One Wrong Move Page 3

  He added a banana to everything else in the blender then pushed start, drowning out his concerns. Moore managed to get the cereal open and ended up spilling a quarter of it on the floor.

  “Why’d you bring Shawn into it?” Moore asked. “He’s like, what, twenty?”

  Camden stopped the blender, hit the pulse button one last time to piss the boss off, and poured the shake into his glass. “I didn’t bring Shawn into anything. He did it all himself when he threatened to go out there and expose Dare. I intervened. But yeah, I hoped it’d make Dare trust me more, see me as an ally who will take up for him.”

  Camden had served as a special agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration for the past seven years and had worked undercover most of that time. Before that he’d served in the Army, learning a lot in the Special Forces then leaving to do what he was meant to do since adolescence. Joining the DEA and busting high-end drug lords had been Camden’s mission ever since the death of his fourteen-year-old brother when Camden was seven. That, along with the execution of his friend at sixteen, gave him an intense hatred for drugs and the people who made them readily available to naïve kids.

  If Camden saved one child from death by a drug overdose or a drug-related slaying, he would feel he succeeded in life. He’d as soon kill Darrell now and get it over with, save the taxpayers a lot of money, and give him more time to find other pathetic individuals who made money preying on kids and giving them a lifelong addiction to drugs.

  But the criminal justice system sucked. This assignment proved to be his hardest yet. For nine months he’d served as chef of a lucrative restaurant situated in a small city between Houston and South Padre Island. Besides cocaine delivery and money laundering, they were purported to be making a new drug, undetectable in a drug test, and they were doing a booming business.

  Camden didn’t hold a culinary degree, but thanks to his babysitter’s good cooking and his interest in learning, he grew adept at food preparation. His skill, along with a fake degree, helped him land the job at Vin Doux. The team’s motto was still written on the dry erase board in the command room: infiltrate, identify, and imprison. That was the goal of their operation, and he felt like they were finally moving to the second phase. They had identified their new goal: bust Dare’s annual event. But he’d gotten fired, and they didn’t have time to set up new agents.

  “Did your plan work?” Moore asked.

  Camden bit down a strong aftertaste from his protein shake and placed his glass on the counter, mentally preparing himself for his next task. He hadn’t slept last night. He’d been too busy wondering how to make things right with Dare, worried there was nothing he could do.

  Stressed over how the hell he would tell Moore.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?”

  Shawn had to be found. With Shawn’s testimony, they might lock Darrell up. For a few months.

  “I was fired.”

  “What?” Moore jumped from his perch on the table and let out the expletives that had run through Camden’s head all night long. The box of Captain Crunch flipped over, dumped what was left, and his bowl of cereal and milk jumped to the floor along with it.

  His expletives were no longer addressed solely to Camden. He bent over and picked up the cereal box, slamming it on the counter.

  Camden didn’t want to listen. Yes, this operation was important, but it was hard to get into Darrell’s good graces. A man as successful as he for so long wouldn’t take a chance on anyone. He was closer than any agent had ever been, besides Fletcher, and he’d thrown it all away in one incident. He needed to beg, borrow, or steal to get back into those graces.

  “I couldn’t let Shawn go out there and do something stupid,” Camden said.

  “You could have steered him out the back door.”

  “I tried.”

  “You didn’t try too hard if he was already out of the kitchen when you got to him.”

  “Dammit, Moore, you weren’t there!” He knocked over the box, let it fall to the floor again in a resounding crash. His skin buzzed with white-hot anger. Moore always criticized him, had criticized Fletcher before he was killed.

  Moore didn’t reply because Lacey flitted in, which was an understatement. When she entered a room, all five-foot-four of her, a storm blew in with her. She changed her hairstyle as often as people should change the oil on their car, and now sported a short, spiky cut with an orange-red color and blond on the tips. One good thing Camden could say about her was she didn’t even remotely resemble a DEA agent or, for that matter, any officer of the law.

