Archer (19 page)

I
n an abandoned warehouse on Merchant Avenue, the warm stench of fear tickled Rocki’s nose. She clamped her teeth to keep from gagging. She’d witnessed enough questionable dealings in the last four months of working undercover, trying to get the goods on Darrell Archer, but nothing prepared for this senseless beating.

Despite her revulsion of how business in the underground took place, hope soared inside her. Finally, Archer trusted her enough to let her hang around while he took care of business. This was exactly what she needed, because so far, she had nothing concrete to bring him down and put him in prison for life.

Darrell’s team, comprised of four men, bigger and more evil than she could’ve ever imagined, dragged an unconscious man she only knew as Joe toward the exit. Joe, who hadn’t paid his debt and foolishly thought he could outrun the underground drug lord.

“Come, Camilla.” Darrell crooked his finger and walked past her toward the front of the building.

Going by her fake name, she followed him out of the building. Doing what he asked, when he asked, allowed her to stick beside him in her attempt to gather evidence. She wanted him locked in prison for a long, long, long time. The problem was, the information she’d collected wasn’t enough to take him down, and she couldn’t escape and go back to her normal job of working cases until he went away for good.

In the backseat of Archer’s black Lexus, she buckled her seat belt, crossed her legs, and stared straight ahead. As his personal assistant, there were certain things he required of her.

Companionship she could do. A specific job she might do, depending on if it involved blood or not. Today proved she wasn’t up to witnessing a few hard punches to someone’s face. The seriousness of the situation made it hard to keep believing poor Joe only suffered a broken nose. She had no idea what would happen to him out of her line of sight.

Sex she definitely wouldn’t do. Archer had no reason to know that yet. He seemed to enjoy touching her hands, her arms, and giving her an occasional pat on the ass to get her moving out of the room when business was going down. She played it cool, and so far, he retreated when she became uncomfortable. Whether he understood her reluctance and disgust, or he simply wasn’t interested, was anyone’s guess.

Archer, even at fifty-three years old, kept a steady stream of women coming and going in his life. She swallowed her shiver. Not all of them ran errands for him, unless you counted running to his bed whenever he snapped his fingers a chore. She suspected any woman who displeased him ended up on a ship out of the country and sold into the sex slave business, but she hadn’t gathered any proof. She just had a bad feeling.

Most of the women she’d seen were more than happy to hang around him. The black hair with a sprinkle of silver peppered at his temples and the controlling attitude was a total turn-on for some women. Not her though.

She’d give up the job, go into hiding, and start over somewhere else before she allowed herself to go there with him. She wasn’t blind. There was something mysteriously charismatic about Archer. And something equally dangerous. Those qualities made him unpredictable.

Darrell eyed her in the rearview mirror. “I have an assignment for you. In a few minutes, I’ll be dropping you off near the corner of Main and Elm Street. There will be a red convertible Porsche with keys under the mat.”

She blinked, keeping quiet. He’d tell her more or not, depending on how much he wanted her to know. The last time she interrupted, he’d locked her in the house for two days and forbidden her to join him on business.

“The GPS is programmed. Follow the directions straight to your destination. A place called Corner Pocket. When you get there, you’ll take possession of the third pool table in the back. I want you to stay at the table all evening.” He turned onto a side road. “You’ll pay attention to the men who will challenge you to a game. Drink, get loose, and report back to me tomorrow at noon.”

“Noon?” She clamped her lips together, shocked she’d lost her cool.

That meant she’d have to find lodgings, but at least she’d have a chance to call her mom without the fear of being overheard. She gazed out the window to appear aloof to the plans. Four months, and Darrell hadn’t trusted her away from his side. She slept in a spare bedroom, and when she wasn’t with him, he kept her locked in the house and under surveillance.

“At least one of the men will spend the evening vying for your attention. You’ll be receptive to his attentions and go home with him. You’re to keep your ears open and bring back all information you learn, no matter how mundane you believe it is.” Darrell pulled to the curb and left the engine idling. “I don’t have to remind you not to mention your association with me or your true identity. You’re a stranger traveling through town.”

