Secrets Uncovered (16 page)

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Authors: Amaleka McCall

BOOK: Secrets Uncovered
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“There was one girl left alive. When Stokes gave us the green light, he told us the whole family was home. He lied. He knew the girl would run to Barton. He knew Barton would train her. He had altered Barton's mind, like a robot. Stokes allowed Barton to train the girl to be an assassin so he could get rid of me when the time came. So he could bury his secrets—the government's secrets—with me and my entire family,” DeSosa revealed.
“So he was the one who led her right to us,” Arellio replied, like the pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together.
His father nodded his agreement. “She was here,” DeSosa announced.
Arellio's eyebrows shot up. “The fucking nanny!” Arellio belted out, scrambling up from his chair and snatching the door open with a fury.
“Cyndi! Cyndi!” he screamed, his panicked voice echoing throughout the house.
 
 
The sun was shining down on the quiet neighborhood. The sounds of kids going off to school and fathers, with legitimate jobs, kissing their wives before heading off to work had already ceased. This was the time of day no one would be expecting anything. It was also the time of day that the DeSosas were beginning to stir, crawling awake after their previous night of criminal activities.
Candice knew all of their schedules by heart. She knew what time the eldest son went to confer with the father; what time Cyndi went to the nail salon; even what time DeSosa was given a sponge bath. But today would be different; today they would be grieving together and coming up with a strategy to avenge Guillermo's death.
How dare someone fuck with a DeSosa
,
right?
Candice scoffed at their bullshit family pride.
How dare someone fuck with the Hardaways is more like it.
She watched and waited for the right time to strike.
Crouching down, with her back rounded, she rested her elbows on her knees; her feet were planted flat so she could steady herself.
Crouching Tiger
,
Hidden Dragon
, she thought with a smirk. Her legs were spread, and her feet were lined up with each hip, just like Uncle Rock had taught her.
A sound base that can absorb gunshot recoil.
She placed her dominant eye into the space on the round scope connected to the AR-15 and closed the other eye. Things came into focus real fast. Her ears filled with the rushing sound of her own labored breaths. Huge eagle-sized butterflies banged around inside her stomach now. She felt a sickening rush of anxious energy that made her feel powerful.
She spotted movement in the scope and adjusted it to focus in on her target. The eye of the scope was so precise and powerful; it was like the target was standing right in front of her.
Bam. Never know what hit you.
There would be no more fucking target practice for Candice. No more getting beat to the punch. No more punking out or getting too emotional to stay on task. Nothing else mattered to her anymore.
Keeping her body as stiff and still as she could, Candice moved the pad of her trigger finger. She tested herself to see how steady she could be. A fine bead of sweat cleared a path down the side of her face. It tickled as it ran over the edge of her mouth and sneaked into her partially parted lips. Candice tasted the salt of her own sweat; it was a sign of things to come.
The anticipation inside her had built to a crescendo. She wanted to scream, to let out some of the tension. She blew out a cleansing breath, instead. There were only a few more targets left and she'd be done. Justice would be served for her family and for Uncle Rock, and she would finally have the peace she craved in her life.
Trigger. Trigger. Trigger
, she chanted in her head. Another thing she'd been taught by Uncle Rock. He'd taught her that repeating the word would keep her mind off her trigger pull and keep her from anticipating the shot. All she had to do was watch and wait for the perfect shot—a clean shot to the head. Maybe she'd get 'em between the eyes, but she would settle for a nice five-ring chest shot, if she absolutely had to.
Her legs were starting to burn as the newly formed sweat beads dripped into her eye; still, she didn't dare to move. Her arms trembled from the position she was in, but she kept her poise. This was her last chance, and she felt like she needed to take the opportunity before she lost it. Suddenly her heart jerked.
Right now. Clear shot. No hesitation. Focus. Trigger. Trigger. Trigger.
The target had been on the move a few minutes before but now stood still. There was nothing in her way.
Trigger. Trigger. Trigger. Now!
Candice screamed inside her head. Her body tensed, but her hands did what they had been trained to do.
Candice was surprised by the sound of the click; the slack was out of the trigger. The trigger was all the way back one second and clicking to return to position the next second.
Again. Again. Until the threat is eliminated.
Candice's head swirled with instruction.
One more time. Trigger. Trigger. Trigger.
