One Wrong Move (7 page)

“Hey, Rayma, good to hear from you,” he said when he picked up the phone.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“Are you calling to chat and catch up, or are you calling for help with something?”

“I guess it probably feels like that’s all I ever do anymore, just call when I need something,” she admitted. James was her best source of information, and what he didn’t know he knew how to find out. “I promise we’ll catch up soon. I mean, there isn’t a lot to catch up on in my life. Just ‘hey, how are ya.’ What’s been going on with you?”

“Same old, same old. What can I help you with?” Leave it to James to get right to the point.

“Can you trace an email for me?”

“What are you up to now?”

“Someone messaged me, but there’s no name, and it’s related to a story, and I’d like to figure out where it came from.”

“What was the message?”

Rayma hesitated. How much did she want to tell him? He’d know as soon as she lied about anything. “Do you mean the email address?”

“No, I mean the message.”

“Why does that matter?”

“If you want me to trace an email, you’ll have to send me the message. Is there something in it I shouldn’t see?”

She stepped up to the balcony door and pulled the string to open the vertical blinds. “No, nothing like that. I just don’t have that message anymore.”

“Rayma,” he growled. He was aware of her blog, knew of the few articles she’d written about drugs and her warning to people of what to look for in suspicious drug activity, but he had no idea how deep she’d gone to discover the truth about the lucrative restaurant. 

“Basically it’s talking about a restaurant manufacturing drugs. Look, it isn’t a big deal, but I want to know who is sending it and how they got my private email address.”

“It’s probably a scam.”

“Probably.” Rayma turned away from the sunrise glittering in the window. She hated to lie to him, but she didn’t have a choice right now. “I just want to be sure. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice deadpan. She knew he didn’t mean to dismiss her, and if she told him never mind, he’d interrogate her until she didn’t have a choice but to tell him.

“I’m sort of dating someone, and hoped maybe you could check him out for me. Name is Camden Alexander.”

His loud sigh over the phone buzzed in her ear.

She planned to say goodbye and end the call, but something held her back. Not only guilt, but the fact she could get further in her quest if she involved him.

“Look, I’m sort of investigating something for a story,” she said. Another lie, but only half of one this time. It was for a story, just not for the news station she used to work for.

“Did they finally assign you some investigative pieces?” he asked. James knew how badly she’d wanted to get back into investigative writing, even though she swore she’d never do it again.

“Well, I’m kind of doing it on my own.”

“What are you doing?” The admonishment in his voice made her cringe.

“There’s a restaurant here that’s accused of being a front for drug manufacturing. I’m just looking into it, that’s all.”

“And how are you looking into it?”

Rayma paced around the room as she continued her verbal dance with James. “Well, supposedly there’s something going on at this pier near town, and I’m thinking of checking that out.”

“You can’t ever leave anything alone, can you?”

“Not if it means the protection of the public.”

“Are you doing something to endanger yourself? Why am I asking? You’re always endangering yourself. I should hang up and call the police.”

“And what are you going to tell them without sounding like a loony? That I’m researching a restaurant that might be involved in drugs? And I’m going to a pier for information? ‘What, officer? There’re how many piers in town? No, I have no idea which one she’s going to.’”

“Rayma!” His warning made her pause and rethink her decision.

“I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Going off alone to some pier
is
stupid.”

“People do it all the time. The piers are safe around here. The town is safe. Well, mostly. There’s not much activity at night really. Some tourists and old fishermen, maybe. I have pepper spray.” She wasn’t about to tell him about the pier and the fact it wasn’t strictly in town. Or safe. Or likely to have anyone there but criminals. Knowing him, he’d research them all and figure it out soon enough.

“I’m coming down there.”

“No, you aren’t. Besides, I’m not actually going to the pier,” she lied. It was a crazy idea anyway. The kind of rash decision that she’d promised herself she’d never make again. Even if she pretended to be just walking along the beach at night, that’d be the last place any sane woman would go.