  Her skull and crossbones tattoo was the first turn-off. Wearing a short, tiered, red-and-black plaid skirt, a short-sleeved black T-shirt with a longer white one underneath, and large silver hoop earrings, she looked as if she’d just graduated high school, yet she was older than Camden by two years.

  “What’s for breakfast?” Lacey asked, eying his shake in disgust. Moore was busy cleaning cereal off the floor. She helped by picking up the box and shaking it to see if any was left. Finding none, she tossed it to the table.

  Camden’s gut churned, but he tamped down his lingering rage. This was no time to tell off his supervisory agent. He had a job to do, and he’d do it. “Whatever you want,” he barked at Lacey. She either had no idea she’d interrupted a heated conversation, or she didn’t care. He bet on the latter.

  She rolled her eyes and opened the refrigerator. “What do I look like?”

  “What do I look like?” Camden countered. “I’m not your personal chef.”

  “I’m tired of cereal.”

  “Then go to the grocery store. That’s part of your job.”

  They’d lived together in the safe house for the whole of the operation. They were all suffering burnout, and they were getting tired of each other’s company.

  Especially when they’d never liked each other in the first place.

  “What am I doing here?” Lacey closed the fridge, arms empty, and sighed.

  “You’re playing the wife, in case you’ve forgotten,” Moore grumbled.

  “Well, I want a divorce.”

  Moore and Lacey acted as Camden’s landlords. Camden lived in the garage apartment beside their immaculate beach home, and so far it worked well for him. He spent most of his time in the home but could always escape to the confines of his efficiency apartment and avoid his coworkers. They didn’t have it so easy. All they got were their bedrooms to flee to when they wanted to be alone, or the beach just a few steps away.

  “Hey, if you want to quit, I can find someone else.” Moore scooped the remaining cereal into his bowl and stood. “You knew what you were getting into when you accepted this assignment.”

  “I haven’t had sex in two years,” Lacey whined.

  “We can remedy that,” Moore said.

  “Ugh.” Lacey grabbed a piece of bread and popped it in the toaster. “I need a vacation.”

  “We all do,” Moore replied, dumping the cereal in the trash.

  “The ways things are going, it’ll take another two years.”

  “We knew going into this it would be a big operation,” Camden snapped. “These guys aren’t stupid. It’s going to take time.”

  “We need to up the ante,” Lacey said. “We need a girl…me…to take over.”

  “Yeah, right,” Moore said. “You wanna screw the truth out of Dare?”

  “Hey, he’s kinda cute, and I’m kinda horny.”

  Camden slammed his glass into the dishwasher and whirled to face Lacey. “Have you forgotten Fletcher?” He thumped his chest. “I haven’t. I was there. I know what Dare is capable of.”

  “No need to worry anymore,” Moore said. “Camden’s blown the whole operation.”

  “How’s that?”

  “He got fired.”

  The expletive Lacey expressed resembled Moore’s, the butter she slathered across her bread now forgotten. “I guess I will have to screw the truth out of him, then.”

  CHA
PTER FOUR

  Rayma

  Rayma didn’t have much in the way of belongings in her cubicle, so it wouldn’t take long to clean it out. Just a green ivy plant and the cup she kept for water or tea or coffee. She wasn’t sure why Tony had given her a box.

  Nicole’s desk was littered with family photos and her children’s drawings, but Rayma had never personalized hers. Even after a year. To her, it was just a station, and photos and other mementos were clutter.

  “What are you doing?” Nicole asked Rayma when she dropped the smallish box on her desk.

  “Tony just fired me.” She dumped the rest of her water from her cup into the ivy and slid the vine to Nicole. “Here, you can have this plant.”

  “What?” Nicole jumped from her seat.

  “Well, he let me go.” She mimicked quotes with her hands and stressed sarcasm over the words. “Said I could finish out the day, but I’m not going to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d rather just get out of here now,” Rayma replied, deliberately misunderstanding her.

  “No, I mean why you were fired.”

  Rayma tossed her cup in the trash. No sense in keeping anything that came from here. The station’s logo was on the cup, and she didn’t want any reminders. “My blog post.”

