OneWrongMove


.pba { page-break-after: always }




The Wild Rose Press www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©2006 by Angela Smith



NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.





"Isn't that the guy?"

Rayma was perusing the dessert menu when Nicole pulled on her hands to get her attention. Rayma glanced up to see the chef from last night's news. The menu thudded to the table, and she latched onto her cocktail glass. She couldn't remember all the drinks they'd ordered, but after the food she'd consumed, her body was feeling no ill effects from alcohol.
The effects from the chef, however, were a different matter. She watched as he approached their table and talked to Liz. Liz? Of course Liz, why not? She was attractive, young, single, and scantily clad. Why wouldn't he be interested? Besides, Rayma wasn't on the look-out right now so why should she care?
He made his way around the table, next introducing himself to Brenda and Joey. They each fluttered at whatever he said to them. The guy was a looker, gorgeous even, but Rayma couldn't understand the female species. She would not act so juvenile.
The cliché of tall, dark and handsome suited him well. Tallness was a prerequisite for Rayma since she stood five-nine. Her height gave her an advantage as an investigative reporter, using it to peer over people's shoulders or to look over elevated desks. Usually, though, her height gave her an odd sense of self-consciousness, as if she were dwarfing other people. She rarely wore heels unless she wanted to be taller for a certain occasion, and what she looked for in a man was for him to be a least a crumb taller than she.
She bet this guy was half a foot taller. This time, his eyes were like molasses and they slid over her, attaching to her with the stickiness of syrup. It couldn't be the heat making her feel sticky because suddenly, she was trembling inside.



One Wrong Move
by
Emma Sanders



This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
One Wrong Move
COPYRIGHT ©
2007 by Angela Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [e-mail]
Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

The Wild Rose Press

PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
Crimson Rose Edition, January 2007
PRINT ISBN 1-60154-032-9
Published in the United States of America




Dedication


To Kaley, with love. Always remember you have the power to succeed at anything you set your mind to.




Prologue
Camden Alexander squinted as salt water slapped his face. He smacked his lips shut and gritted his teeth against the sand lodging in his gums.
Salt and sand. He was beginning to hate it.
He slithered one hand in front of him, slowly, carefully, feeling his way around the marshy dunes.
Something was wrong. Tension ran like brambles along his spine, lashing the back of his neck. The clammy heat stuck to his skin and clothing like epoxy, and not even a fresh spray of ocean air could help dissipate the goo.
No, this ocean air was putrid. Dead fish. Dead seagulls. Swarms of mosquitoes. This wasn't the section of ocean displayed in the traveler's brochures.
Moonlight drifted across the water. Camden used the glow that beamed across the surface as his flare, keeping him grounded as he trudged on his knees through sand and cacti, praying.
If Web caught him here, what would he say? How could he explain this?
He couldn't explain it. That's why he couldn't be found.
"Camden,” his earbud cackled. His heartbeat quickened, his nerves already chaotic. He stopped, crouching lower, as if anyone else could hear the voice in his head.
"I'm here,” Camden whispered.
"Where?” Moore's voice was edged in tension. Moore, who was back at the command post. Safe, sound and secure.
"I lost sight of Web. Where's our backup?"
Static. Camden jiggled the earbud. Nothing.
The unmistakable smell of death struck him. Like rancid meat left out too long, or the smell of vomit festering after a week in the hot sun. Camden couldn't see. He lost sight of the moon behind a thick row of clouds and the burrow of weeds he hid in.
He put one hand in front of the other. Moved his knee, felt around on the ground. He searched for his gun and breathed a sigh of relief when he found it.
Not that it'd help him much with the mess he was in.
He butted up against something squishy and smelly.
The clouds shifted, revealing a sky full of twinkling stars and translucent beauty. It should have been a time to kick back with a woman and bask in the afterglow of love. A time to relish the warmer days of summer, run down the beach and dive into the cool splash of water, or eat cold watermelon with a frosted mug of brew.
The body on the ground was anything but beautiful.
Agent Bill Fletcher was dead.



