One Wrong Move (15 page)

“Just so you know how important this assignment is…” He snatched the briefcase from Camden and snapped it open. “I want you to see what we’re playing with.”

Adrenaline shrilled in his ears. He was used to seeing drugs of all types now, but his emotions still rocked at the crystallized power. He was taken aback by the purity—he hadn’t expected that from Darrell. The beckoning gleam would have many people salivating, and Camden was all too aware of the temptation. This same temptation had killed his brother, and it always evoked a reaction in him—fury and suffocating regret.

He fought to pull himself together. He couldn’t have changed things. There was nothing he could have done differently to save his brother’s life, but now he could save others from the dangers. That’s why he went to work every day, even when things seemed hopeless.

His spine straightened, and he remained steady in his words, in his feelings, and in his eyes when he regarded Darrell, who studied his response.

“It’s weighed,” Darrell said. “No more or less should be in this case when you hand it over.”

“Not a problem,” Camden assured him, and then glanced at Mike. “But why does your accountant have to come with me?”

“There’s money involved, and I always send my accountant when money is involved. Last time I didn’t, someone got killed.”

Camden pondered that comment and filed it for later. Had someone been killed for taking money from Darrell? Had it been Fletcher?

Darrell snapped the case closed and returned it to Camden. “In exchange, they’ll be another case, just like this one, which Nemmy will give you. Nothing should be taken or added to that one, either. Return that case to me. You’ll be well compensated.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Camden cursed the day he ever decided to work for the DEA as he trudged through weeds and marsh and sand and brambles with thorns he’d probably never be able to dig out of his skin.

He’d rather be in the kitchen of Vin Doux, whipping up the newest special and savoring a drink in the bar after closing, avoiding the woman who left him little room to think of anything or anyone else. Especially when her ex tramped right beside him, the heavy thud of his steps undoubtedly giving up their whereabouts. How could anyone make that much noise wearing loafers?

Stars glittered in the dark sky, like bullet holes cracking through the earth’s shield, allowing light to seep through. It was anything but comforting.

They advanced upon a large yacht behind a sand dune in the middle of nowhere. The ocean pounded against a dock. The spray spit at them, daring them to retreat, enticing them to come forward.

He was good at this, had been trained well over the years to let his heart nestle softly in his chest so even he couldn’t tell how frightened he was. Trained to be aware of every detail around him, what was there and what was missing, and to anticipate what would happen next.

He caught a shadow of someone near the yacht, another behind the cluster of trees. One man to the left of the next slope of sand dunes, and another crouched low on the top deck. He imagined others safely tucked inside, guns trained on them.

“Nemmy,” Mike called as they stepped up on the wharf. Water slapped against the dock, coiled down and up again, mixing salt, air, sand and water in an atmosphere meant to be peaceful. It would have been the perfect fishing location.

Camden knew this was a test, and he intended to pass.

Someone spoke, but not to them. He took a deep breath and held on, wondering if tonight would be the last night he’d ever enjoy breath again.

When Nemmy emerged onto the deck of the yacht, Camden leveled his gaze on him. Suddenly, a bright light blinded him. He shut his eyes and focused on his other senses, but the salt water clogged in his throat. He resisted the urge to cough, resisted showing any kind of weakness.

He shifted angles and opened his eyes. Nemmy waved his hand toward the light, and the controller lowered it so that it highlighted their feet.

Nemmy was a round man with a short stature. His straight, white, and probably fake teeth contrasted with the rest of his pockmarked face, which looked like it’d been through the blender a few times and then dragged through the sand.

The only thing Camden really knew about the man was what Mike had told him on the way here. He’d worked with Darrell for a few months as a middleman for Dare’s supplies. What he did after he bought and sold the drugs was something Camden intended to find out.

He hated going into this without knowing enough about the people. He’d sent what he knew to Casey in their coded texts, but warned off any backup. Casey would then inform Moore, and Moore would get any and all information he could about Nemmy. Camden hadn’t had time to wait, and Casey would remain working at Vin Doux, ears perked.

“How my
compadres
doing?”

“Fine,” Mike said, his face white, jaw flexing.

