructions, using bottles of special spices.

  “Shit,” Moore said. “We’ve got to go thr
ough this whole mess again, to piece this puzzle together. We always suspected he was hiding them in spices, but this proves it.”

  “I’ve had every one of his spices tested,” Camden said.

  “Yeah, but only the ones on his shelf. These are shipped with the others, but they’ve got to isolate them somehow. A special limited edition, maybe. This is how he’s been getting away with it.”

  Camden reached around Arnie’s shoulder and opened a video icon. Darrell popped up, seated in his famous chair, and several people surrounded him. Part of his head was cut off, and it looked like someone was filming this secretly. Had Joe risked his life to do this? Or had Shawn still been alive at the time?

  The people on the video discussed the importance of a drug operation, already past now, and how much money was at stake. “This is what I do,” Dare said on the video. “This is what is important to me. Don’t screw it up.”

  “This is your proof,” Rayma said.

  “Yeah, except the video might not be admissible in court,” Camden said.

  “How could it not?” she exclaimed. “It came to me by mail. I’ll be the witness on the stand to tell everyone I received this USB drive and shared it with the proper authorities. You didn’t come into contact with this in any illegal way, whatsoever.”

  “It could be enough,” Moore said, a gleam in his eye, “to bring him down for good.”

  “Rayma doesn’t need to be involved in this,” Camden said. That edge, the one creeping up on him all day, was in full force. Shawn had been killed in cold blood. Fletcher was dead. Joe would be, if Darrell found him before they did. He wasn’t going to let Rayma get involved.

  “Why not?” Rayma countered. “I’ve been involved in this ever since my first blog post.”

  Camden wouldn’t be swayed. “We’re doing the bust at the party.”

  “Is that necessary now?” Rayma asked, her voice hinging on desperation.

  “Yes. To get the ultimate sentence, it’s necessary. This video helps, and I hope he’ll go away for life, along with the rest of his cronies. But we’ve got to play this to the end.”

  “Camden’s right,” Moore said. “Let’s get a copy of this and have forensics study it from all angles. Then we need to finalize our game plan.”

  “Look at this,” Arnie muttered.

  Everyone stilled, afraid of what else there could possibly be.

  The video aimed at Joe, who sat in a chair in an empty room and spoke into the camera. “If you’re seeing this, it’s already too late. Shawn and I have lost the fight against Darrell Weberley and his team. Shawn because of his death, and I because there’s no more hope. We were part of that team at one time, before we realized how he was poisoning young people. We hoped to put a stop to him, hoped his power would be taken away, but the cops wouldn’t listen, the news wouldn’t listen. It’s hard to win a war with only two soldiers fighting. We’re sorry to involve you. We hope you’ll send it to the right people and not get any more involved. When we started this war, we never expected it to get so ugly.”

  ***

  Rayma

  Rayma was crying by the time the video ended. That was definitely the guy who had given her the information, but why had he asked for money? Why had he made it so difficult on her? If he’d wanted to win the war against Darrell, why not just give it all to her? Had they been starving for their next meal?

  Or maybe he’d entrusted her to figure it out and do something about before it was too late, and he wouldn’t have to hand over the recipes and payroll.

  Darrell had found Shawn. She’d seen him killed in cold blood, and she was afraid Camden would be next. Had he also found Joe, or was Joe still out there, hiding?

  She gripped Camden’s arm, finding comfort in that small touch.

  He turned to her and held her in his arms, soothing her as his palms rubbed up and down her back. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded into his neck, blinking away the images in her mind.

  “I think it’s time we take a field trip to the beach,” Camden announced. “Rayma and I could use some fresh air.”

  Moore’s hands spread out over the computer. “After this?”

  “We’ll be disguised. We’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Moore said.

  Rayma loved the idea. She missed the water, the gulf, the sand in her toes, and she hoped the sunshine would help her forget the images of the man being gunned down so heartlessly.

  Camden won the argument. He changed his clothes, wrapped a bandana around his head, and wore shades and a cap. Rayma pulled her hair back and donned a wide brimmed hat and sunglasses, and they were off to the beach to enjoy some vitamin D.

  The sun was high in the sky, the tight air making it difficult to breathe. A few people milled along the beach, embracing the lazy afternoon. It was summer, it was hot, and even though it was a weekday, people were out enjoying the water.