Chapter One
"It's been three months."
Rayma O’ Riley sighed, forked a piece of crispy chicken from her otherwise healthy salad, and chewed, ignoring the nausea she usually felt during a conversation like this. It would go away in time.
Mike was in the process of telling her how wonderful she was, as if he could know that after only three months. He fingered the tip of a rose in a vase on the table. For one horrifying moment, she thought he might propose.
No, he couldn't. Not after only knowing her for three months. Would he?
Mike was an accountant who looked forward to a future career as city mayor. Rayma was sure that's why he found her so appealing. As a newscaster, she'd be beneficial to his campaign. What was better than free advertising?
She couldn't fault him. Hadn't she used him as well? Their relationship had never been hot, but he staved off desperate men and well-meaning friends. If she hated herself for it, she should be used to it by now.
It was just her style.
To celebrate their three-month waste of life, Mike had taken her to Vin Doux. Situated on stilts on the shores of South Padre Island, it became famous when they created their own spice and sauce for ribs, steaks and seafood and started shipping it out to stores and individuals nationwide. Island partiers tracked their sand into the more casual Boater's Bay, while the elite crowd preferred the more upscale establishment. They were both owned by the same person and both part of the same restaurant, but when people referred to Vin Doux, they meant the superior version.
Mike had chosen the latter, making himself at home with the crème de la crème. Laden with lace and candles, the table overlooked water revealed at night by thick beams of light. Waves crashed against the shore, silent because of the windows separating them. Those windows must have been scrubbed daily to appear as if they weren't there, and Rayma imagined inebriated college kids partying on spring break and knocking themselves out trying to get to the beach.
"Mike,” she said, interrupting whatever he was saying about their relationship. She'd never get a word in if she didn't stop him. Wordiness was not Rayma's strong suit, so she sat her fork on the table and got right to the point. She meant to wait until after dinner, but if she did, he'd be too far gone with one too many drinks. “Things aren't working out for me."
"What do you mean?” he asked, taking a sip of Chardonnay, his pinkie pointing straight out. “You don't like it here?"
"I don't mean here. I mean us."
He swabbed his lips and chin as some men would wax their cars. Carefully, controlled, with smooth movements. As if to ward off any further conversation. “Is this a break-up?"
She nodded. “Don't take it personally."
"How can things not be working out after only three months?"
Three months was all it took to find out you'd made a tremendous mistake. If there was nothing there after three months, nothing would be there. Ever. Things didn't come slowly for her. Of course, she didn't tell him that it wouldn't matter even if something was there. After three months, the relationship was history.
She hadn't trusted men since she was ten years old. She loved them, she got along with them, but she didn't trust them. Her father, the one man she should have been able to trust, taught her that.
Then there was Keegan. She was still digging the pins out of her heart from that experience.
A native of Austin, Texas, Rayma had decided to take what little money she had and start her life over somewhere else. She chose South Padre Island because it was still close enough to her home, even though there was nobody left for her there; close enough to a mother in Houston whom she never visited, and close enough to James, who was now semi-retired and living in the hill country. Caitlyn lived in the mountains now with Wesley, so Rayma didn't feel there was any reason for her to stay in a city that only brought bad memories.
The long stretch of beach, salt water and multi-hued sky relaxed her and made her forget the troubles she left behind. She liked the serene atmosphere but detested spring break and the hoi polloi of partygoers. She usually went on vacation or stayed shut inside her condo.
Working as a morning anchorwoman for News 12 had its perks, but boredom usually reigned. She was an investigative reporter by nature and by choice, but there wasn't a great demand for it in South Padre. Unless one wanted to hear about a dead fish found on shore and explore what might have happened to it, there wasn't much for an investigative reporter to report. There hadn't been a lot of excitement in her life lately, but when she thought of Keegan, she decided excitement was the last thing she needed.
Isn't that why she moved here in the first place?
"How can I not take it personally?” Mike asked, scowling. “Is there someone else?"
The fingers of one hand were clenched into his palm and the other clasped the stem of his wineglass as if he might snap it apart. Rayma's heart stuttered. She never expected violence from Mike, but how much did she really know about him?
Rayma jumped as a loud crash sounded. At first, she thought Mike had done something. He must have broken the glass or overturned the table. But deafening silence followed as every patron watched two men in tuxedos, their chef hats askew, engaged in a scuffle.
Rayma immediately punched her single digit speed dial to call her cameraman.
If the chefs were going to fight in the middle of a restaurant, it was a given she would get it on tape.
"Get over to Vin Doux now,” she told Ellis. “And bring your camera."
The scuffle turned bold and before long, a dead-on fight ensued. The restaurant was not overly crowded for a Thursday night, so it could have been worse, but there were enough people to be shocked by what happened.
Mike took bills from his suit pocket and threw enough on the table to cover the meal and the tips. “Screw this,” he said, standing up. He glanced at Rayma. “Are you coming?"
"No.” She was too busy taking pictures with her camera phone while she waited for Ellis to get here for video footage.
"Guess that's it then.” He left without a chaste kiss on the cheek or a backwards glance. Fine with her. Made things easier.
By the time Ellis got there, the fight had toned down, mostly because several of the employees were working on making things right. But a verbal argument between the men and several employees, one whom Rayma figured was the manager, kept them the center of attention.
The chef, who looked like he'd received the worst of the assault, finally turned on his heel and walked out. Rayma rushed to the one remaining, Ellis and the camera close behind.
"Excuse me sir, can you tell me what just happened?"
He turned. His chef hat had fallen off his head, leaving thick locks of hair exposed and mussed. His eyes, the same dark color of his hair, penetrated into hers and for a moment, she was lost. It was like looking into a deep bowl of melted chocolate. How could anyone turn away? Rich and creamy and something she'd want to explore more of until she finally consumed every bit.
A small scratch marred his cheek and there was a cut above his eye, but otherwise he didn't appear beaten.
Her breath caught in her throat. Dump one, find another?
He glared at her a moment before he turned and walked away. She watched his retreating back, still lost in the power of his gaze. She turned to the man she assumed was the manager, but had to fight for words. Where was her mind? Oh yeah, still lost in that bowl of chocolate.
"Do you have any comments on what happened here?"
"I want to apologize to the patrons and offer this meal free for compensation."
Rayma turned to the camera and presented her spiel on what happened.
And earlier, she'd thought there was no excitement in this town.
* * * *
"What in the hell was that?"
Web paced within a whisper of where Camden stood. The heat from his anger could have grilled the Bordelaise Steak and Mushrooms he'd been preparing when the fight began.
"He needed an ass kicking.” Camden wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, washed his hands, and went back to work. He'd meant to make things better, not worse. To up his chances of getting on the inside.
Only, things had gotten out of hand, and a news reporter had been there to see it all.
"Why?” Web didn't go away. His hands were fisted, his face contorted into a spasm of fury. Camden continued to season the meat as if nothing had happened.
He had a feeling that only pissed Web off more.
"He was saying shit that didn't need saying,” Camden replied.
Web looked as if he was itching to throw his own punches, but Camden wasn't sure who the recipient of his anger was. Since he was the only one standing before Web, he assumed it was aimed towards him. Shawn had already fled the scene, leaving his chef hat and all his belongings behind.
Web stopped in front of Camden, who got a perverse sense of pleasure when the other man had to lift his eyes—albeit only slightly—upward to meet his. Web was built like a bull, Camden like a race horse. Web tried to intimidate people, and did a good job most of the time. A dangerous element sparked in his eye, making most people grovel at his feet. Camden had never been the kind of person to grovel at anybody's feet.
Camden wasn't supposed to know of the “side” business Web was running. He'd been on the inside for two years and still hadn't learned anything concrete.
"What was he saying?"
"Shit,” Camden replied, letting his knife slide to the counter lest he be tempted to place it somewhere he shouldn't. He oiled the pan, placed the steak and mushrooms in, and stirred.
"Get your stuff and get out,” Web said.
Camden couldn't let this happen. Two years of his life would be wasted if he left now. He wasn't any closer now than he had been two years ago. He'd used Shawn, hoping he'd provide him with the chance to get closer. Instead, it had turned into a debacle. Even worse, it'd be on tonight's news.
Damn, was he going to have to grovel? “Shawn was saying shit about you, about this business, about the restaurant and things going on. He wanted to expose you, and I wouldn't let him. We got into an argument and you know what happened from there."
"Expose me for what?"
Camden turned away from the heat of the stove and ignored the meat. “Drug smuggling. Money laundering. Things like that."
Web laughed, an almost cruel animalistic sound like that of a captured baboon. “That's ridiculous."
Camden shrugged.
"That's ridiculous,” Web said again, stepping closer so Camden could smell what he ate for dinner. He'd had the Lamb Curry with brown rice and vegetables, bypassing the special steak Camden was so proud of. Not only was Camden the chef for Web's restaurant, he might as well have been Web's personal chef since Web ate at the restaurant every night and those nights he didn't, he would request something be brought to his home.
"That's exactly what I thought,” Camden said. “That's why we fought over it. Now you see why I couldn't let him go around saying that shit."
"Get your stuff and get out."
* * * *
Rayma woke to incessant meowing and pawing. When she pushed Beacon away, he used his next trick: chewing on the headboard right beside her ear to get her attention.
Everyone should have a cat, in Rayma's opinion. Especially people with difficulties getting out of bed in the morning.
"I know, I know,” Rayma muttered. She cracked open an eyelid and glanced at the time. Three a.m.
What had possessed her to work for the morning news?
Well, at least Beacon was on her time schedule. He jumped to the floor as she pushed aside the covers.
"Youch,” Rayma hollered as Beacon nipped her ankle, then turned and dashed to the kitchen.
Rayma followed. Her strange cat wasn't looking for food. He was looking for coffee.
Surely Beacon was the only cat who drank coffee in the morning. Of course, by the time he got a hold of it, it wasn't exactly coffee, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. A dab of coffee mixed with water and his cat's milk, and he lapped it up every morning like gold.
He'd been one of those salvaged alley cats, almost dead when she rescued him. Too young to be drinking out of a bowl, she fed him and watched over him until he made it through some rough days. He almost had a concussion because of kids next door who knocked him around as if he were a soccer ball. She'd found him just steps from the beach the day after she moved in.
She thought the cat was a sign, a compass telling her she was in the right place at the right time. Like an instrument gauge telling her how close she was to running on empty, he had made her feel full again. Though she often doubted the sanity of her move to the island, Beacon reminded her she was doing the right thing.
When she came to South Padre she had plans, goals, but more than anything, she craved normalcy. Or as much normalcy as possible. She started out her new life by investing in a beachside condo, allowing herself this one luxury. Windows looked out over the beach and slices of personal mementos were placed throughout.
Bright, open, cheery. She required color. A bright yellow kitchen with stainless steel appliances and smaller red ones, lavender colored bathroom with plush purple towels and a sunny white living room with colorful prints helped to keep her cheerful. Her bedroom followed the pattern with tan walls, old stuffed animals, and a nightlight in every corner.
She didn't have a lot of money, didn't live like she had a lot of money, but neither did she have a lot of bills. She saved some, spent some, and planned for one day in the future when her life would change again.
Rayma poured herself a cup of coffee and closed her eyes a moment to savor the sting of the woodsy flavor, her first cup devoid of delicacies meant to awaken her, not for her to enjoy. Her second cup would contain sugar, cream, whipped topping and anything else she might desire that day. It was a treat she didn't allow herself to feel guilty about. So what if the camera made her appear ten pounds heavier? Who was she trying to impress?
And why was she still craving chocolate? She searched her pantry. She could at least put a shaving in her second cup.
Rayma was excited as she arrived at work that morning, but she fought a scowl during the two hours of taping, her excitement turning to irritation. How many times did the most famous of South Padre restaurants have their male chefs fighting in the middle of guests? And News 12 had caught it on camera. Tony wouldn't not air it, would he?
Apparently so.
She marched to Tony's office when the newscast was over, but his secretary put her off. “I'll let him know you want to see him as soon as he's free."
Rayma walked to her cubicle and tore a doughnut from Nicole's hand.
"Hey, what are you doing?” Nicole constantly struggled with her extra five pounds and her lack of willpower, and had entreated Rayma to save her from the latter.
"Saving you.” Rayma stuffed the doughnut in the trash. “You asked me not to let you eat bad stuff, and swore you wouldn't get mad at me."
Nicole moaned. “Today's my cheat day."
"So goes being the coach,” Rayma sang out as she turned on her computer. Nicole stood up and leaned her chin against Rayma's cubicle, located within a mess of other cubicles. While Rayma's was clean and accompanied by one green plant and a picture of the ocean, Nicole's was littered with family photos and her children's drawings.
"How did your anniversary go last night?” Nicole asked. “Not too well, obviously."
"Why do you say that?” Rayma keyed in her password, and leaned back in her chair to give Nicole her attention. Okay, eighty-percent of her attention. The rest of her was focused on Tony, when he'd be back, what she planned to say to him.
"Your attitude sucks this morning."
"I'm pissed at Tony,” Rayma said.
"So what's new?"
Yeah, their boss always seemed to piss someone off. Today, it was Rayma. Only, Rayma wouldn't just sit by and get over it. She'd confront him.
She glanced at her watch. “Where is he?"
"He's here somewhere. I saw him this morning. How'd your date with Mike go?"
"Just like I thought it would. No, better."
"Dammit, Rayma.” Someone strolled by carrying a tray of doughnuts. Nicole snatched one and stuffed it in her mouth before Rayma could react. “What'd you do?"
"Do what?” Rayma asked, now focusing the eighty-percent on her computer and none towards Nicole.
Nicole pounded the desk and made Rayma look up. “What'd you do?"
"I broke up with Mike, found my next boyfriend. Oh wait, he can't be my next boyfriend. He's too cute."
Nicole was the only person here who knew of Rayma's hard luck with men and her lack of trust, only she didn't know the profound details. Caitlyn knew, but they rarely saw each other anymore. Not since she'd happily married the man of her dreams.
"When are you going to have kids?” Nicole asked.
"Probably never."
"Don't you want children?"
"I want children. I just haven't found their father yet."
"Got any plans for tonight? Maybe go in search of your next victim?"
"I have no plans and I have no victims.” It was Friday, the night she used to go out with Caitlyn on a girl's night out. She missed those days. “You wanna go out?"
"Kids, remember."
"Your husband can't watch them?” Rayma asked.
"Shoot, my husband would die if he knew I was going out with you. He knows you're a serial relationship killer."
"Nicole,” Rayma exclaimed, but Nicole was laughing when she said it. Rayma grabbed Nicole's half-eaten doughnut, took a bite, and stuffed it in the trash.
"Wench,” Nicole called as she sat at her cubicle.
Rayma read her messages and contemplated opening one from an email address she didn't recognize. Rayma, being the curious person she was, chose to open it after running a virus scan. Hey, one could never be too careful when it came to email these days.
Her heart stopped beating. Or was it just beating faster? A flurry of nerves and excitement bubbled her insides. She pressed the print key and snatched up the document. She thought she heard Nicole call out to her but she didn't stop.
This time, Tony's secretary buzzed her through. “What can I do for you today?” he asked.
Tony was an attractive older man with graying hair, three kids, and a fantastic wife who knew how to spoil him. Though he devoted most days to pissing someone off, Rayma had to admit he was a good guy. He cared about his family and would consider anything his employees had to say.
"I'm upset because our news footage on the restaurant last night didn't get aired. I came to remedy that."
"It wasn't important,” Tony said.
"Not important? Two chefs were fighting in the middle of one of the most popular restaurants in town. What could be more important?"
"I'm a businessman. I won't air controversy on the news. That's what The Spectic is for."
"We are the news. We air the current events around town."
"We don't know why those men were fighting and it isn't our business to find out."
Rayma figured Tony's wife had to be bored as hell. Didn't the news print controversy? Isn't that what the news was best at? Yet Tony, afraid he might ruffle someone's feathers, didn't want to report on the most outrageous event that had happened since she'd been here.
"You can bet KPNG would have aired it the moment it happened,” Rayma said, reminding Tony they weren't the only news station on the island. “I bet they'd buy the footage from me for a hefty price, and we're the only ones with an exclusive."
"An exclusive of two men fighting in a restaurant. If we had an exclusive of everybody who had a fight, we'd have to air a fighting reality TV show."
"What about this?” Rayma asked as she thrust the email she'd received towards Tony. “Is this important enough?"
"What is it?"
"It's an email saying Vin Doux is a cover for one of the largest drug smuggling rings in Texas, coming from Central America and going throughout all the regions of Texas and beyond."
"It's also anonymous,” he said, handing the paper back to Rayma. “We don't report news from an anonymous source."
"Last night wasn't anonymous. I saw it with my own eyes."
"You saw a fight. Big deal."
"Like someone would risk their life to tell me who they are,” Rayma said, indicating the email. “Come on, let me at least investigate this. This is the biggest news this pathetic little island has had."
Rayma missed investigative journalism. Just this email gave her flagging enthusiasm a boost. She was getting bored with life in this small town and was ready for something big to happen. Before, she needed to get away from the life she survived. She'd craved boredom and solitude. Now, it was beginning to get to her. The biggest news this side of Texas, and Tony wanted to ignore it.
Tony stood, placing his thumbs in his pocket, and glanced out the window to the sea below. She walked up beside him. From here, the ocean churned into puddles on the beach, wiping sand away with it and polishing a new layer to an unusual smoothness.
Sea and sand. Nothing else.
What more did she need besides this? Good job, nice boss, comfy condo, safe existence.
Boring.
She might have convinced herself boring was good if Tony hadn't said his next words.
"I'll let you air the footage from last night. But if you want to look into it more you have to do it on your own time and not under the authorization of News 12."



