One Wrong Move (25 page)

And why did she care? She never had before.

“You know, you’re not the only man in the world I’ve been with,” Rayma said. “It was great, as are many of my sexual exploits. It probably wasn’t the greatest in the world. You’re not God’s gift to women, no matter how much you’d like to think so.”

His mouth opened. Good. She hoped she’d brought him down a peg or two. He released his hold, and she brushed past him, her body trembling as she walked out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Camden

Camden followed Mike and Darrell out of the police department. The pungent smell of jail covered his hair, his suit, and his skin. As they stepped outside, Camden gulped down a chunk of hot gulf air. His head pounded.

The sucker got less than what he deserved, and he didn’t feel sorry for the guy. A couple days in jail would be the least of his concerns when this was all over.

Sweat trickled across Camden’s skin. The heat and humidity were both high today.

Camden reached for the handle to the back of the truck. Darrell was driving, which wasn’t common, and Camden preferred to be in the back so he could observe. Mike grabbed him from the side before he could open the door, and pushed him up against the truck. Camden relaxed and let him have this moment.

“You son of a bitch. You left me to die.”

“I didn’t leave you to die. I did the same thing you would have done.”

“Bullshit.”

He stared into Mike’s narrowed eyes. He’d like nothing more to beat this guy’s ass, demand he admit everything he knew about this business, then keep him in jail for the rest of his life. But justice wasn’t as easy as that.

He flicked him aside. Mike stumbled, his jaw clenched. Camden opened the back door and slid inside while Dare fired the engine. Mike hesitated before climbing in the front. He slammed the door and turned to face Camden.

“I have to know my partner is going to watch my back,” he continued.

“We’re not partners,” Camden said, not intimated by Mike’s anger. He was never easily intimidated anyway, especially by someone like Mike. He hadn’t had a fight in a long time and could use a good knock-down, drag-out, but he didn’t think Dare would appreciate it in front of the jail. “What the hell did you expect me to do?”

“Camden did the right thing,” Dare said. “Best for only one of you to go than both. He got the drugs to me, which is way more important than you serving a couple days in jail, now isn’t it? And he’s here now, so stop your whining. I have something to discuss with both of you.”

Mike turned around to face the front, sulking. Camden lounged in the backseat as if he were the most comfortable person on Earth.

He felt anything but comfortable. He was attuned to every movement, every sound, and his heightened senses made Mike’s stench almost unbearable. Darrell chewed on his lip as he considered what to say, and his jittery fingers on the steering wheel indicated his irritation. Mike continued to sulk, probably fantasizing about how best to kill Camden.

The day of the party was getting closer. They’d planned the menu, the drinks, and an updated guest list for Dare’s hoopla. Meanwhile, he and Moore were planning on how the bust would go. He was playing two lives, two people, and though he’d gone undercover many times for many years, these last days were the most important. Remain calm, remain easy, but remain alert.

Anything could happen. Darrell might have learned he was undercover and could take a gun out and shoot him right in the head before he had a chance to think. Camden couldn’t carry a gun. Most chefs wouldn’t, and he had no explanation for why he’d need to except when he’d delivered drugs for Darrell. He’d agreed then, but hadn’t wanted him to since.

Camden had been in this predicament before and always relied on his gut, his intuition, and his fighting skills.

Gun or no, he was fast on his feet and fast with his hands. In his career, he had to be. He trained daily and kept himself in shape, not only for the women and his health, but also because he never knew when he might need to defend himself.

Darrell explained his newest mess. “I’m having fingerprints run on the info that news woman received. I know it’s pretty hopeless, but I thought if I could lift prints from it, I might figure out where she got it. Someone needs to be confronted. Someone can’t be trusted.”

“Any luck?” Mike asked. For a moment, Camden wondered if it had been Mike. He and Rayma had, after all, dated. But then he remembered she’d dated him after the information, just to see if she could get more. Mike was likely not a suspect, but he wouldn’t totally discount him.

“Not really,” Darrell said. He glanced at Camden in the mirror. “Yours were obvious. You brought the items back to me, so I can figure why yours were on them. There were several smudged prints I can’t make heads or tails of, more prints than should be on there, but there was another one that really bothered me. A partial match.”

“Who’s that?” Camden asked, dreading the answer.

“Shawn.”

“Shawn?” Mike asked.

Oh fuck.

“Shawn and his friend Joe Donahue.”

“Who’s that?” Camden asked.

Darrell tapped the steering wheel to a beat only he heard. A steady drum of anticipation built in Camden’s chest. “Joe was a guy Shawn met when he was young. They went to school together. I had him under my wing for a while, but he grew up and decided he wanted to go to college, to better his life. He came back to town, and I accepted him with open arms, but he disappeared a few weeks ago. I figured he probably hooked up with Shawn thinking they could take me over.”

Camden ran a hand over his face. What a nightmare. And definitely not a good way for this guy to better his life.

They still hadn’t found Shawn. Camden had hoped he’d found a safe place to hide out, hoped he’d learned and moved on, far away from Darrell and his hounds of hell, but what if he hadn’t?

“Where is he now?” Camden asked, hoping to glean more information about Joe Donahue. If they found him, maybe they’d find Shawn.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Dare pulled into his private drive at Vin Doux and parked. “Let’s take the rest of the day off. We all need to relax before the upcoming party.”

Camden didn’t unbuckle, not yet. He needed to know more, but he had to be subtle. “So what’s next with Shawn and this Joe guy?”

Darrell’s face was carved from stove when he replied. “Do you really need to ask that question?”

***

When Camden came in later that day he was worn out from work, sick with grief over the fight he felt he was losing, and ready for a beer, a hot woman, and slow, saucy music. Not necessarily in that order. He grabbed a beer and summoned Moore so he could explain the newest situation.