According to Mike, he’d never met Nemmy. Camden had learned it wasn’t Fletcher who’d been killed at that time, but two young kids involved in the drug deal.

Nemmy had claimed all three grand was in the case he handed over. When the money got back to Darrell, five hundred was missing. Darrell had killed the two kids involved in the drug deal, no questions asked, and Mike had accused Nemmy of cheating his boss. Camden didn’t know why Darrell would deal with the man again after that. Maybe this was another test. Why else would Mike tell him all this, admit to Dare killing two innocent kids?

The thought sickened him.

Nemmy approached Mike and slapped him, hard, the crack like gunfire in the otherwise silent night. Mike’s head moved sharply to the side. He clenched his jaw but remained in place, his feet digging deeper into the sand to keep himself upright.

Nemmy approached Camden and stared him in the eye. Camden braced himself. He’d had his share of trouble in the past. Men who thought they were tough didn’t faze him, but fighting back could create a new set of problems.

Nemmy dug in his pocket until he found what he was looking for and lit a cigarette. “Who might you be?”

“Camden.”

“Camden.” Nemmy blew smoke into his face and Camden didn’t flinch, nor did he move when Nemmy ripped open his shirt, searching for wires. “Ah, what’s this?”

Mike’s eyes widened, and his neck seemed to grow longer so he could look, his face pinched in worry as if he expected to see something that might get them killed.

Nemmy pushed on a muscle. “No wires there, you lucky S-O-B.” Mike sighed and Nemmy turned to face his men. “Search them.”

The men searched them and took the briefcase. Guards watched as Nemmy checked the contents then brought another case, similar to the one carrying the drugs, and opened it for Mike and Camden’s inspection. “Is this to your liking?”

Mike stretched out his head to view the contents. His eyes lit up, hungrily devouring the cash. “I’d like to check it over, to make sure what happened last time doesn’t happen again.”

“Be my guest.”

Camden waited, eyeing everyone as Mike went through the money and Nemmy still held the case with the cash. Camden tensed with every breath, anticipating a bullet, but so far the only men killed in Dare’s drug trade had been by Dare’s own orders.

Mike nodded and stepped away. Nemmy snapped the case closed and handed it to Camden. “Be good.”

Only when Nemmy’s guys were inside the boat did Camden back away and begin their trek across the labyrinth of sand dunes and low, twisted trees where the Jeep was hidden.

“I can carry that for you if you get tired,” Mike said, panting behind him and paying too much attention to the case and not enough to where they were going.

Camden stopped and turned. Mike nearly tripped right into him. Camden shined the flashlight in his face. “Do you want to die?”

“Why, you going to kill me?”

“I won’t have to if you fuck this up.” Camden pushed him away, feeling nothing but disgust for this man.

Or was it jealousy that Mike had shared a bed with Rayma and he hadn’t?

“I didn’t fuck it up in the first place.”

Mike’s leather loafers shuffled behind him. Camden hoped his feet were killing him. They wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on anyone if they’d wanted to, not with the noise Mike was making with those damn feet.

“How much did that outfit cost you?” Camden asked.

“More than you make in a year.”

“Yeah, stealing someone else’s money will do that for you,” he accused. Maybe Mike had nothing to do with the money loss, but he had to make absolutely sure. “You sleep in that suit at night to make spending the money worthwhile?”

“You wanna come over and see just how I sleep?”

He had to admit, Mike didn’t slow down. Camden couldn’t guess how much sand the man had in his shoes. He was covered in sweat but didn’t bother unsnapping his jacket. When they got to the Jeep, Mike leaned his hand against the doorframe, took off his shoes and shook them out.

“You’re crazy if you think I would steal from Dare,” Mike said. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure the money is accounted for before it gets back to him. I’d take it out of my own pocket if I had to cover any loss. Would have for those kids if I’d known.”

“Did you send that email to Rayma?” Camden asked.

“What email are you talking about?”

“You know what email I’m talking about.”

“The one she talked about on her blog, in that post that almost got her killed? What kind of fool do you think I am?”

Camden eyed him up and down. Right now, he looked like a pretty big fool, with sweat and sand caked to his shirt and his face pinched in worry. “Do you know who did?”