The sound of crashing glass brought things into focus for Candice now. It was done. Then the silent air was split in half by the shrill screams of a female voice.
Confirmation.
Instinctively, her shoulders slumped and she let out a long sigh. The hard part was over.
Loud screams and the eruption of pandemonium brought her back to reality. She wasn't at the range practicing with Uncle Rock's AR-15 anymore. Her muscles ached with tension and she was burning hot from the sun beating down on her in the hours spent lying in wait.
Panic struck her like a 1,000-pound boulder. She had to get away from here. Her breath came out in short, sharp pants. Candice's hands shook as she unhooked the legs from the weapon and folded them down. Then she handled the weapon like it was a crown jewel. She placed it in the case Uncle Rock had made especially for it and then slung the leather strap of the case around her chest and let it hang down her back. She was on the move within seconds.
Sirens could be heard in the distance now. This wasn't like the last time... . There would be no delayed reactions from the police and ambulances. Candice knew that hitting the victim in the home was risky business. There would be many more potential witnesses, for instance. But she'd practiced so many times, and she felt there was little room for error on her part. She employed every rule and tool Uncle Rock had provided her with to execute the job with expert precision. Candice thought Uncle Rock would probably give her an A+ on her work today. She'd even snagged a pair of black leather gloves and worn them. She was almost as good as he was, a professional cleaner. That made her smile.
With the confidence of an Olympic triathlete, she moved her body with great agility and speed. “Twenty seconds after kill shot. Damn, Candy, you are good,” she complimented herself softly.
This time she didn't worry about who might be watching her. She wanted them to know she was coming for them too. If Candy got any harder, she would turn into cement.
Chapter 13
A Battle with Darkness
Dana Carlisle raised her arms above her head and arched her back. “Mmm,” she moaned, then let her arms flop down at her sides. A huge yawn followed her feline-like stretch. Boredom was the order of the night. There was nothing on television that she hadn't already seen or was even remotely interested in watching.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, she got up from the couch and padded over to the window of the cabin. She clipped her fingers through the espresso-colored faux wood blinds and peeked out the window. Darkness. She called it her security sweep for the night.
When she first arrived at the cabin, she performed full gun-in-hand security sweeps of the entire house and area around it. Now she just made sure she sat tight and waited to be rescued. Something about the peace of the darkness actually made her feel whole and comforted. The sound of footsteps behind her startled her out of her reverie. It could only be one of three people, anyway. Carlisle wished that person had just stayed her ass in bed. Slowly she turned to see who was intruding on her alone time.
Carlisle's mood blackened at the sight of Elaina on the staircase. She rolled her eyes and turned her back to the window, hoping the darkness would wrap its arms around her to make her blend into the night. She really didn't feel like playing houseguest with Elaina right now.
Elaina shuffled her feet and moved into the kitchen. Carlisle was sure she had been seen; yet no words were exchanged. Carlisle was used to Elaina's cold, silent treatment. Lucky for her, the kids loved her and she was able to spend the daytime playing board games and singing along with the karaoke machine.
Carlisle didn't care too much for Elaina's prissy attitude. She was pretty fucking ungrateful, seeing that Carlisle had picked up and agreed to protect Elaina's unfaithful ass. Frankly, the only reason Carlisle had agreed to come out to Deep Creek Lake and stand guard over Tucker's family was because of her deep feelings for him and concern for the well-being of his children. Either way, Carlisle didn't like Elaina; she prayed that when all of the danger had subsided, Tucker would drop the bitch like a hot potato.
Carlisle could hear Elaina fussing around with the teakettle and rummaging through the cabinets. For the most part they avoided each other whenever possible. They were like polar opposites, circling around one another. Both were hyperaware of the other, but neither made the effort to initiate any kind of personal relationship.
There were so many days that Carlisle had been tempted to break the wall of silence that had settled between the two women—to tell her exactly what was going on. Or maybe talk about Tucker as a family man and as a professional. However, Elaina's stony demeanor kept her at a very formal distance.
Carlisle walked back over to the little end table next to the patchwork, paisley-decorated couch and picked up her pack of cigarettes. She examined the pack. Only three more left. Shit! She'd have to go into town tomorrow. Smoking was a habit she'd reacquired in the past few weeks. She had quit back in college; but fucking around with Tucker and his government conspiracy games, Carlisle needed something stronger than caffeine to calm her nerves.