  “What blog post?” Nicole fired up a web browser window and typed in the blog address while Rayma rummaged through her desk. Maybe she’d find notes that she needed to take. But no. Three pens—black, blue, and red—tape, scissors and one pencil. Letterhead. Most of her notes would be on her computer, and all of those were saved on the USB drive she kept in her purse. She wasn’t an investigative reporter with News 12, not like she had been with her job in Austin, and she’d missed it terribly. The blog was her way of continuing the investigative part of journalism she loved.

  “It’s for the best,” Rayma said, in her best attempt to convince herself. “I was bored with this job anyway.”

  “Wow, he’s hot.” Nicole ignored her whining and watched the video. “What’s wrong with this post?”

  “I don’t know.” Rayma didn’t bother admitting she had been investigating the restaurant as a cover for drug operations. She had no proof, and so there was no sense in putting that out there for anyone. She’d known Nicole for only a year, and even though she trusted her, she didn’t need to know everything about her life.

  “Isn’t Protecting Hammer Bay your own personal blog?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you can say whatever you want. You aren’t tied to News 12.”

  “Apparently they don’t see it that way.”

  Nicole swiveled in her seat and faced Rayma. “God, what am I going to do without you?” She stood and grabbed Rayma’s her hands. “Let’s go out today. I’ll get some of the girls together and we’ll have a—”

  “Good-bye party?” Rayma teased. She hadn’t had a chance to really think about leaving or what her future would hold after this. She wasn’t ready to leave Hammer Bay. Not yet—even if leaving everything behind, including the story investigation, was the safer, saner choice. “I thought your husband didn’t allow you to go out with me anymore.”

  “No, he said you’re a serial relationship killer and that I shouldn’t hang out with single women. But I’m not just hanging out with you. I’ll make him watch the kids. We’ll go to Vin Doux.”

  Rayma frowned.

  Nicole smacked her hand over her face. “Unless you don’t want to. Sorry, I—”

  “No, it’s perfect. I got fired over that place. A good-bye dinner there seems appropriate.”

  ***

  Camden

  Camden jabbed his fingers into the dirt and yanked at weeds that had slowly overtaken his garden. A breeze carried the earthy scent of soil and vegetation. The waves of the nearby sea were silent now, but sometimes if he listened hard enough, he’d hear their crash. He inhaled, loving the combination of flowers and beach, dirt and salt. Even if he was tired of the gulf air, he couldn’t complain on nights like tonight.

  The garden was a benefit of the safe house, and no one else cared for it but Camden. It overlooked an isolated beach which bordered the side of the garden, the home, and the cottage where he slept. Lately, he only had time to make sure the plants were getting enough water, but now that he had no job, he took the time to pull weeds. Not that it mattered anymore. He wouldn’t be around to enjoy it. He’d failed his mission. He’d be shipped off to another one soon. Probably a desk job. That, he couldn’t handle.

  Vegetables nearly ripe for picking flourished in his care, while flowers spread their colors in a stunning array. The texture of the dirt relaxed his bad temper as irritating thoughts flashed through his mind.

  It didn’t help his already sour disposition to hear Moore bitch about what happened. Lacey moaned about how she’d never have a life, something she should have considered before becoming an agent. Moore said nothing was done right when it was done without his approval.

  Camden would like to see Moore’s decisions if he were the one dealing with Darrell day after day. He could make his own damned decisions and had done so, with favorable results, many times in his career and his life.

  He’d gotten fired, so what. He’d failed other times and still succeeded in the end, just as he planned to do this time.

  Moore’s next idea was to get Lacey in Darrell’s good graces, get her invited to the party. Camden didn’t like that idea one bit. Lacey was too self-indulgent and overestimated herself by thinking she could seduce someone like Darrell, when Darrell would certainly be the one to seduce her. The idea of her manipulating him was ludicrous, and she was too naïve to be trusted.

  “Camden?” Lacey sprinted out of the house with his cell phone in hand, covering the mouthpiece. Then, moving her lips with no sound emerging said, “It’s Darrell.”