Chapter Two
"What were you thinking?” Moore chewed on the stump of his unlit cigar, obviously trying to quit smoking cigarettes again. For some ridiculous reason, he thought cigars were healthier.
"What?” Camden opened cabinets in search of breakfast while he tried to ignore Moore's temper. He knew exactly what Moore was talking about but was eager to stretch it out. His fight with Shawn hadn't been the best of his plans and even worse, that newswoman just happened to be having dinner there. That didn't up his chances for conciliation with Web.
The kitchen of this large but dreary coffin was Camden's favorite part of the house. Wide and open, but closed off to the other rooms, bright, airy and comfortable. It was the place the agents usually convened when they had something important to discuss. It was the only escape where Camden didn't feel enclosed in a tight box, like in here, maybe there were holes in the box and he could breathe.
Today, though, he couldn't breathe. Not with Moore's words suffocating him.
"Shawn's been arrested,” Moore said. “We're hoping he'll give us info on Web."
Camden slammed the cabinet door closed. “He's been arrested?"
"What else do you propose we do?” Moore struggled with a cereal box wrapper. Camden wanted to laugh. A macho DEA agent, and he couldn't even tear the plastic from a cereal box. “Good thing we got him before Darrell's claws found him."
Camden poured milk, banana and protein into a blender. He pushed the start button, drowning out Moore's next words. Moore managed to get the cereal open and ended up spilling a quarter of it on the floor.
"Why'd you bring Shawn into it? He's like, what, twenty?"
Camden tasted his shake, hit the blend button one last time just to piss Moore off, and poured the shake into his glass. “I wanted Web to trust me more, to see me as an ally who will take up for him."
And hadn't Moore said they were going to have to get nasty? What did Moore think that was? Geez, there was no pleasing anyone these days.
Camden had served as an agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration for the past seven years and worked undercover most of that time. Before that, he'd served in the Army, acquiring skills in the Special Forces until leaving to do what he was meant to do since adolescence. Joining the DEA and busting high-end drug lords had been Camden's mission ever since the death of his fourteen year old brother when Camden was seven. That, along with the drug related execution of his friend at sixteen, gave him an intense hatred for drugs and the people that made them readily available to naïve kids.
If Camden saved just one child from the death of a drug overdose or a drug-induced slaying, he would feel he succeeded in life. He'd rather just kill Darrell now and get it over with, save the taxpayers money, and give Camden more time to find other pathetic individuals who made their living preying on kids and giving them a life-long addiction to drugs.
But the criminal justice system sucked. This assignment was his hardest yet. For the past two years, he'd served as chef of a very lucrative restaurant, known to be the largest drug smuggling ring in Texas, moving some of the best Cocaine and designer drugs money could buy. Add drug manufacturing to a slew of killings and money laundering, and Darrell Weberley, A.K.A. Web, and his goons could be sentenced to life.
If the DEA could prove it.
Camden didn't have a culinary degree, but thanks to his babysitter's good cooking and his interest in learning, he grew adept at food preparation. His skill, along with a fake degree, had helped him land the job at Vin Doux. Things had gone smoothly until his fight with Shawn.
Now, things really sucked.
"Did your plan work?” Moore asked.
Camden bit down a strong aftertaste from his protein shake and placed his glass on the counter, mentally preparing himself for his next endeavor. He hadn't slept last night. He'd been too busy wondering how to make things right with Web. Worrying there was nothing he could do to make things right with Web.
Stressing over how the hell he was going to tell Moore.
"No."
"What do you mean no?"
If nothing else, maybe they could get Shawn to talk. Maybe with Shawn's testimony, they could lock Web up. For a few months.
"I was fired."
"What?” Moore jumped from his perch on the table and let out expletives that had run through Camden's head all night long. The box of Captain Crunch flipped over, pouring out what was left, and his bowl of cereal and milk jumped to the floor along with it.
His expletives were no longer addressed solely at Camden.
Camden didn't want to listen. Yes, this operation was important, but it was hard to get into Darrell Weberley's inner circle. A man as successful as he for so long wouldn't dare take a chance on anyone. Camden was closer than any agent had ever been, and he'd thrown it all away in one incident. He hoped to beg, borrow or steal to get back into that circle.
Lacey flitted in, which was quite an understatement. When Lacey entered a room, it was like a storm had just blown through, all five-four of her. She changed her hairstyle as much as people changed the oil on their car, and was now sporting a short, almost spiky cut in an orange-red color. One good thing Camden could say about her was she didn't even remotely resemble a DEA agent or, for that matter, any officer of the law.
Her skull and cross-bone tattoo was the first turn-off. Wearing a short tiered red and black plaid skirt, a short-sleeved black t-shirt with a longer white one underneath, and large silver hoop earrings, she looked as if she'd just graduated high-school, and she was older than Camden by two years.
"What's for breakfast?” Lacey asked, eying Camden's shake in disgust. Moore was busy cleaning cereal off the floor. She helped by picking up the box and shaking it to see if any was left. Finding none, she threw it on the table.
"Whatever you decide to fix,” Camden replied.
Lacey rolled her eyes and opened the refrigerator. “What do I look like?"
"What do I look like?” Camden countered. “I'm not your personal chef."
"I'm tired of cereal."
"Then go to the grocery store. That's part of your job."
They were all suffering burnout and getting tired of each other's company. They'd been living together in the safe house for two years and not one of them was enjoying the other's company.
Especially when they never liked each other in the first place.
"What am I doing here?” Lacey closed the fridge, arms empty, and sighed.
"You're playing wife in case you've forgotten,” Moore said.
"Well I want a divorce."
Moore and Lacey were posing as Camden's landlords. Camden lived in the garage apartment beside their immaculate beach home, and so far it had worked well for him. Though he usually spent most of his time in the house, he could always escape to the confines of his efficiency apartment and avoid his coworkers. They didn't have it so easy. All they had was their bedrooms to flee to when they wanted to be alone.
"Hey, if you want to quit, I can find someone else,” Moore said. “You knew what you were getting into when you accepted this assignment."
"I haven't had sex in two years,” Lacey said.
"We can remedy that,” Moore said.
"Ugh.” Lacey grabbed a piece of bread and popped it in the toaster. “I need a vacation."
"We all do,” Moore said.
"The ways things are going, it'll take another two years,” Lacey replied.
"We knew going into this it would be a big operation,” Camden said. “These guys aren't stupid. It's going to take time."
"We need to up the ante,” Lacey said. “We need a girl ... me ... to take over."
"Yeah right,” Moore said. “You wanna screw the truth out of Web?"
"Hey, he's kinda cute and I'm kinda horny."
Camden slammed his glass in the dishwasher and pivoted to Lacey. “Have you forgotten Fletcher?” he asked, thumping on his chest. “I haven't. I was there. I know what Web is capable of."
"You don't have to worry about it anymore,” Moore interrupted. “Camden's ruined it for all for us."
"How's that?"
"He got fired."
The expletive Lacey expressed resembled Moore's, and the butter she'd been slathering across her bread was now forgotten. “I guess I will have to screw the truth out of him."
* * * *
"James, I need your help,” Rayma whispered as she typed the words on her keyboard.

What's up?