But she’d never rest if she didn’t do something. She wanted to talk it out with James, but he would never support her going. He’d grown too overprotective in his older age, or maybe she’d grown more impulsive. His warning should have made her see reason, but it had the opposite effect. Rationality fled, and the need to go overtook common sense. She could stay in her car, take some pictures, and leave at the first sign of trouble.

“I never said I was going,” she continued. “That was a statement about what you’d stay to the police. But I did think of driving to the pier, staying in my car for a second to see if I see anything, then calling the cops if anything seems odd.”

“Why don’t you just give the cops the message and let them do their job?”

“Oh, James, you taught me better than that.”

CHAPTER SIX

Camden

Camden wasn’t sure if it was a step in his favor when Darrell called him at home and asked him to meet at Pier 18.

“I’ve got something I’m interested in that I want to show you.”

“At that old swamp?” Camden asked.

“It’s not a swamp.”

“What could that pier have that would interest you?”

“A building. Well, more like a warehouse, but I’m thinking of buying it, remodeling it…I’ll tell you more when we get there, but I’d like my top chef’s take on its potential.”

“I’ve got to work.”

“I’ve already got someone to cover for you.”

Unease edged along his spine. “Should I be concerned?” He kept his voice light, jesting, but inside his mind was racing.

Darrell only laughed. “Do you think you could meet me there, or I can have my driver pick you up?”

Emotions warred within him as he wondered if he’d be meeting the same demise as Fletcher. Why Pier 18? Why now, tonight, so soon after Fletcher’s death? Should he trust his instincts and go? This is what he’d been waiting for. How could he even consider not going?

“We can do it in the morning,” Camden suggested.

“There’s plenty of daylight left.”

He couldn’t say no. He had no reason not to trust his boss, and if he wavered, Darrell might start suspecting him.

“I’ll just meet you there, if that’s okay.”

“Great. Just come by at the time you’d normally go to work. Oh, but hey, wear jeans and a shirt. No sense in dressing up.”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

Camden glanced at the time. He had about two hours left before he’d normally head to work, and that gave him barely enough time to arrange things with Moore. He headed to the house and told him the details.

“You can’t go alone. That’s putting a target on your back.”

“Going with someone is even more suspicious.”

“You’ll have to wear a wire.”

Camden tapped his button. “Got my handy dandy wire right here.”

These days, the term was figurative, since no wires were involved. The miniature camera on his button would do the trick. He hated wearing anything at all on the off chance it could be discovered. In this situation, it was to keep him safe.

They made plans. Camden would drive all the way, with their backup van parked a few miles away at another pier, a few men to feign fishing. They’d prep the chopper just in case, but wouldn’t use it unless absolutely necessary because of the expense and other risks.

It was midafternoon when he made it to Pier 18, his heart thumping an erratic beat. He took a deep breath and parked near the wharf, but nobody else was there. He roamed around, canvassing the area. Waves slapped against the wooden legs of the pier, testing its shaky foundation. The building—or warehouse, as Dare had called it—was a few hundred feet away, set amidst a muck of trees and brush and cacti.

A few minutes later, Darrell’s truck pulled up and parked next to his. Camden held his breath as he stepped out. His driver remained in the vehicle.

“Hey, Camden, sorry I’m late. Got tied up.” He strolled forward and shook his hand, then placed his hands on his hips and looked around. “See what I mean?”

“About what?”

“This place. It’s got a lot of potential.” He pointed his finger at the building. “That area there can be cleared up for parking. That tree there is a perfect place for white lights. And I can light up the pier. Make it a lot like Boater’s Bay where boaters can have a place to dock.”

“Do you think people would come all this way for food?”

Dare advanced toward the building and cocked his head, indicating for him to follow. “What if I offered more than just food?”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “Why not make it an exclusive gentlemen’s club?”

An exclusive gentlemen’s club with designer drugs? Camden didn’t bother asking, but hoped Dare would say more. “That might work. Looks like a lot would be involved, getting the place up to standard.”