“No, I have no idea who did. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Yeah, actually, I kinda do.”

Mike glared. “How did you end up with her?” he asked.

“Met her the night of the fight at Vin Doux. She asked to interview me. It went from there.”

Mike climbed into the Jeep after Camden. Camden, of course, took the driver’s seat and Mike didn’t bother arguing. “Rayma doesn’t do drugs. I refuse to believe you’ve got her holed up somewhere on drugs.”

“You’d be surprised at what people will do when they become addicted.”

“She’d never put herself in that predicament.”

Camden’s fingers tightened over the steering wheel as he drove over rough roads. He’d have to do something about Mike, like make him disappear, if he continued to ask questions about Rayma or caused Darrell to doubt Camden. He could keep driving to the safe house and put Mike into protective custody until this investigation ended, then stack charges on him and make him talk.

But he didn’t want to risk anything at this point, didn’t want to chance losing Mike and making Darrell shut down. He was getting close, so close to having this investigation over.

Annoyance clipped his words. “Maybe I slipped some in her drink. Darrell wanted to kill her, you know. I thought it best to keep her alive…in case she knows something else.”

Mike huffed, but he rested his head back on seat, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. Camden hoped that meant the interrogation was over.

***

Camden opened the door to his apartment, grabbed a few beers and a bag of clean clothes, and hiked to the gym. He could shower in his apartment, but the gym’s was bigger, more badass, and exactly what he needed to rid himself of the sandy grime all over him.

Dex, who’d been assigned as Rayma’s bodyguard, stood sentry outside the door. Camden nodded a
what’s up
.

“Rayma is in there,” Dex said.

Great
.

He considered turning around. He didn’t want to deal with her tonight. Didn’t want to deal with anyone until he got this muck off him and had a beer or two. Then he planned to write up his report and send it to Moore, and didn’t want to discuss anything that happened until he had time to process it in his mind and get it on paper. Damn paperwork.

But he wasn’t about to let her derail his badass gym shower. He nodded his thanks to Dex and opened the door.

Rayma was sitting in the middle of the floor, eyes closed and palms up in some yoga relaxation pose. His body immediately responded. Her eyes snapped open as soon as he opened the door.

“What are you doing here?” He dropped his bag and pulled out a beer.

“Am I not allowed to exercise?”

“You’re allowed to exercise. Just not when I’m here.”

“You weren’t here.”

“You shouldn’t be out this late when it’s dark out.”

“I have guards all around me.” Rayma took her time standing, curved her back and breathed in and out slowly. She rolled up and tilted her head backward, her breasts arching forward. His mouth watered. He popped open a beer and drank.

She circled her arms and crinkled her nose at him. “What is that awful smell?”

“Sludge.”

“You’re a mess. You really plan to exercise like that, or did you come in just to ruin my meditation?”

“I planned to use the shower, then the steam room. You’re welcome to join me.”

She tilted her head to one side and stretched as she studied him. “How did you get sludge all over you?”

He tore off his shirt and tossed it in the corner. She averted her eyes as he kicked off his shoes. Might as well let her think he was going to get all naked in front of her. And he just might.

“I delivered a package of drugs with your ex-boyfriend.”

“Mike?”

“Yep. Mike. Were you aware he’s Darrell’s CPA?”

Rayma shook her head, her face slumped, mouth thinned in a worried line. “He’s…a lot of people’s CPA.”

He figured she was lying by the way her gaze snapped back to his. He watched her and slowly slugged his beer.

She frowned. “Why didn’t you arrest them all?” she asked.

“There’s a time and a place for that. It was neither.”

“I knew it. You’re in on it, too,” she accused, her brows wrinkling. “Why would you arrest them when you’re one of them?”

It wasn’t something he hadn’t heard before, and she’d already voiced it once, but it pissed him off.

“If I was, why wouldn’t I have just let you be killed in the first place? You’re the one with all this information, and your ex-boyfriend is in bed with Darrell. Maybe we should be investigating you.”

He drained his beer and grabbed another as she eyed him in distaste. He didn’t fail to notice the way she kept her chin up, eyes away from him. He ought to just go ahead and pull off his jeans next. Really give her something to avoid.