If anyone could find anything, James Noose could, and he was now online. She flexed her fingers and started typing, explaining to James, via instant message, what was going on in her life at the moment and the anonymous email she was trying to track. She'd already replied to the email and requested information, but it came back to her undeliverable. She'd posted numerous messages on a drug forum with nothing but info on how to create her own meth lab, and she'd visited numerous law enforcement sites, including the DEA website and Vin Doux's restaurant site.
Most people called James by his last name, Noose, because he always seemed to have one tied around his neck. Rayma used to call him News because he'd always supplied news to her and had been her most vital source of information when she was working in Austin.
Too bad the information on Keegan hadn't come sooner.
"Delivery,” Nicole said as she walked up to Rayma's desk. Expecting to see more doughnuts, she glanced up with a tight smile, looked down at the keyboard to resume her business and, realizing doughnuts weren't that colorful, she looked up again to see a vast arrangement of flowers so cumbersome they drooped from the vase.
"Who're the flowers from?” It was a rhetorical question, as if she didn't already know the answer. Nicole sat the vase on the credenza and, as if some kind of sign, a flurry of pink dropped down to the middle of Rayma's desk.
Rayma picked up the pink petal, twirled it in her fingers, and sniffed. Flowers were beautiful, but they didn't make her heart melt. They didn't make her change her mind once she'd made it up.
"Let's find out.” Nicole handed her the card and waited while Rayma opened it.
"Mike.” Rayma thrust the card back to Nicole and didn't wait to see if she was taking it before she let go. “Do me a favor and help me deliver some to everyone here. There's plenty to go around.” She handed the flower to Nicole.
"Oh come on, they're beautiful and they smell great."
"Then you take them."
"Yeah, and have my husband wonder who Mike is?"
Rayma laughed and turned her attention back to her computer at the chime indicating she had a message. She typed her reply and spun her chair around to face Nicole, who was still watching her.
"I talked to my husband and he'll watch the kids tonight. You wanna get the girls together and have dinner?"
"That'd be great,” Rayma said. By the girls, Nicole meant some of the women who worked in the building. They used to go out at least once a month but it had been almost three months since the last time everyone got together.
Three months. About the time she started dating Mike. Why had she put her life on hold for a man she didn't particularly like?
"I go out to dinner on Friday night and then come home with these flowers.” Nicole laughed. “Can you just imagine?"
Rayma laughed and glanced at her watch. Tony was going to air the footage at four and six. The girls were going to meet at Vin Doux at seven.
"Sure you want to go there after the footage you aired?” Nicole asked. Rayma left nothing out of last night's incident, not even the handsome chef who glared at her and walked away without a reply to her question.
"I'm sure,” Rayma said, though she normally didn't like the swank restaurant. She usually chose Boater's Bay. But at Vin Doux, the food was good and hey, the chef was hot.
She was on a mission to find out if this mysterious email was true.
* * * *
Camden jabbed his fist into tender dirt and pulled out weeds that had slowly overtaken his garden. A breeze from the ocean drifted past him and carried the earthy scent of soil and vegetation to his senses. He inhaled, loving the combination of flowers and beach, dirt and salt, and thought if he were to pick a place to stay, something akin to this would be perfect.
Minus Moore, Lacey, and Darrell.
The garden was a benefit to the safe house, and no one else cared for it but Camden. It overlooked the isolated beach which bordered the side and back of the house. Lately, Camden only had time to make sure the plants were getting enough water, but now that he had no job he took the time to pull weeds and tend the garden. Not that it mattered—he wouldn't be around to enjoy it now. He'd failed his mission and would probably be assigned to a desk job. That, he couldn't handle.
Vegetables nearly ripe for picking flourished in his care while flowers spread their colors in a stunning array. The texture of the dirt relaxed his bad temper even while angry thoughts flashed through his mind.
It didn't help his already sour disposition to hear Moore bitch at him for what happened. Lacey moaned about how she would never have a life, something she should have thought of when she became an agent, and Moore insinuated nothing was done right when it was done without his approval.
Camden would like to see just how right Moore would be if he were the one working with Darrell day after day. Camden could make his own damned decisions and had done so, with favorable results, many times in his career and his life.
He'd gotten fired, so what. He'd failed other times and succeeded in the end. He planned on doing the same this time around.
"Camden?” Lacey sprinted out of the house with his cell phone in hand, covering the mouthpiece. Then, moving just her lips with no sound emerging said, “It's Darrell."
Camden wiped dirt from his hands on his jeans and took the phone. “Yeah?” he asked as Lacey stood directly in front of him, waiting to find out why Darrell called.
"Who was the girl that answered?” Darrell asked, as if it was any of his business.
"Uh, girlfriend.” Camden glared at Lacey's sneer and turned his back on her.
"I owe you an apology,” Darrell said, startling Camden. “I overreacted last night. You've been a good man and my best chef. I trust you, and you were only trying to look out for me. I hope I can talk you into coming back to work for me."
* * * *
Their revelry would have been more suited for Boater's Bay, but Vin Doux accepted the five women whose ambience shined above all others. This time, Rayma dressed to impress. Little black dress, beads around her neck and elegant heels. It was girl's night out and it was dress up time.
Nicole's husband nearly had a heart attack when she strolled down the stairs wearing a lacy red top tucked into a short denim skirt, but Rayma kissed his cheek, grabbed Nicole's hand, and told him she'd be careful with his wife. Liz was on the prowl and it was obvious with her daring attire—low cut dress twisting into some kind of ruffle skimming barely below her inner thigh. Brenda, recently divorced, was probably trying to pick up husband number three and showing off the weight she'd lost in a simple yet sexy dress. Joey was elegant in her white slacks and dark brown cami.
They didn't try to be couth—they were out to have fun. They drank martinis, margaritas, and beer. All in that order. By the time dinner came, they were having a ball and catching the eye of several. Whether the patrons were offended at the women's hushed but lewd behavior, or impressed with their social skills, one couldn't be sure.
"Did you see the report today?” Nicole asked. “There's no telling what they put in our food."
Rayma wasn't about to tell her about the email and what could possibly be in their food.
"Yeah that chef is kinda cute,” Liz said, adjusting her bodice a tad lower.
Rayma giggled. She remembered exactly how cute he was. She still craved chocolate because of that encounter. “Not my type."
"But much cuter than Bob,” Brenda said, wailing in a fit of giggles.
"I don't know,” Rayma sang.
Bob, an acronym for battery operated boyfriend, was a joke between them and Nicole—the only married one—was the one to roll her eyes. She probably needed Bob more than any of them and when Rayma said so, Nicole punched her in the arm.
"Ow,” Rayma said, rubbing her arm and dissolving into a fit of giggles when Nicole grabbed her again. “Two fights in two days for Vin Doux? We'll be kicked out for sure."
* * * *
Camden was seasoning Mahi Mahi Surpreme when Web stalked in with a huff.
"That TV Reporter is here,” Web said, snatching a strip of bell pepper from a plate. Camden slapped his hand away and let out a “hiyah.” Darrell ate the pepper anyway. “How dare she come in here after the news report she aired? It's almost like she's taunting us."
"Who?” Camden asked.
"That bitch who aired last night's fight. She's here. I need you to go smooth things over with her."
"It's too late now, it's already been aired. What's the point?” Camden flipped the pan up, turning the fish to cook the other side, and considered the reporter from last night. He only noticed later, when he saw her on TV, how beautiful she was. Tall, with just the right amount of curves, she looked damned good in the dress she wore last night. Her long blonde hair draped across a shapely shoulder and everything appeared natural, though it was hard to tell these days. “Besides,” Camden continued, “you can thank her for the crowd we have tonight."
"I can thank God it's Friday,” Web said. “She has nothing to do with it. I need you to go see if you can woo her."
"What? Now?"
"Yeah, now. I'll get someone to cover for you."
Wooing was something Camden could definitely do. He enjoyed women and most of them enjoyed him. He'd be the first to admit he was a player, and most women didn't care. There was no way he was going to settle down before a ripe old age, and thirty-three was still too young in his opinion. He figured seven more years would find him someone he could spend the rest of his life with. It was easier, as an undercover DEA agent, to swear off marriage. There was no reason to have a long-term relationship when he couldn't commit.
Camden took off his hat and his apron, tossed the fish onto a plate, and handed it to Darrell. “This goes to table seventeen. Don't forget the rice."
This was part of the job he liked. Though he didn't get much time to meet the patrons, every now and then, he was afforded spare time to socialize, especially during slow times. And women seemed to flock to chefs, as if they held some secret in their genetic code. Chefs could cook, so they must know how to take care of a woman. Chefs weren't hardhearted DEA agents who couldn't know the first thing about romance.
And chefs looked damn good in tuxes.
Camden winked at Web, straightened his tie, and sauntered in search of ... what was her name? The news reporter. He'd know her when he saw her.
And he couldn't have missed her. Not enshrouded in that group of women. Woman was good. Women were even better.
* * * *
"Isn't that the guy?"
Rayma was perusing the dessert menu when Nicole pulled on her hands to get her attention. Rayma glanced up to see the chef from last night's news. The menu thudded to the table, and she latched onto her cocktail glass. She couldn't remember all the drinks they'd ordered, but after the food she'd consumed, her body was feeling no ill effects from alcohol.
The effects from the chef, however, were a different matter. She watched as he approached their table and talked to Liz. Liz? Of course Liz, why not? She was attractive, young, single, and scantily clad. Why wouldn't he be interested? Besides, Rayma wasn't on the look-out right now so why should she care?
He made his way around the table, next introducing himself to Brenda and Joey. They each fluttered at whatever he said to them. The guy was a looker, gorgeous even, but Rayma couldn't understand the female species. She would not act so juvenile.
The cliché of tall, dark and handsome suited him well. Tallness was a prerequisite for Rayma since she stood five-nine. Her height gave her an advantage as an investigative reporter, using it to peer over people's shoulders or to look over elevated desks. Usually, though, her height gave her an odd sense of self-consciousness, as if she were dwarfing other people. She rarely wore heels unless she wanted to be taller for a certain occasion, and what she looked for in a man was for him to be a least a crumb taller than she.
She bet this guy was half a foot taller. This time, his eyes were like molasses and they slid over her, attaching to her with the stickiness of syrup. It couldn't be the heat making her feel sticky because suddenly, she was trembling inside.
He leaned over and extended his hand. Dessert was forgotten. His eyes were nourishment enough.
"Your story probably wasn't good for business, but it did bring a lot of curious people around,” he said by way of introduction.
She wiped her hands on her cloth napkin and ignored his hand. His finally fell away.
"My name is Camden. I'm the chef who brought about your news story."
"I remember,” Rayma said. “Care to give us any insight?"
"Clashing of opinions,” he said. His smile revealed perfect teeth. “Kind of like now."
"Oh?” Rayma asked as she took a sip of wine.
"You think I'm a jerk. I think you're wrong."
"You going to beat me up over it?” she asked, smiling. He was handsome and charming. She was taken in by his good looks but not by his charm. Charm didn't faze her, though she was still unstable inside.
"I have to get back to work but I get off sometime after eleven. How about coffee?"
"Coffee at eleven?” she asked, oozing her own charm, turning her eyes down, then up again. Smiling. Flirting to her advantage, not his. “I'll be in bed by then."
"Bed sounds good. How about dinner Sunday? Sundays and Mondays are my only days off."
Rayma smiled, all the while thinking he would unknowingly offer the perfect approach to her investigation of the restaurant. She wasn't above using men for information, especially when they looked like him.
"That sounds fun,” she said. “You going to cook?"
"I'd be happy to cook for you."
She grabbed a pen and paper from her purse and wrote down her address. He brushed his hand across hers as he took the note. “See you Sunday."
"Whoa,” Nicole said as all five women watched him walk away. “He's not your next date profile. Remember old, fat, divorced?"
"So I'll go out with a fat guy tomorrow,” Rayma said and laughed at Nicole's expression. “Besides, you don't know, he could be divorced.” Rayma took the glass of wine Nicole obviously wasn't going to drink and finished it off for her. “And you're the one who said there doesn't have to be a spark, not me."