They progressed along a cracked path that had seen better days, then into the building. His senses were on high alert, his only protection being a knife and his own body. He was a confident fighter, but even he couldn’t overcome a barrage of weapons.

He whistled as they entered the building. “Looks like you’ve already been revamping.”

Darrell stomped his feet against the crumbly steps before entering. “Yep. Wanted to make the building old and grungy from the outside. There’s still work to be done around here, but most of it is cleanup now.”

The area opened into a club type atmosphere, one long bar lengthways past the entry, with a stage at the end of the room and a few tables distributed throughout.

“I’m bringing in more tables, setting up a few other things around the area, lights and decorations—but what I really wanted to show you was the kitchen. I’m trying to get everything ready for an annual event I’ve got coming up.”

“Oh,” Camden said, holding his breath for Darrell to tell him more. He didn’t.

“Look around the kitchen, see if there’s anything I’m missing. It isn’t large by any means. I don’t plan on having as extensive a menu here, but I want to make sure I have all the setups necessary for the chefs. And would you mind making me a list of a cook’s necessities? You know, things like spices and cookware.”

“No problem.”

“I don’t want to miss anything.”

Camden scanned the cooking area and stepped around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and peering through pantries. He wondered if Dare planned to ask him to work here instead of Vin Doux, and if that would mean he’d be closer to his drug operations.

“Everything looks great so far. I’ll work on a list.”

They walked through the remainder of the building and discussed plans, but Camden had a feeling Dare wasn’t showing him everything. There was more in the back, a place he felt sure was blocked off like the office at Vin Doux. Maybe a place to manufacture his drugs. Dare still hadn’t asked him to be the chef here, and Camden hoped like hell he wouldn’t be working for him much longer. If the team could bust him at his big event, he could end this job and get on with his life.

“Oh, one more thing.” Darrell stopped at the bar, planted his elbow on the granite, and rested his chin on steepled fingers. “I’m looking for a special ingredient.”

“What kind of ingredient?”

“I don’t know. A spice or something. Something that tastes good and smooth, but with a kick. Something to add to this seasoning I’m working on.”

Camden’s pulse kicked into high gear. Their probe into Darrell’s criminal empire included uncovering his manufacture of designer drugs, which they believed were bottled in spices and sauces. Although Camden had nabbed samples of everything in the kitchen to be tested, they’d found no evidence yet. Dare had never even discussed his spices and sauces with him, so this was a step closer.

“I’d be happy to try the seasoning, see what I think it needs.”

Dare nodded, blinked, pursing his mouth in thought. “Maybe I’ll let you soon.”

“Well, you’ve done a great job here. I’m surprised.”

Darrell stepped away from the bar. His phone buzzed, and he held up a finger for Camden to wait. After checking his messages and typing a response, he pocketed the phone. “I’ve got to get going, but you’re welcome to stay a bit longer. Look around. Pretend like you’re cooking a meal and see how you feel in the kitchen. You’ve got the rest of the night off.”

“Are you offering me a job here?”

His expression remained blank. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

They shook hands, and Camden stayed behind, his fingers pulsing and tightening as he watched Dare leave. This could be a trick. Someone could be waiting here to kill him. But why? If Dare had discovered the truth about him, he was sure the man would confront him first, let him know that he knew before torturing him. But then, Fletcher had died with a quick slash of his throat, so it was very possible Darrell would have someone sneak in and take care of his dirty work.

He did what Dare asked. Cameras were probably situated all over the place, and if Dare wanted to test him, watch his actions to see what his employee would do while he was gone, now was the time to make a show. He opened cabinets, mimicking the removal of ingredients, a pan, seasoning meat. He’d stop, purse his lips without being too overdramatic, and scribble notes on the pad Darrell left for him. 

He could play this game.