“Of course,” she murmured, holding his gaze in the mirror.

“The car is across the road and down one block. Don’t disappoint me…”

She nodded and opened the door. She knew her job, and hell to the no, she didn’t want to end up like poor Joe back at the warehouse who was probably resting in peace with the fish in the Pacific Ocean by now.

Archer took off the moment the door shut. She stood on the sidewalk, getting her bearings. The area was familiar.

Bay City, Oregon, a half hour away from the police academy where she’d trained, worked on the force, and taught classes while working her way up the ladder. The youngest and only female on the squad, she expected the Archer case to take her to top detective when her supervisor, Detective Gino Marcelli, retired. Unless the special undercover job took longer and she failed to bring in Archer. Or Archer killed her. God, she hoped not.

The streetlights flickered on, and she realized how long they’d dealt with business at the warehouse. They’d left Archer’s house before lunch. She crossed the two-lane street, anxious to start playing her role for the night. At least in a public place, she’d have the ability to make a call home. She missed her mom terribly.

The Porsche sat unlocked, top down, and looking sweeter than any ride she’d driven. She trailed her finger along the sleek side of the car, stopping at the door handle. Sliding into the tan leather driver’s seat, she exhaled on a sigh. This sure beat her two-thousand-dollar used Honda Accord sitting in her garage.

Her chest tightened as she found the key, started the car, and put her seat belt on. She blinked away the pang of loneliness threatening to overcome her. For the first time since becoming Camilla Darrow, she wanted to leave the dirtiness behind and be herself.

Rocki Bangli.

Tonight, she’d go by Rocki and enjoy answering to her own name. No one needed to know any more details about her. She couldn’t take the chance of someone recognizing the odd-sounding last name and asking around about her.

Five minutes later, she strolled into Corner Pocket. A quaint bar on the edge of town, half sports bar and half hangout, displaying the cheesiest neon lighted sign behind the bar with a sexily clad mannequin straddling the letter C. She grinned and relaxed. The place was tacky and homey enough; she loved the bar instantly.

Whether the adrenaline of having time to herself away from Archer or the scent of greasy fries and cold beer brought out the fact she hadn’t eaten since morning, she looked forward to tonight. She walked to the counter and slid onto a stool.

An older woman, hair teased out at least six inches on all sides and wearing a vibrant purple spandex yoga jacket lined with faux diamonds down the sleeve and making a wide swoop across the front, displaying a lot of cleavage, approached her. “I’m Charlene, hon. What can I get you?”

She looked inside her purse, unprepared, and blew out her breath at seeing what Archer left her. He’d loaded her with money. “A burger, everything but onions, large fries, and a beer…lite.”

An older man leaned over the counter, kissed Charlene’s cheek, and whispered in her ear. Rocki took in the intimate scene.

The booming laughter coming from a woman who was no bigger than five feet five inches surprised her. She glanced behind her, searching for her destination. Table 3 was vacant, and she turned back around. “Are there any rules on reserving one of the pool tables?”

“Nope.” Charlene stuck the pen she’d used for writing the order in her hair. “If you play the game, you’re responsible for the results.”

“Ah, gotcha,” she said. “I’ll grab a table in the back.”

“I’ll bring your order out when it’s up.” Charlene paused. “Are you here alone, hon?”

She nodded.

Charlene grinned, shaking her head in amusement. “I’ll bet ten dollars that you won’t be alone for long. You girls nowadays, I don’t know why you force yourself to be so independent. A good man by your side is a life perk.”

She slid off the stool and watched Charlene walk away. Any other day, she would’ve loved to sit down and strike up a conversation with the flamboyant woman. She bet Charlene was a kick, just her type of friend.

Remembering what she came for, she pivoted and headed toward the rear of the room. The third pool table remained empty, and she wondered how Archer knew it would be. Knowing him, he’d paid to have the table cleared and waiting for her.

With no idea who the men were that would show up, or if they’d approach her, she picked out a cue stick from the stand on the wall. She’d played pool exactly twice before.