Chapter Three
Lacey knew Sunday was Camden's day off and he used that time to do whatever it was he did. Screw off, probably. He was the only one of them who had a personal life.
She left that morning before Moore could quiz her on where she was going and what she was doing, and if it would risk their undercover op.
She wasn't stupid.
She was divorced and hated being married, so the last thing she wanted to do was pretend to be. She wasn't going to be treated like an imbecile and lay out all her plans before she was allowed to do them. She wasn't a child, she wasn't married, and she was a free woman, dammit.
She knew Darrell Weberley's schedule like the back of her hand, though she had never met him. She'd spent the past two years of her life studying him, profiling him, watching his moves and listening to his conversations. She knew his hobbies, what kind of women he liked, and just how to approach him to get his attention.
So on Sunday morning, when most people were either sleeping off their hangover or attending church, Lacey packed a beach bag and drove down the rural road towards Darrell's house where she knew he would be horse back riding, his Sunday morning ritual.
She stopped on the road and stood outside her car with the hood up, wiping beads of sweat from her brow as she waited for horse and rider. She was determined to meet him but knew she had to be careful about it, lest Moore and Camden find out.
When he approached her several minutes later, she drank heartily from a plastic water bottle and poured it over her head and top as if she had been out there forever. She was wearing short denim shorts, a midriff shirt, and her bathing suit underneath.
"Car problems?” Darrell asked as he dismounted his horse.
"Yeah,” she said, sighing. “My phone doesn't pick up either. I've been out here for an eternity.” She pulled her stuck shirt from her body and fanned herself with it. “Can you help?"
He laughed and moved closer, keeping a tight rein on his horse. “I know nothing about cars. Sorry.” He glanced at her breasts which, to her delight, were beading out for his attention. “Where are you going?"
"I was going to go swimming,” she said. “I had a huge fight with my husband and I left. I didn't want him to find me, so I drove as far away as I could. Thought I'd lie on the beach for awhile to decide what to do."
"My phone works,” he said as he pulled it from his pocket. “Shall we call him?"
"No.” Lacey took hold of his arm and stared at him, eyes wide and full of worry, playing the damsel to a tee. She placed her other hand on the horse and touched his mane. “He's beautiful. What's his name?"
"Ceres,” Darrell said. “She's female."
"Oh.” Lacey took in a deep breath as she stroked the horse's mane, knowing she had what it took to catch a man's eye. Camden may not appreciate her looks and Moore didn't count, but she knew, because of her research on Darrell, what he liked in a woman. A tease who could see it through, a controller who liked to be controlled. A damsel in distress who could hold her own. Married women were like a trophy to him. He was just on the verge of being a sadist, from what she'd heard, and that was fine with her.
Like she'd told Moore, Darrell was cute and she was horny.
She'd had a boob job after her husband left her for a spunky blonde, and Darrell was a man who liked his women hot. After her divorce, Lacey went through a metamorphosis, emerging from a Tomboy with long but unappealing hair into a woman who was audacious enough to get what she wanted out of life. She played actress well, the undercover work had given her plenty of experience.
And she was going to play Darrell.
"I can't fix your car but I can give you a horseback ride to the private beach of your dreams. You game?"
"Oh, uh...” she stammered. She placed her hand on her chest, exaggerating her nervousness.
"I'm not going to rape you,” he assured her.
She politely laughed. “Of course not. I'd love a ride."
She grabbed her beach bag from the car and he helped her onto the horse. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed close to him, inhaling an unusual scent of grass, salt, horse, and aftershave.
As hot as it was outside, Darrell wore jeans, a t-shirt and a hat, which is something else she knew about him. He was sensitive to the sun and his horse riding days were about the only time he went outside.
She imagined his drugs were safely stashed away inside.
The horse strolled along a trail covered with brambles, and sometimes Darrell called out for her to duck her head. She pressed as closely against him as she could.
Just when she was beginning to feel like her lack of fear was a stupid thing, they emerged on a sandy path leading to the beach.
He was right. It was the beach of her dreams and not just because he was there. It was situated behind his house but far enough away so his house couldn't be seen. No one could get to it without trespassing on his property. Cupped by generous palm trees and shaped into a vee of sand on three sides, it offered the kind of privacy she sought. The kind of privacy she needed to start her seduction.
He stopped, helped her off, and tied his horse while she laid out her towel and grabbed oil from her bag. She felt him watching as she took off her shorts and top to reveal a diminutive bikini. She sat on her towel and stretched out her legs.
"Would you mind?” she asked as she held the suntan oil out for him. She knew planning a beach outing wasn't the best maneuver for someone who didn't like the sun, but he took the oil from her and started rubbing.
She closed her eyes, not having to fake the pleasure. She felt her nipples harden when he brushed his hands across her chest and she opened her eyes to find his reaction exactly as she'd hoped.
"I don't even know your name,” she said.
"Web."
"Web? As in the spider?"
He nodded. “Nickname."
"Sexy.” She opened her legs wider as he rubbed the inside of her thighs, and her body tightened and released like sand on a windy day. “My name's Lacey and I feel terrible about ruining your day. The last thing you must want to do is to lie around the beach and baby sit a woman who is pissed at her husband."
"Lying on the beach with a beautiful woman beats any other plans I had in mind."
She sat up and took the oil from him. “You want some?” She took off his shirt and poured it over him, knowing what she was doing was dangerous but uncaring at the moment.
She was having fun. This is what she was meant to do with her life, not sit inside a house and wait for things to happen. She was meant to make them happen.
"Why are you mad at your husband?"
"He's such a bore,” she said, pressing her neck to nuzzle his. “Oh, you smell so good.” She pulled away from him and wiped a fake tear from her eye. “We haven't had sex in months and I just found out he's cheating on me. I don't know what to do so I came out to be alone.” She lay back on her towel but he didn't follow. “I can't remember the last time I had an orgasm."
"Really?” Web asked.
Lacey knew this was no big deal to him. He had women all over him, all the time. He probably had several waiting for him in his house right now. A powerful man had powerful urges, and he was a man used to getting his way. She craved his attention and knew nothing small would do. There could be no chance meeting in a library, no dining out or dates for him.
"You using me to get back at your husband?"
"No.” She watched him watch her as she played with her top, touching the beads peaking from the breasts she spent a fortune on. She trailed her hands down her body, kept tan all year long from tanning beds. She touched the heat of her body and let out a soft moan. She didn't have to fake it, she thought she was going to explode at any moment. Then she touched his mustache, the same dark color of his hair, and to her delight, he opened his mouth to taste her. “But your hands on my body like that really turned me on."
"Yeah?"
"Mmm.” She didn't have to fake her moan. She hadn't had a man watch her like this in two years. She hadn't had an orgasm with anything other than a hand in two years. She didn't count that quickie with the grocery store clerk downtown.
She placed her finger back inside her and moved against it, thrashing around as he watched. She wanted him to touch her, begged him to with her eyes, but he merely watched.
She repeated her movements and placed her finger on his lips, rubbing the taste of her on him. She followed with a hard but quick kiss, reveling in the taste of her on him. She took her breasts into her hands. God that felt so good, who said fake was bad? Who said fake couldn't bring the pleasure the real thing could? And why had she waited so long?
Darrell, or Web or whatever he was supposed to be called, pushed her back until she was lying on the ground. She felt the sand in her hair, felt it massaging her butt cheeks as she screamed out her ecstasy.
He liked his women loud.
He took off his jeans, put on a condom and entered her. It didn't take her long, for she had already been on the brink of losing control. She moved against him, letting him pull her, bite her, taste her like no one had ever done before.
When they were done, he rolled off of her and retrieved his jeans, giving her no accolades or promises.
She hadn't expected any.
"Will I see you again?” she asked.
"I'm not a one-woman man,” Web said.
"And I'm not a one-man woman."
* * * *
Camden carried two paper sacks full of food and a bottle of Zinfandel when he knocked on Rayma's door Sunday evening. He was nearly bowled over by her smile, wide and unassuming. Sexy, but genuine as if she wasn't trying to be.
Or that could have been because he hadn't had a woman in a while.
A short denim skirt accentuated her long legs, paired with a sexy pink tank top, and toe nails to match. He caught a glimpse of hazel eyes, the color a reminder of the sky at dusk, the brownish blue seeming to merge into one color. He didn't want to let go of that glimpse, but she averted her attention to the paper sacks and started digging.
"What's this?” Rayma retrieved a tomato, smelled it, and held it up to the light, as if that would give her an indication of where it came from. “Garden grown?"
"Yes. My landlords allow me a section of property to tend a garden."
She pulled a bundle of flowers from the sack and sniffed them. “Did these come from your garden too?” Camden nodded as he unpacked fillets of beef. She found a vase and water for the flowers.
"I didn't expect you to cook for me on your day off. I was only teasing."
"I want to,” Camden said.
He began dinner as she set up a small table on the balcony outside. He watched her hair blow in the breeze, her dainty pink shirt revealing things she probably didn't mean to. She was an attractive woman, with a gracefulness that seemed second nature. Though he admitted to being a player, he admired women and was picky about whom he dated or went to bed with. Quality more than quantity.
And she was definitely quality.
He uncorked the wine, poured them both a glass, and let out an expletive when he nearly tripped on his own two feet. Glancing down, he realized it wasn't his own feet but a ball of fur looking up as if Camden was the one in the way.
Rayma rushed in and picked up the furball. “Sorry about that. This is Beacon, and he thinks if you have anything in your hands it's for him."
She disappeared down a hall and Camden heard a door open, then shut.
He'd damned near tripped over a cat.
He set the glasses on the table and wiped a drop of wine from the tile as he listened to Rayma's soft mutterings. He liked cats okay, but not enough to get excited over them and definitely not enough to cajole them with soft words.
He wondered how many soft words he'd have to speak to Rayma before she touched him that way.
Rayma came back in and grabbed her glass of wine. “He hates to be locked up."
"Don't lock him up. He's fine. I just thought I was tripping over my own two feet. Too interested in the view outside.” He looked at her, making it obvious he meant her. She smiled as she rolled her eyes. He followed her outside and sat at the table. The wind jumped to the balcony, grabbing Rayma's hair. She pulled at it, as if fighting back, and twisted it behind her, placing it under her shirt's strap.
"So what else do you do besides report on a restaurateur's impropriety?"
"What else do you do besides pick fights with coworkers?"
He laughed, she smiled in return. He liked her spunk. He liked the way her eyes flamed a color he couldn't quite place.
"You have a beautiful view from your condo,” he said, as he turned his attention to the waves. They crested against the sand and spewed into bubbles on shore.
"Thank you. I enjoy it."
"How long have you lived here?"
"A year."
"You've been here a year and I've never noticed you before?"
"You've never gotten into a fight with a coworker before,” she said.
"Damn.” Camden ran his fingers through his hair, helping the wind to ruffle it, and thought about how much this assignment had played hell with his social life. “I've got to get out more."
"How long have you been here?"
"Two years."
"Where are you from?"
"All over. My dad was in the military when I was young so all I can really remember is moving around a lot. Now I do the same thing."
"Lucky for you, it must be easy to find a job as a chef."
"Yeah, it is.” He hated lying to her, but he couldn't tell her he was a DEA agent, now could he?
"You're built pretty well for a chef,” she said.
He nearly choked on his wine, and set it down before he spilled it all over the place. “What's wrong with a chef being built?"
"I'd think you'd want to sample all your food, and thus get fat."
He flexed his bicep and smiled. “I work out a lot."
"A man who works out, tends garden and cooks? Is there anything you can't do?"