  He wiped dirt from his hands on his jeans and took the phone. “Yeah?” he said in a clipped voice as Lacey stood directly in front of him.

  “Who was the girl that answered?” Dare asked, as if any of his business.

  “Uh, girlfriend.” Camden glared at Lacey’s simper and turned his back on her.

  “I owe you an apology,” Dare said, startling Camden. “I overreacted last night. You’ve been a good man and the best chef I’ve ever had. I trust you, and you were only watching out for me. I hope you’ll come back to work for me.”

  ***

  Rayma

  Situated on stilts on the shores of Hammer Bay, Texas, Vin Doux had become famous when they created their own spice and sauce for ribs, steaks, and seafood, and shipped them out to stores and individuals nationwide. Surfers and partiers tracked their sand into the more casual Boater’s Bay, while the elite crowd made their reservations at the upscale restaurant. Both eateries were owned by the same man, and a covered bridge connected the two, but those who chose to eat in Vin Doux paid the price. Literally.

  The casual Boater’s Bay better suited their revelry, but the women chose Vin Doux to meet. Rayma dressed to impress—a little black dress with bare shoulders, pearls adorning her neck, elegant heels that revealed her shapely calves and light pink nail polish.

  Nicole’s husband nearly suffered a heart attack when she strolled down the stairs wearing a lacy red top tucked into a short denim skirt, but Rayma kissed his cheek, grabbed Nicole’s hand, and told him she’d be careful with his wife. Their friend Liz was on the prowl and it was obvious with her daring attire, a low cut dress twisting into some kind of ruffle barely skimming below her inner thigh. Brenda, recently divorced, was trying to pick up husband number three, showing off the weight she’d lost by wearing a simple yet sexy dress. Gail was elegant in her white slacks and dark brown cami.

  They didn’t try to be couth. They were out to have fun. They drank martinis, margaritas, and wine. All in that order. By the time dinner came, they were having a ball and drawing a lot of attention. Whether the patrons were offended at the women’s hushed but rowdy behavior, or impressed with the
ir social skills, one couldn’t be sure, and none of them cared anyway.

  Rayma’s skin tightened when Darrell emerged to talk to them, starting at the end of the table and making his way around. She hadn’t deleted her post. Why bother, since she’d been fired? No point in taking it all back now.

  “Dear Rayma. How are you this fine evening?” His voice grated on her nerves, and when he parked his sweaty palms on her shoulders, she repressed a shudder.

  “I’m good. And you?”

  “Excellent. I’m about ready to schedule that interview.” He squeezed her shoulders and she gripped her fork, trying to erase the image of stabbing it somewhere close to his heart. She wasn’t that cruel, but if he didn’t drop his hands, she might get that way. “Why don’t you call me sometime next week?”

  “Will do.” And why don’t you drop your hands from my shoulders?

  He squeezed them again and stepped away, talking to the other girls at the table. She took a long gulp of wine and Nicole poured her another glass.

  “Are you okay?” Nicole asked.

  “Yup.”

  “That’s the owner?”

  “Yup.”

  “So where’s this cute chef?”

  ***

  Camden

  Camden was seasoning an order of Mahi Mahi Supreme when Dare stalked into the kitchen with a huff.

  “That woman is here,” he snapped, snatching a strip of bell pepper from the plate. Camden slapped his hand away and let out a warning. Dare ate the pepper anyway. “How dare she come in here after that blog post? It’s almost like she’s taunting us.”

  “Who?” Camden asked. “What?”

  “That bitch who posted your fight on her blog. She was dating Mike. I really don’t like that woman. She’s here. I need you to smooth things over with her.”

  “Why don’t you smooth things over with her? And who the hell is Mike?” Camden asked, playing dumb. He wasn’t supposed to know Darrell’s accountant, but of course his team knew everything about everyone who worked for him. Although obviously not everything, if he hadn’t known about the beautiful woman dating Mike. He’d have to remedy that problem, and find out if she knew anything about him or this business.