He lingered for about thirty minutes, sat on one of the kitchen stools and glanced around. If someone was watching him, they’d see him contemplating, possibly dreaming. No one could possibly guess how on edge he was, how attuned to his intuition, to every sound, unusual scent, and slightest movement. He huffed out a breath, grabbed his notes, and stood, walking out of the kitchen with one last glance. He ran his hand down on the length of the bar, then sat in one of the chairs and eyeballed the accoutrements which, like Dare had mentioned, were few. A mirrored picture of a world map hung along the back of the bar, behind what would be the setups for the drinks.

He took out his phone, glanced at it, and sauntered out the door in no rush, eyeing the décor in a stagy but casual manner.

Cameras could still be situated around the property, so he continued his show. His stroll lengthy and nonchalant, arms swinging, head tilted, he let out a whistle as he headed for his car. The sun set in a blaze against the ocean’s horizon, and he stopped a moment to admire the view.

Grasslands inched their way for miles along this part of the coast. Mosquitoes came out like bloodsuckers as the sun waned. He saw the potential, along with the human monsters a territory like this would generate. If anyone could make a successful restaurant or club—even a drug empire—Darrell was that man. He had that special something that made him thrive in anything he set out to do. Camden had to see an end to his empire.

His hackles rose. A twig snapped. He reached for his gun, only to remember he wasn’t carrying one. Glancing around, he caught a blip of color, of hair flying in the breeze.

Rayma’s hair.

She crouched lower, hiding behind a sprawling mesquite tree, far away from the building, but amidst the cacti that invaded the boggy plains. Not a good place for anyone, especially a woman. She paid no regard to the dangers. Snakes, spiders, cameras, even men with guns could be well concealed.

What the hell was she doing here? Whatever the reason, she didn’t want anyone to know.

Heedless of any possible cameras or whether she might be armed, he marched toward her. Her whine hitched in his heart, and he found her cowered behind a tree, biting her hand to keep from bringing attention to herself. When he was steps away, she vaulted upright and starting spraying.

“Son of a bitch.” Pepper spray. He turned away, whirled around to knock her legs out from under her, and caught her before she fell.

She screamed. He clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her out of the pasture onto the concrete road to his car.

She thrashed against him, and he regretted that he’d caused her panic.

“Rayma. I’m not going to hurt you. If I drop my hand, promise you’ll stop screaming.”

She sagged, stopped struggling, but her whimper nearly brought him to his knees. Whatever trouble she was here to cause, he hated that he had to scare her. But he didn’t have a choice. If there were cameras, he couldn’t blow his cover, and he didn’t want to ever catch her out here again. Scaring her was his only option.

If it’d been anybody besides him who’d caught her sneaking around, she would likely be dead. Dare’s goons didn’t care about anybody or anything except money and drugs. They killed anyone who got in their way. Fletcher was dead. Camden, with every breath, feared he’d be next. Rayma, out here alone, would never know what hit her. When she washed up on shore in a few days, she’d be too bloated for anyone to prove her death was anything other than an accident.

As they approached his vehicle, she swung her purse around to whack him in the head. It thumped his shoulder and fell to the ground. He pushed her to the vehicle, trying to remain gentle, and released her against the car. She stood sandwiched between him and the car, glaring at him as if she expected him to an answer a question she hadn’t yet asked.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she ranted.

Whoa, so the lady had a mouth on her. All the better.

“Getting you out of here before you get yourself killed,” he replied.

“So you admit there’s something dangerous going on?”

He exaggerated his perusal, sliding his gaze down her body. “It’s just me here. And you’re in a bad place, all alone. You’re crazy not to be concerned.”

She shrugged. “Why should I be concerned if there’s nothing going on?”

“Damn.” He pulled her up next to him and kissed her. Hard. He wanted to scare her, warn her that there were plenty of things to be worried about, and she had to stop being so damn brave and so damn stupid. He pushed her away before he lost his concentration. “You should be concerned in the parking lot of
anywhere
at dusk.” He fondled her shirt, gripped it as if he was going to rip it open, but refrained. He stationed his lips close enough so when he opened them, they practically brushed against hers. He wanted the surges in his body to scare her. “There are a lot of crazy people in this world who would like nothing more than to have you for dinner.”