Commit, he thought. “Sure, lots of things."
"Yeah, what?” she asked, leaning closer to him.
"I can't concentrate when a pretty woman like you is this close to me."
She laughed and sat back in her chair. “That's a line if I ever heard one."
"I need to check on the food."
She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he checked the food, retrieved the layered salad from the fridge, and poured them another glass of wine. “I don't do dishes,” he said.
"Understandable,” she said, washing her hands. “So what are we eating?"
"Beef fillets braised in red wine and tomatoes. It's ready whenever you are."
They went to the balcony to eat. The sky looked as if a ball of paint had been thrown against the ends of the earth, bursting forth colors of orange and blue as it landed. It splattered across the ocean and reached out into the sand, where it drew lines up to Rayma's condo.
"Oh wow, this is good."
"Thank you,” Camden said. She was talking about the food, but he couldn't taste it. The air was too fresh, too salty, and too splendid. He wasn't in that damn coffin of a house. Even if it did offer the beauty of the ocean, it couldn't compare to this. Free. He hadn't been free in a long time. He wasn't in that damn restaurant, baking, smelling those spices that somehow became a part of his nose. Vin Doux was set against the ocean, too, but it was a controlled beauty. This uninhibited and natural beauty was pure heaven. Birds flying, arching in the sky, and diving, as if freefalling into the ocean, only to come back up again.
"Where'd you learn to cook like this?” Rayma asked.
"School. Where did you move from?"
"Austin."
"No boyfriend?"
"Not at the moment,” she said. “Just my cat and me."
"Is there a story on the name?"
She finished chewing and took a sip of wine before replying. “I found him almost dead in the sand when I first moved here. At first I felt I made a horrible and rash decision, but he was my beacon telling me I didn't."
Her closed expression didn't encourage another question, so he left it at that. They continued their dinner with small talk and bouts of pleasurable silence. She was comfortable to be around and he didn't feel like they had to fill every empty space with chatter.
He liked that about her.
He didn't ask many personal questions and neither did she. He didn't like to ask questions when he couldn't answer his own without lying. He wondered if it was the same with her.
When they were finished eating, he helped her carry the dishes inside, but she insisted he let her clean. He perused her music as she loaded the dishwasher.
"Hip-hop?” he asked. “Rock and jazz?"
"I like a little bit of everything. Mainly I just turn on the radio to my favorite station but every now and then I treat myself to a good CD."
"Hmm.” He plugged in a jazzy dance tune and pulled her away from the sink.
They fit well together. She was tall enough not to make him feel like a giant, but even with her heels, he was able to put his chin on the top of her head. He whipped her around the living room and she laughed, but kept up.
"You're a good dancer,” she said when the song ended.
"So are you."
They stopped. He looked at her and was just about to kiss her when she interrupted. “I don't do one night stands."
"Then let's go out again tomorrow."
* * * *
So he appeared to be perfect, like a dream man very few women found. Rayma knew better than anyone that men who appeared perfect usually weren't. There had to be something wrong with him, starting with the fact he worked for a restaurant accused, by an anonymous source, to be an illicit drug smuggling ring.
That could explain the danger element lurking under the hood of his eyes.
Their date finished smoothly, with a chaste kiss goodnight that left her wanting more. She gave him her phone number and hoped he would call again. Not so she could see him but so she could find out about the illegal activities of Vin Doux.
Though it wouldn't hurt to see him again. After all, she had a three month rule she always stuck with no matter what. And it'd be easy to stick to it with him because, even if she did convince herself to settle down, she'd never do so with a convict or someone who should be.
When it came to a three month relationship, providing it even lasted that long, Rayma had her standards despite what she'd said to Nicole. No short men, no crude men, no dull men, and no one who couldn't take care of himself.
Hmm, seemed Camden fit that mold perfectly.
As far as men who lied, she expected that and, since the relationship was usually built on sex and nothing else, she didn't see whether it mattered as long as it didn't involve illegal activities, other relationships, or anything that might harm Rayma in the end.
Hmm, Camden didn't fit that mold. Not if what that email said was true.
Her friends accused her of being harsh, of being too picky, but if they knew what she had been through they wouldn't rag her so much. They'd tried to set her up with friends of friends of friends and she always declined. She never had blind dates, one night stands or second dates with someone she didn't hit it off with the first time.
Why waste her time or anybody else's?
Yeah, her standards were high but she had a reason for them. Mostly, men weren't important to her in that sense. She had plenty of men friends she would never consider taking to the next stage. Plenty of friends who could comfort her when she was down, even if they didn't know what they were comforting her for.
And plenty of good reasons to keep away from relationships.
* * * *
Rayma tried to act her usual self, calm and smiling, as she aired the morning news, but the email she'd checked and printed this morning was burning a hole in her skin.
She had to talk to Tony.
Two hours was a long time to sit under the harsh lighting of cameras and lights as the news was recorded. She clutched the printed paper in her pocket and tried not to frown or display her worry on the screen.
But the feeling inside her was more than just worry. It was the anticipation of what was to come. The thrill of having something to investigate. She liked her job and the people she worked with, but she was not into talking about the daily news. The daily, boring grind.
She was into investigating it. Digging up the details. And then reporting it.
She knew she should have taken up freelance investigative journalism when she quit her job in Austin and moved to South Padre but she needed security, normalcy, and she thought this job would offer her that. Instead, it furnished boredom and regret.
Worse, it gave her the sense of actually needing to feel a risk that came with digging up dirt. And that was the last thing she needed, much less should want to feel. Hadn't she had enough?
When the newscast finally ended, she was at Tony's door.
"Look at this,” she said, thrusting the email at him as soon as he bid her enter.
He scanned it. “Another anonymous email. So what?” He handed it back to her and looked at her as if he expected her to leave.
She didn't. “Aren't you interested in what it says?"
"I saw."
"There's a huge drug bust going down, very undercover, and we could be the only ones to get it on tape."
"Unless the hacker is emailing other gullible reporters and telling them the same thing."
"Well then we'll be the only ones not there."
"Tell me something,” Tony said as he placed his pen on the desk and clasped his hands together, pulling forward and staring at her as if she'd just come from outer space. “Have you ever been to a drug bust? Do you know how dangerous it is?"
"Actually, I have. Have you?"
"You have, with the protection of the police force behind you. Leave this job to them.” She started to speak, but he held up a hand. “I've already had a complaint about the incident at the restaurant and your coverage of it. I will not allow you to make a fool of News 12."
"We report the news. Some news is foolish. If you don't want to be made a fool of yourself then you don't need to report any news."
"Rayma, you are not an investigative journalist here. You're an anchorwoman. You don't pick your projects and report what you want."
"Are these people controlling you, too?"
* * * *
Ellis laughed at Rayma when she begged him to come with her and she didn't dare ask Nicole, so the only company she had was on the other end of the phone.
James Noose had been a police detective for years and had been a part of Rayma's life since she was a young girl. Her mom told her he was an uncle, but when her dad was sent to prison, James was no longer welcome in their home.
The first serious relationship she had—at sixteen—she moved out of her house and in with the guy, caught him in bed with another woman, and swore off men. Two years later she hooked up with Karl in college and investigated him on the side, thinking she'd rather know his dirty secrets before she became serious again. He hadn't taken it well and walked out the door.
Keegan was another story.
"Why don't you move back to Austin?” James asked her as she did her best to tip-toe through a dense grove of foliage. The rundown warehouse sat a few hundred feet away and the area was in dire need of landscaping, though she doubted the owner wanted it to look pretty. “You can work for me full time doing what you love to do,” James continued.
It's not like Rayma hadn't thought of it. She didn't enjoy police work, but she enjoyed investigating into people's lives and discovering the things they strove to keep hidden. And she didn't believe in reporting every foul thing she learned; some things were meant to be kept secret.
As a child, she loved to write and her inquisitive nature most often got her in trouble. She joined the two, becoming an investigative reporter instead of working as a mere investigator or even a reporter. She knew the statistics, she knew her job could entail trouble for her, but she didn't care. She loved every minute of it.
She'd pissed Tony off earlier. She'd only been there a year and had never given him flack. Now that boredom controlled her, she opened her big fat mouth and got in trouble.
If he knew she was here, he'd probably fire her with no compunction.
She stopped in a grove of trees she thought would supply her with ample protection from discovery. She grabbed her digital camera, thankful she'd bought a hands-free phone cord, and started taking pictures of the outskirts of the building. Then, noticing movement inside, she used her zoom as much as she could without distorting it. Now would be a good time to have her tripod, but since it wouldn't fit in her purse, she had to leave it at home. She did, however, have small binoculars, which she used to her advantage.
With no luck. There were definitely people inside, she saw shadows, heads and sometimes frames of objects within the warehouse, but nothing she could really put a finger on and nothing that provided pertinent information.
"Why don't you move here?” she asked James, continuing their conversation. It made her feel less alone knowing he was on the other end of the phone. “You would enjoy what I'm doing right now."
"What, get eaten up by mosquitoes?"
"I have bug spray."
She placed her binoculars back in her bag and as she was doing so, saw movement in her peripheral vision. She dropped her purse, cringed at the sound, and fell to her knees.
"Oh God, oh God.” Her pepper spray was in here somewhere. Maybe if she crawled low enough, she'd find cover. Maybe she was just imagining things and hadn't really seen someone.
She heard a rustle in the bushes. Her heart thrashed against her chest, as if trying to rip her ribcage open so it could run.
Something she'd very much like to do right now.
"What's wrong?” James asked.
"I think I just saw someone,” she whispered. Why oh why didn't she have her pepper spray in her pocket? Why would she put it in a bag full of so much junk it would take an eternity to find it?
There, she passed over the pepper spray just where she thought she'd find it—at the bottom of her bag. She went back to it, grabbed it in her sweaty hand and began to stand.
But was trapped in a firm hold before she could think twice. She screamed.