She stepped outside to light a smoke, and the cold, bitter air hit her arms. She cursed to herself when she realized her jacket hung over the back of one of the dinette chairs in the kitchen, where Elaina was playing house. Carlisle let out a long sigh. It was either go into the lion's den to get her jacket or stand out on the blustery porch and smoke in peace. A little cold never killed anyone, right?
The crisp night air blowing off the lake immediately whipped around her face and slapped at her bare arms. Springtime up at the lake didn't feel quite as nice as it sounded. Carlisle lit her cigarette and stepped down the three steps of the cabin porch. She took a toke and shivered. Aside from the small porch light, there was nothing but blackness in front of her.
Good thing she never left without her Glock. A few more drags off the cigarette and she felt like it wasn't even worth it anymore. She dropped her cigarette and mashed the lit end out with her sneaker tip. Her nerves were settled, but her teeth were chattering.
Turning around swiftly, Carlisle took the three steps in one long stretch of her legs. Just as she passed the two Adirondack chairs on the porch, a sound startled her. Carlisle whipped her head to the left, toward the noise. It must be that raccoon again trying to rummage through their trash. She still went to her gun; it could also be a damn big-ass papa black bear. She listened again for the sound and heard a strange knocking noise. Carlisle crumpled her face, part aggravation, part confusion.
With a two-handed grip on her gun, she moved toward the noise. This time the sound came from her right. Something wasn't right. Squinting her eyes against the dark, Carlisle lifted her gun and extended it out in front of her.
“Who's out there?” she called out. There was no answer.
She moved from the other side of the porch now. Fuck it. Carlisle was going to go inside, bolt down the door and hunker down like Tucker had told her to do. Just as she reached for the doorknob, she heard the loud screams of the teakettle inside the house. She jumped, nearly peeing on herself.
Fuck Elaina and her gotdamn late-night tea sessions. Carlisle grabbed hold of the doorknob, ready to cuss Elaina out, when she saw something out of her peripheral vision. A scream lodged in the back of her throat as the shadowy figure placed a gloved hand over her nose and mouth and kicked her legs from under her. Her gun dropped with a clang. Her body went limp.
Unfortunately, with the teakettle whistling loudly on the stove, Elaina never heard the commotion. Nor did she hear the stranger's footsteps enter the cabin.
 
 
Tuck sat outside of the Monte Carlo, drumming his fingers on his steering wheel. He checked his watch again and let out a long sigh. Candice had told him to meet her there, but she was nowhere to be found. He'd gone inside and asked for every name he could think of—Candice Hardaway (she wouldn't be stupid enough to use that name he'd thought, but anything was possible), Candy Barton (better possibility) or Shana Bellamy (maybe she would pay homage to her dead friend). None of the names were listed in the Monte Carlo's guest information system. Tuck went back out to his car and waited.
Candy had to know he would come. They'd shared a night together; they had a deep connection, or so he thought. In his mind's eye he could still see the silhouette of her flat stomach, round hips and athletic legs. He remembered the tightness of her holding him captive; the possessiveness he had felt toward her when he realized no other man had touched her in such a way.
Suddenly Tuck shuddered as he thought about that night. It had been a mistake. He realized that now. He was an adult—a married man, the father of two children. Candy had been an eighteen-year-old virgin girl on a revenge mission. He had been seduced by her brains and body, but there was no real basis to their relationship. Candy was a fleeting fancy; his wife, on the other hand, was the real deal.
Tuck looked at his watch again and swore that if she didn't show up soon, he would leave. She had already stood him up yesterday, but today he felt like he'd be able to catch her unaware. So like a crackhead who needed one last hit, he waited.
Tuck practiced what he would say to her when she arrived. “I don't want anything from you. I don't even want to try to stop you from killing your enemies. I just want to give you these.” That's what he'd say; then he'd hand over Easy's files for her safekeeping.
Tuck knew that getting Candice to trust him was a long shot, but he would still make the effort. Regardless of a one-night stand or not, Candice had serious trust issues. He told himself he was there for one thing, and one thing only: to give her the files so she would have insight into her father's life. He owed her that much at least.
But that wasn't entirely the whole truth, though. Candy did have good reason to suspect Tuck of ulterior motives.
At the end of his meeting with Stokes, Tuck had promised to hand Candy over to him to ensure the safety of his family and himself. He'd convinced Stokes that sending in a tail or setting a trap wouldn't work with someone like Candy.