“Why didn’t we get matches on those prints but Darrell did?” Camden asked as he stomped across the command room. Other agents listened, took notes, or searched records, but Camden paid them no mind.

“Calm down,” Moore warned, as Camden squeezed the empty beer can. “You know it isn’t always so easy if they don’t have a criminal history. Darrell takes prints of all his men. He took yours.”

“We should have found them by now. We
have
to find them now.”

“We’re running searches for Joe Donahue. It would have helped if you’d asked more questions, but—”

Camden whirled to face the agent in charge. “But what? But I didn’t want a gun pointed at my head? I tried to ask, but all I could get was his name. They went to school together, and then Joe decided to run off and go to college. You know enough about Shawn. Search his records.”

“We’re doing what we can.”

Rayma stormed in. Camden whirled around to face her. She wasn’t allowed in the command room, and he didn’t like the fact she was there, but the pained expression on her face said something important had brought her. They hadn’t spoken since their last meeting, when she’d unceremoniously told him she’d had better. He wanted nothing but a chance to prove her wrong.

“What is it?” Camden asked.

She held up a manila envelope. “This came in my mail today.”

Moore grabbed the packet and studied it. “Check this out. No return address. Block lettering.”

“Let me see,” Camden said, and eyed the envelope in question. Rayma had long since cut off the phone, electricity, and television from her apartment, and the mail was routed to a box even she wasn’t aware of. An agent picked up her mail only one or two days a week. The packet was postmarked four days ago.

Rayma wiped her hands on her jeans, that simple action speaking of her worry. Camden handed the envelope to their tech. “Get this x-rayed before we open it,” he said.

He studied Rayma, concerned for her. She was strong, a lot stronger than he credited her with, but he hated for her to have to be involved in this. It was an ugly business, and mentally demanding on even the toughest of agents. He didn’t doubt that Rayma was good at her job, but the ordeal of living in a safe house could break anybody’s naiveté.

Once inspected, they opened it to find two thumb drives, one with a yellow sticky note that read:

You owe me $50.

“This could be the answer to our prayers,” Camden said.

Arnie took over. Arnie, the computer geek who seemed to know everything there was to know about the machines. He didn’t look like a geek. Damn guy probably had less body fat than Camden.

Rayma brewed coffee as Arnie tried to break the password. After two hours, they finally got somewhere.

Several files were on the drive—lists of names, another string of numbers, plus some pictures and video.

Camden picked a video of a figure aiming a gun and shooting someone. Not someone. Shawn.

His chair tumbled over as he shot up. “Dammit.” Cold fury threaded its way through his body. Helpless, he watched the video replay, over and over again. Shawn, on his knees, his hands bound behind his back, begging for his life. His body slammed backward as the bullet pierced his chest, then he toppled over as his life ended.

A strangled sob escaped Rayma. She shouldn’t be here, watching this. She wasn’t part of this investigation. Only she’d become part of it, part of their team.

He didn’t know if Rayma recognized Shawn. He wasn’t sure if he should tell her.
Remember the chef I fought with the first time we met?
Yeah, that was him.

“We were supposed to keep him safe!” Camden exclaimed.

Moore didn’t reply, didn’t need to reply. They hadn’t kept him safe, and it was Camden’s fault for bringing the kid into it. The shooter wasn’t visible, so there was no way to prove Darrell’s involvement. He rubbed a hand over his face then smacked his hands on the table. “Dammit!”

“I recognize him,” Rayma said, pointing at one of the guys in the background.

“How’s that?” Moore asked.

“He’s my CI.”

Confidential Informant.
This is the guy who’d chosen to risk his life to bust Darrell. Camden recognized him, too, from the café where Rayma had met him. This had to be Joe, the man Darrell had told him about. He cursed himself for not figuring out who he was earlier, not going after him the day he’d met with Rayma, not saving him. Now his life could be lost among many in the war against Darrell Weberley.

“Fuck.” His breath sizzled out of him, the word dying in a tomb of empty promises.

Arnie plugged in the other drive. “This looks like his payroll.”

Camden scanned through the system quickly to get the gist of it for now. They’d do a more thorough search later. “And a list of every drug run he’s had up until two months ago.”

A fusion of hot and cold surrounded him. Darrell was a dangerous man, he’d always known it, but somehow this information seemed to make it real.

They finally took time to eat as they inspected the drives and printed documents for further research. The sun went down, and rain pounded on the rooftop, making it sound as if someone was throwing gravel on the coffin Camden was buried in.

“He told me he was missing some recipes,” he said as he examined the documents Arnie had printed. Recipes for his designer drugs. Another file on the new drive revealed shipping instructions, using bottles of special spices.

“Shit,” Moore said. “We’ve got to go through this whole mess again, to piece this puzzle together. We always suspected he was hiding them in spices, but this proves it.”

“I’ve had every one of his spices tested,” Camden said.

“Yeah, but only the ones on his shelf. These are shipped with the others, but they’ve got to isolate them somehow. A special limited edition, maybe. This is how he’s been getting away with it.”

Camden reached around Arnie’s shoulder and opened a video icon. Darrell popped up, seated in his famous chair, and several people surrounded him. Part of his head was cut off, and it looked like someone was filming this secretly. Had Joe risked his life to do this? Or had Shawn still been alive at the time?

The people on the video discussed the importance of a drug operation, already past now, and how much money was at stake. “This is what I do,” Dare said on the video. “This is what is important to me. Don’t screw it up.”

“This is your proof,” Rayma said.

“Yeah, except the video might not be admissible in court,” Camden said.

“How could it not?” she exclaimed. “It came to me by mail. I’ll be the witness on the stand to tell everyone I received this USB drive and shared it with the proper authorities. You didn’t come into contact with this in any illegal way, whatsoever.”