Chapter Four
Camden saw Rayma as soon as she drove up, even though she'd been smart enough to turn off her headlights before parking. He watched as she traipsed through and around brambles of undergrowth and metal, a cell phone earplug draping down one shoulder and a bag on the other.
At least she'd had the foresight to wear jeans and tennis shoes.
He let her do her thing until she started taking pictures, the camera flash shining like her cat's namesake. All he needed was for her to be seen and for him to be exposed when he had to save her ass.
His jeans were sticking to his balls despite the fact the sun had gone down hours before. He shouldn't have been there. She damn sure shouldn't have been there. He was pissed that she was placing his mission and both their lives in danger.
When she went for her pepper spray, he didn't give her a chance. She screamed, but he covered her mouth with his hand and didn't bother to whisper assurances in her ear. She needed to be scared for her life so she'd think twice about coming out to a warehouse at night, alone. Especially one suspected of manufacturing drugs.
"If I move my hand, promise you won't scream and attract the attention of someone who won't care how pretty you are."
She must have recognized his voice because she stopped struggling. He let his hand drop from her mouth. She brought her purse around and whacked him on the side of the head.
"James? Yeah I'm fine. I'll call you later.” She took the plug out of her ear and dropped her phone in the bag. His eyes adjusted long ago, but he didn't need them to feel the daggers shooting from hers.
A faint sliver of moon along with lights off the warehouse offered the only guide to tonight's rendezvous. He couldn't take a chance on a flashlight but apparently Rayma thought otherwise, because she grabbed one and turned it straight towards his face.
He snatched her up and threw her around his shoulder, her legs dangling a little too close to what was about to be rock hard. She thrashed, and he pressed his hand against her ass to keep her from moving.
Now he was definitely rock hard.
He pulled the flashlight from her grasp and muttered a few nonsensical words at her as he turned it off. He squatted to grab her bag and carried her to her car, propped around his shoulder.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Whoa, so the lady had a mouth on her. All the better. “Getting you out of here before you get yourself killed."
"So you admit there's something dangerous going on?"
Trying to control urges he didn't want to feel, he bit the inside of his mouth and tasted blood. He'd been on this undercover op for two years and now she comes along. She could royally screw things up for him and put herself in danger as well. He didn't want to have to worry about somebody else, much less a pretty little reporter who didn't know the first thing about investigating a potential crime scene.
If it'd been anybody besides him who saw her drive up, she would most likely be dead. Or worse.
Those goons didn't care about anybody or anything except money and drugs. If anyone got in their way, they were dead. Rayma, being 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 it was anything besides an accident.
The DEA was trying to prove, along with the myriad crimes Darrell Weberley committed, that he was responsible for the murder of an agent. Bill Fletcher.
Camden had to pretend he believed Web's story when he said Fletcher had gone on to bigger and better things. He had to pretend he hadn't seen his dead body, lying in the sand, maggots crawling out of his insides.
And he had to wonder how Web found out about Fletcher.
What Camden ought to do is scare the shit out of Rayma so she wouldn't do anything stupid again. But he couldn't let on there was anything to be investigated or any reason for her to be out here.
He dropped her to her feet when they reached her car. She stood sandwiched between him and the car, looking at him as if she still expected an answer from him.
"I admit nothing except you're in a bad place, all alone, and 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, made sure she felt the swell in his jeans, and kissed her. Hard.
"You should be concerned in the parking lot of Wal-Mart at night.” He touched her shirt, gripped it as if he was going to rip it open, but refrained from the movement. He kept his lips close enough so when he opened them, they practically brushed against hers. It was meant to be a scare tactic, but he hadn't had a woman in a while and her breath felt hot against his cheek. “There are a lot of crazy people in this world who would like nothing more than to have you for dinner."
She stood tall. He could admire the fact she was trying to put on a brave front. Or hell, maybe she was too stupid to be scared, but her shudder gave her away.
"Thank God I'm not one of them,” he said as he stepped away.
"Why are you here alone?"
"I can handle whatever comes my way.” He pushed her aside and opened the driver's door. “Get in.” She stood a moment, glancing at him, glancing at the car, obviously contemplating what to do. He wasn't there to harm her but how could she know that? “I'm not going to hurt you. Get in. The passenger side.” To his surprise, she complied.
Moore had dropped him off earlier and Camden walked the rest of the way. Moore would wait for Camden's call to indicate he was ready to be picked up. He wanted to make sure Rayma got home, that she actually went home, so he would call Moore from there.
He assumed she was letting him so she could find out more information.
"How'd you know my car was parked here?” Rayma asked.
"Any idiot could see where you parked."
"Why were you out here?"
"Maybe I'm stalking you."
He could see by the twist of her hands and the glance to the back of the car she wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing. Trust Camden? Run off in the middle of the night to God knows where, just to get away from him? Stay here with him?
Camden hated to make her think he might be taking her off somewhere to kill her, but she wouldn't believe otherwise no matter what he said until she was safely in her apartment.
And it'd best to scare her witless for a while so she wouldn't do something so stupid again.
To his surprise, she invited him inside, though he wasn't sure she expected him to accept. He did. What, was he some kind of fool? Once inside, she fumbled around the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine, and poured them both a glass.
Camden sipped his wine. Rayma gulped hers.
"You going to call a taxi?” she asked.
"Is that my cue to leave?"
"I don't date..."
"Don't date? At all?"
"I don't put out,” Rayma said as she sat on the barstool.
"I don't expect you to,” Camden said as he sat beside her.
"I just got out of a too long relationship."
"Oh? That bad, huh? Still hoping it will work out?"
"No,” Rayma said adamantly. “I was the one who ended it. But it made me realize some things, mainly how much time I wasted on petty relationships and how important my relationship with Bob is."
"Bob?” Hadn't she just said she ended it?
"My battery operated boyfriend.” Rayma grinned but it was hard to tell if she was serious, teasing or merely baiting him. Whatever, he liked it. A lot. “He's the only relationship I need. I wasted three months of my life with Mike, a man I knew I would never settle down with. I've wasted good sex with Bob for others that I know I'll never settle down with. So I'm starting over, starting my life anew, and I'm going to stop wasting time with men who don't mean shit to me. Now, Bob is the only one for me."
Camden raised his eyes quizzically. Rayma poured herself another glass of wine.
This woman entranced him. Well, most women did—he just loved hearing the things coming out of their mouths—but this woman, she was exquisite. Interesting, challenging, funny, quirky, sexy. She amused the hell out of him.
Damn, but he'd have to compete with Bob. Was he up for the challenge?

Hell yeah.
"What's so funny?” she asked when he let out a chuckle.
"Isn't that kind of relationship lonely?"
"How so compared to any other relationship? Men never give a hundred percent. Men leave you lonely, wanting more. Men are here with you, but aren't really here, you know?"
"Not really,” Camden muttered, not having that type of experience with a man, but he caught her meaning. He knew what she meant because he was the same way. With a woman, but not really with her, not really paying attention to her, not really listening a hundred percent like Rayma described. His mind drifted, he thought of other things, thought of things he should be doing, things he didn't want to talk about with a woman, and he never shared his true self.
Except Rayma had his attention a hundred and ten percent.
"You hungry?” Camden stood from his perch on the stool and helped himself to Rayma's fridge. “You eat healthy. Lots of fruits and veggies in here. Mind if I make an omelet?"
"I have to get up very early in the morning,” she said.
"You shouldn't have been out so late then, huh?"
"Work starts at five for me. I should have been in bed hours ago. You need to leave."
"Oh come on. You wouldn't send a starving man out in the desolate streets without eating, would you? Go sit on the couch and rest, I'll be quiet."
"You're not staying here tonight."
Camden grinned, walked slowly towards her, and placed his hand under her chin. “Sure I can't change your mind?” Rayma placed her palms on his chest, preparing to push him away, but she wasn't fast enough.
His lips caught hers briefly, but she either had more willpower than him or she just wasn't interested. She pulled away. “No, you can't change my mind."
"Ah.” Camden turned away and started cracking eggs. It took him five minutes to cut up peppers and onions and another five to cook the omelet. When he turned around, Rayma's eyes were closed. She slumped over the stool, and Beacon was purring on her lap.
"See, if I was the man you thought I was, I would take advantage of this situation.” Her eyes abruptly opened, and he placed the plate in front of her and turned to grab his.
They ate in silence. Camden knew he was overstaying his welcome. He ate quickly and was finished before she was. He grabbed his plate, rinsed it in the sink, and was just about to flee when the phone rang.
Rayma answered the phone, listened for a moment, her face paling. She glanced at him, then turned away.
"Who is this?” she asked, her voice shaky. She looked at the phone as if that would hold all the answers before hanging it up.
"Who was that calling so late?” Camden asked.
"Now is that any of your business?” she asked, her hair flipping across her back as she turned her head toward him.
Camden shrugged.
"I'm going to bed,” Rayma said as she stood up, cat in arms. “Alone. Please see yourself out."
* * * *
Rayma had dinner with him once, and a very nice conversation, but that didn't mean he was a good person. On the contrary, he was a chef for a restaurant manufacturing drugs.
She had been in his control. He could have killed her. But just because he was involved with drugs didn't mean he was a killer. Did it?
She was almost surprised when he took her home and cooked an omelet. Almost, but not quite. There was always an ulterior motive. She just hadn't figured out what his was yet. Sex, more than likely, but no matter how attractive she thought he was, sex was not an option. She was giving it up, for good. Well, at least until later—very much later—until she had a relationship worth the risk.
Yeah right, she told herself as she turned back the covers to her bed. She could use him in her bed right now. It wouldn't have been hard to keep him there, for either of them. Her body was still humming at his faint touch. She only wished he was a normal, decent man who cooked meals for a living.
Beacon settled in at her feet.
She was tempted to call Mike. That's how disturbing the phone call was. She could have turned to Camden and kept him here all night, safe in a man's protective arms, but she knew more than anyone just how false that notion was.
So instead, she tossed and turned, imagining her phone ringing over and over again, imagining voices—monsters—on the other end, threatening her.

"You better stop before you're dead."