“Trust me. Let me get her on my side and then I'll bring her right to you,” Tuck had assured.
Being in the business of subterfuge, Stokes was highly skeptical of Tucker's plan. Tucker reminded him that if they knew where Candy was all along, they could have easily picked her up a long time ago. But the problem was that Candy could change colors quicker than a chameleon.
“Remember, you thought you were God ... but Rock Barton and Candy Hardaway might be the bane of your existence. She trusts me already,” Tuck had argued.
Stokes had finally given in to his demands. He had few options to begin with.
“She trusts you, Agent Tucker ... but can I trust you?” Stokes asked doubtfully.
Tucker never answered his question. Instead, he took the additional Hardaway files and exited the room. It was all a guessing game, anyway; no one really knew the other's intentions.
But actions always spoke louder than words.
Candice silently watched Tuck from a distance. What was she even doing here?
Tuck had promised her information about her father, but he could have also been setting her up. Her heart was at war with her mind. She didn't really trust anyone from her past. The only people whom she trusted implicitly were dead.
Lately she could not stop thinking about that night. She could almost feel the same hot rush that had suffused her body when she had accepted him into her mouth, their tongues intertwining in a sensual dance.
Candice had kissed Tuck like her life depended on it. She felt a throbbing pulse between her legs, much like she had during her first time, with Tuck. It was a feeling so intense that she would've done anything to feel it again.
Candice closed her eyes for a split second, picturing him as he moved his hot mouth from her lips and licked his way down her neck and then to her breasts. She had shuddered, needle pricks all over her body, when Tuck had licked her areola until she lost her breath.
Tuck had grabbed his manhood and placed it gently against Candice's moist flesh. When he bore down into her softness, Candice had felt a flash of fire between her legs, which had quickly turned into an all-out explosion of pain. She opened her mouth now, the same as she had done that night. Her body was experiencing the sensations all over again. Candice hadn't stopped him from taking her virginity that night. And now she couldn't stop thinking about it.
Candice wanted to slap herself when she realized she had let her mind drift to the past. Shaking her head from left to right, she rubbed her arms roughly and shook off those distracting thoughts.
The first day Tuck had come to the Monte Carlo, Candice watched him, amused at his bewilderment. Did he really think she would be dumb enough to meet up with him in such a public place? She watched Tuck get frustrated at being stood up, getting in and out of his car repeatedly with the look of defeat on his face. When he left, Candice watched closely for any tails or any sign that he had brought his crooked law enforcement friends with him. To her surprise, Candice had not noticed anyone following or watching him. No red taillights, no ghosts on foot and no other people materializing from the surrounding buildings when he'd left.
Still not convinced of his claims of innocence, Candice decided to watch Tuck for one more day. Shit, if he could be undercover for so long, pretending to be a common street dude, there was no telling what type of stunt he was capable of pulling off. Candice figured there was no such thing as being too careful. So she watched for a second day. And again there was no one mysteriously buzzing around. He hadn't met with anyone; he hadn't spoken to anybody on the street.
Perhaps Tuck was on the up-and-up, Candice concluded. Seeing him again that day, at the DeSosa home, had flustered her so much that it had almost taken her out of her game. She wanted to be sure she could handle things emotionally before she showed herself to him again.
When Tuck's car gurgled to life, she rushed from her hiding spot across the street from the Monte Carlo. She couldn't be sure he'd come back for a third day looking like a desperate asshole waiting for her. He didn't even see her coming.
The taps on the window nearly gave Tuck a heart attack. He jumped so hard that he hit his bald head on the roof of his car.
“Gotdamn!” he cried out, placing his hand over his chest in a clutch-the-pearls manner.
Candice ran around the front of the car and Tuck popped the door locks. Candice bustled into the passenger seat and hurriedly slammed the door. She shivered. Her nerves were screaming.
“You scared the shit out of me, Candy,” Tuck gasped. He was still struggling to find his breath.
She wasn't the only one with hair trigger nerves. The fact that he seemed jumpy too made her feel superior in a silly, childish kind of way.
“Big, bad DEA agent scared of little ol' me.” She chuckled sarcastically. Then her face got serious, and her lips twisted to the side. Tuck gave her a look that said
touché
. She'd scored a point for that one.

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