One time at her friend Gigi’s house when she was a sophomore in high school, she learned a few things about the game of pool. She totally sucked but had fun. Then she played it again at Cale Brown’s retirement party from the sheriff’s department. She sucked then too.

She rounded up all the balls and set them at the end of the table. She knew the basic rules. You hit the white ball into other balls, not letting it go in a hole. You called solids or stripes and tried to beat your opponent by sinking all your balls in the corner and side pockets. On the player’s last turn, you hit the black ball, winning the game.

Basically, she knew enough to bluff her way through a game. Her stomach flip-flopped. She’d ignored the fact that the men she’d spend time with tonight were connected to Archer somehow. She hoped they were innocent hits, and her safety wasn’t at risk. If they were business associates, she could be in more danger than she already was.

A shrill scream penetrated the bar. She whirled, afraid a fight had broken out. Away from Archer, she’d have to rely on herself for protection. Anyone witnessing the precise movements of the way she fought would know she’d spent years training in physical combat.

Instead of danger, she watched a group of men stroll into the bar. Charlene hurried around the counter, heading straight toward them. Rocki leaned her hip against the table, struck by the jaw-dropping beautiful scene. The men were hot.

Three males, all different in looks but gorgeous just the same. The one leading the pack, dressed in all black with the coolest goatee trimmed close to his skin, yet dark and prominent, smiled. Her brows rose before she could stop herself. He knew the affect he had on women, she was sure of it.

The next guy to approach Charlene had warm brown hair, almost ginger in color, but not quite. He held his arms out wide and laughed heartily when Charlene smacked him on the chest and pushed him out of the way. She peered closer, wondering what grabbed Charlene’s attention, and spotted a woman tucked against the side of one of the men. Of course, she’d be beautiful to have a man equally gorgeous.

Dressed in jeans, suede boots, and a purple T-shirt with the words
Jacked
on the front, the woman left the man’s side to allow Charlene to wrap her in a hug. The two women’s mutual delight in seeing one another spoke of a close relationship, and their reactions fascinated her. She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip.

She didn’t know these people. Yet she envied what they had. The normalcy of their lives.

Four long months of working undercover, without any contact with the real world, were apparently getting to her. She gazed away to check out the rest of the group.

Another man, more sexy than the others with a badass attitude, strode through the door and stopped behind them. His expression warmed as he surveyed the people in front of him. He slapped the woman’s gorgeous man on the shoulder, spoke to him, and then headed across the room. Aware of her staring, she turned around and fiddled with the racked balls on the table. The last thing she needed to do was become distracted by a handsome face.

And the guy had it all.

Longish blond hair of multiple shades and tanned skin, as if he spent a lot of time outside, gave him a toughness that belied his golden good looks. She couldn’t help noticing the tight fit of his leather jacket, black Metallica T-shirt, and jeans—if she guessed right—that had rubbed up against a few car engines in their lifetime. She always had a weakness for men who worked with their hands and weren’t afraid to get dirty.

She lifted the triangle thingy, eyed the balls, and deemed the setup perfect. She stepped away from the table to set the rack back on the hanger and bumped into the man who’d grabbed her attention. The blond one. The tough one. The one who appeared a lot scarier up close than she would’ve suspected. The intense way he looked at her didn’t help set her at ease.

“Sorry,” she muttered, backing away.

His eyes softened. “You set the balls wrong.”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“You need to rack them so the solids and stripes are beside each other and put them behind this line.” He slipped the triangle out of her hand. “Let me show you.”

“Uh…okay.” She gripped the pool stick with both hands and held on for dear life.

She had to get rid of him. At any moment, she expected her targets to show up and challenge her to a game of pool. She glanced down at the man’s boots and held her breath. Could these be the men Archer had sent her to find? No, not this guy. He had too much sexy going on.

“Jumping the gun, bro.” A male voice spoke behind her.

She looked over her shoulder and stepped a few feet away.

The three other men who’d come in and the woman with them stood at the table taking an interest. Her gaze returned to the blond guy.
No way. No fricking way.