  Rayma was shocked that Camden let them wander as far from the house as they did. They found a place in the sand near the water to lay out a blanket. The salt water splashed a slight reprieve from the heat if it came up just right.

  She held up the bottle of sunscreen. “What some?”

  “You going to rub it all over me?” he teased.

  She threw it at his chest and lay on her belly. “No, but you’re going to rub it on my back,” she demanded.

  “I can’t stop thinking of that night I found you in the bathtub.” Camden poured a mountain of sunscreen on her back and began to rub it in.

  She turned her head to him. “I thought you were coming to kill me.”

  “I carried you out of there, stark naked, and didn’t do a damn thing.”

  “I remember you doing something,” she teased.

  Camden chuckled. Heat rose within her chest. She tried to forget the video and pretend she and Camden were on a leisurely outing instead of trying to escape the stress of the safe house. She wouldn’t mind replaying the scene of them together the last time they’d been alone on the beach, but that would have to wait until later. This beach was way too crowded.

  “So what made you choose your career?” Rayma asked, to make small talk. “Have you always wanted to go undercover, or did you just fall into this position?”

  Camden stopped rubbing her back and crossed his feet on the blanket. “It was the course my life took.” He paused and looked out over the gulf. She sat up and grabbed his leg to rub his feet. “I was seven when my brother overdosed on drugs. Too young to know much at the time, but I wasn’t too young when my friend became addicted. I did nothing to help him, and he died.”

  After a bout of silence, Rayma grabbed the lotion bottle and splattered some on his nose in an attempt to lighten the mood. There had already been too much seriousness. “I’m so sorry. That must have been a horrible experience. But don’t blame yourself.”

  “Yeah, yeah I know. There was nothing I could do.”

  “You’re doing something now.”

  “Not really.”

  “How many drug dealers have you put behind bars?” Rayma asked.

  “Only to get out again.”

  “Even if they were there for six months or six years, that’s six less months they had to spread their disease.”

  “Unless they had someone do it for them.”

  “Feeling melancholy today?” she asked as she lowered her shades, just a hair, to peer at him.

  “Every time I think of my brother and Greg.”

  Rayma placed a hand on his leg. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “What about you?” he asked, changing the subject as he lay down on his back beside her and laced his hands behind his head. “Why did you choose your career?”

  “I was always an inquisitive child. Like a cat with nine lives, I was always getting into some kind of trouble. I used to go treasure hunting with my brothers, who made it extra difficult for me. After Richard, I believed people deserved to know the truth about things. Seems my life was s
omehow mapped out for me, too.”

  She closed the top on the lotion she still held and set it aside, adjusted her hat, and continued. “James helped. He was a detective with the police department until he became a private investigator. He encouraged my interest, but I also saw how much his job affected him. I mean, he’s had problems. His wife left him, things like that. It wasn’t easy on him, but that was mostly because he was a workaholic. Since writing was my second hobby, I chose to do reporting.”

  “Let’s give you a test,” Camden said as he sat up.

  “What kind of test?”

  “Come on. I’m going to test your investigative skills.”

  “Okay.” As she shifted on the blanket, her breasts nearly grazed his arm. She punched him playfully when his stare lingered a little too long.

  He pointed to a couple walking through the sand. “Take that couple over there. What is it about them that’s unusual?”

  “She’s taller than him.”

  “Could be the fact she’s wearing heels on the beach.”

  “That’s definitely unusual,” Rayma said. “Maybe she’s trying to be sexy. Some men might like a swimsuit covered up by that long, lacy thing she has on, with high heels to match. Look at that couple.” Rayma pointed out another pair who seemed enthralled with each other. “Think one of them is teaching the other mouth-to-mouth?”

  Camden laughed, but Rayma sensed the tension in his body as he studied the first pair. The woman in the heels carried a large bag. She dropped it in the sand as if she couldn’t handle it anymore. For an instant, she looked right at them.

  Suddenly, the woman reached into her purse. Camden rolled over Rayma as several loud pops disintegrated the peaceful aura. Sand shot up around them, and people screamed and started running. Camden jumped up and hauled Rayma into his chest as he shielded her with his body between her and the shooter.

  More gunshots, a short and staccato rhythm, had Rayma’s mind racing. She went with Camden, and they ducked behind a beach hut.