Chapter Five
Rayma dipped her fries in ketchup and surveyed the room, an archetypal hole-in-the-wall with, literally, at least one hole in the wall she could see and several smears, stains, and fractures covering the remaining wall. Black and white photos, most of them frayed, were displayed in tarnished frames. It was cozy, in a no-frills way, and grease was the special of the day.
It wasn't a place a woman with her breeding, or at least her clothing, should go to alone but most of the customers were regulars and most of them wanted to be left alone.
She was supposed to meet an informant she didn't know she had until a phone call she received at work this morning. He allegedly had information and pictures she might be interested in so, instead of having a light lunch after work and going to the gym, she was waiting for someone she didn't know. Deciding she was hungry and the burgers smelled good, she chose a hamburger and fries. The grease felt good in her system at the moment.
She needed all the strength she could get and when this was over, she needed to go home and go to bed, catch up on sleep she missed last night.
God what was she doing here? Hadn't she been threatened last night? Why in the world would she do this to herself again?
She needed a vacation. Yeah that's what was wrong with her. After one year at the beach she needed a vacation away from the heat, the sand and the waves. She sent an email to Caitlyn this morning, lamenting to her on things going on in her life, and begged her to set aside time for her soon. A visit to North Carolina with Caitlyn and her sexy husband would be placed at the top of her to-do list as soon as she got home.
As soon as she talked to her informant.
She jumped when a hand touched her back. An arm snaked around her to snatch a fry from her plate, but it was the voice that unnerved her. “What are you doing here?"
If she were an animal, her hair would be standing on end, her ears alert and her body ready to pounce. Camden sat beside her, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, wearing that damn smile she should have been used to.
And boy, did he look hot in those jeans.
"I'm having lunch,” she said, almost too composed for her own ears, which were still ringing in alarm. She hadn't realized just how on edge she'd been until now. Of course, Camden always seemed to have that effect on her. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Shouldn't you be getting ready for work?"
"I'm having lunch, too,” Camden said, stealing another fry. “I do eat at other places besides Vin Doux."
"Are you following me?"
"Why would I do that?"
"I'm meeting someone here. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave."
He reached his arm over and stole another fry, but she slapped his hand away before he had a chance to pilfer her ketchup too. That didn't stop him from eating the fry he stole, smiling as he watched her.
He had a nice smile. Straight teeth. His hair wasn't combed and neat as it was at the restaurant, but this look was sexier, more dangerous.
The heat from his body scorched her. He was sitting right beside her, his thigh practically pressed into hers, and it was all she could do to keep her body functioning normally.
She had to remind herself he was a drug dealer. Her three month rule had other rules and dating a would-be felon wasn't an approved activity.
"This is our third date. Doesn't that mean—"
"No!” She imagined the rest of his sentence. She glanced at his large hands and imagined them touch her body. Strong and masculine hands. Arms constructed of ropy muscle so thick and perfect she could have considered this a third date.
She looked away. What was wrong with her? Lack of sleep was playing havoc with her senses. A nice warm body in bed would help lull her to sleep after a good bout of lovemaking.
No, not lovemaking. Sex. She wasn't planning on being in love anytime soon. But Camden, oh she bet he'd be good.
When he tried to take another fry, she shoved him away and encircled her plate with her hands, drawing it closer to her and further from him. She scooted as far against the wall as the booth would allow.
"This is not a date, and if you came here to eat why are you eating my fries?"
"I'm still hungry,” he said.
"I will be too if you keep eating my food."
She noticed a man looking in her direction and tried to catch his eye, thinking he might be the one she was supposed to meet. Camden obviously ruined that meeting. The man looked away.
"Would you go?” she asked Camden.
"Waiting for your boyfriend?"
"Yes.” Maybe that would get rid of him, though why she enjoyed his company she'd never know. It couldn't have been because he was so fun to look at.
But this meeting was more important than fun to her. If this guy had information and proof of Vin Doux's drug business, she wanted to know. She wondered why he wouldn't approach the cops with his information but knew sometimes people felt more comfortable and safe sharing it with the media, who could be used as a porthole to law enforcement.
"Shall we meet for lunch again tomorrow?” Camden asked as he rose and placed money on the table as if he were paying for her meal.
"No.” She grabbed the money and thrust it towards him. “And it's already paid for so don't bother."
He shrugged, took the money, and glanced around. Rayma followed suit and noticed the man was gone.
"I'll call you,” he said, whistling as he walked out the door.
Rayma waited another half hour to see if her informant would drop by, but the man she suspected was him had long since gone and no one else approached her.
She blamed Camden. He was funny, charming, a great cook, had an incredible body and was way beyond cute. So she enjoyed his company, how could she not? But she didn't trust him and this time she had a reason before she even knew him. She didn't believe he just happened to be at the same café she was, waiting for an informant.
Could he be her informant? Or was he playing her?
The heat was oppressive as she stepped out of the burger joint, and the large meal she wasn't used to eating smoldered in the pit of her stomach. It was as if the sun was still cooking the meal inside her. Not a pleasant feeling. The tea she drank rested heavy on her. She almost turned to go back inside for the bathroom when someone grabbed her by the elbow.
Thinking it was Camden, her temper soared. She tried to jerk away from him, but he pulled her into the back of an alley that ran alongside the café.
She realized it wasn't Camden first by the smell. Camden had a masculine smell, even if he was in a kitchen all day. Musk combined with ginger. Rum and lime. Something that made her think of sex. This smell was more like ash and nicotine, like the bottom of an ashtray, left outside and made even worse by the hot sun.
Her mouth tasted as if she'd licked that ashtray and swallowed. The guy's hands were around her mouth, clenching her mouth, making her mute and immobile. Even when Camden had placed his hand on her mouth, his touch was gentle. This guy's was like the edges of a staple, cutting into her.
He turned her around and brought his finger to his lips to indicate she not make a sound. It was the guy from the café. She tried to nod her head but he was constricting most of her movement. The self-defense lessons she learned were forgotten, and the pepper spray she always carried with her lay useless in her purse.
"Why was that guy with you?” he asked when he dropped his hand away. “I told you to come alone."
"I did come alone,” she said, trying not to breathe as heavy as she needed to for air she longed for. “He just happened to be there. He recognized me and stopped to talk. I didn't want him there."
"I thought you were interested in what I have.” He held up a bag and shook it in front of her. She tried to stand straight, but her stomach roiled. She felt as if she'd been punched straight in the gut.
"I am,” Rayma said, “but I can't be stupid about it. Don't ask me to go somewhere with you alone."
"How much is this worth to you?"
"I don't know. What's in it?"
"Two-hundred dollars, I give you the bag and we go our separate ways. You can use the information as you will."
"Two-hundred? I don't know what's in there to know if it's worth that."
He opened the bag and took out some pictures she recognized from the warehouse and the restaurant, a few CDs, and miscellaneous documents.
"One-fifty,” she said, handing him some bills.
He grabbed the money and took out a CD. When she protested, he shook his head. “You don't get all of it if you don't pay for all of it. Two-hundred was a bargain."
Figuring one CD couldn't be worth fifty bucks, she grabbed the bag from him. “Fine,” she snapped.
She felt conspicuous as she carried the bag to her car, still dressed in her work clothes—high heels, classic blue shirt and pinstriped skirt. The green canvas army-type bag didn't match her attire, but neither did the café she just came from. No one eyed her as she walked to her car which was, thankfully, only a few hundred feet away.
She breathed deeply when she was seated safely in her car, but that only started a fit of coughing.
As she drove, fear heightened, then turned into an adrenaline rush. Rapid heartbeat, fingers not wanting to hold onto the steering wheel. Clammy skin, dry mouth.
She watched her surroundings as she drove home to make sure nobody followed her. She was probably being too cautious, the result of being an investigative reporter for too long, but the thrill inside when a news prospect came along elevated her senses and her vigilance.
Was she attracted to danger? Was that why she always fell for the wrong guy? Was that why she always got stuck in situations most normal people wouldn't dream of?
Was that why she couldn't stop thinking of Camden and the way his lips felt on hers? Was that why she kept dreaming of the way his body would feel against her, inside her?
Was that why she very much wanted to find out?
* * * *
Camden shouldn't have followed her to the burger place. He knew that. He accepted the fact. But he still did it. Worse yet, he waited outside the café to see what she was going to do next.
He had listened to last night's tapes they'd gotten from the bugs they'd had on the restaurant's phones for the past two years. They'd never heard anything to indicate illegal activities, but he listened anyway. He wasn't sure if the person who'd called Rayma last night was even from the restaurant, but he needed to know for sure. He needed to know what was said.

"You better stop before you're dead."

Camden's heart froze when he heard the call to Rayma. He'd left her alone last night. Her life could have been at risk.
Rayma wasn't just another person to him, another subject to watch over. Rayma was ... well, Rayma. A woman with a personality he was beginning to like, a person he cared about because she was a human being, a person who had a cat depending on her.
A person he wanted to get into his bed.
Camden knew if something happened, or if she found information, she wouldn't share it with him. She thought he was involved, so why would she tell him anything? He realized the media had a better foot in the door than cops, and sometimes people would go to journalists before they went to the cops. If she did have info, they needed it.
So he had to follow her, watch out for her, for several reasons.
He saw the man hiding in the shadows even before he approached Rayma, then watched as the guy grabbed her and pulled her to the back, away from the public eye. He almost intervened then but thought better of it, wanting to see what was going to happen next but ready in a blink if she needed saving.
They talked. The man offered the bag, she gave him money, and she was on her way.
Aware he couldn't watch her house forever to see where she would go next, he arranged for another agent to watch her.
Which began the argument with Moore.
"We can't waste our agent's time watching some woman you're infatuated with,” Moore said.
"She's a part of our investigation. She has information on the restaurant and her life could be in danger. It isn't a waste when he's just standing around watching this place with a dozen others."
Moore rolled his eyes, shifted his feet, and bit on the end of an unlit cigarette, making Camden cringe in disgust. How could any man be serious about a job when he had nicotine stuck between his teeth?
"Her life was threatened,” Camden said. “And the phone call was placed from Vin Doux."
"She could be involved in something else,” Moore said. “Something that has nothing to do with the restaurant. Or she could be a dealer. Who knows what was in that bag."
"Dammit,” Camden said as he pulled the unlit cigarette from Moore's teeth and threw it behind him, heedless of where it fell. He wasn't going to talk to a damn piece of nicotine. “Use your fucking head."
That seemed to shock Moore, who just stood there staring. Camden continued, “Her life was threatened. She met with an informant today. If that information could help us, I'm not about to let her die for it."
"I'll let him stay the rest of the night,” Moore said. “But tomorrow morning we're pulling him. She has nothing to do with this investigation."
"On the contrary, she could play a vital role if she has information we need."
"You don't know she has anything."
"I know she has a large bag full of documents."
"That you suspect pertain to this investigation. Not a sure thing."
"For the leader of this pack, you're showing poor leadership skills,” Camden said. “After doing this for two years, we might actually have something."
"I'm not going to ruin our investigation over your damn infatuation."
Camden turned away. He couldn't hit Moore and had no other options.
Lacey bounced in, like a cat playing with a ball of string and chasing it, she looked like she was on a mission.
"What's this I hear about an infatuation?” she asked. “Wish I had time for that."
Camden put on his jacket and glanced at his watch. It was time to leave. His blood felt as if it were hammering against him, an angry mob going on strike. He was reaching his boiling point and didn't know how much more he could deal with the attitude, the aggression, or the lack of support.
"You know,” he said as he twisted the doorknob, “if I wasn't doing everything around here, maybe this op wouldn't have taken so damned long."
* * * *
Rayma kept her body fried with caffeine as she pored over documents clearly revealing, in her opinion, something illegal going on.
She should have been sleeping.
There were pictures of equipment looked to be used for manufacturing drugs and a DVD showing how it was done: the substances were placed in slits cut out of life jackets then sewed to be made whole again. The life jackets were then stored on a yacht that was obviously the means of transportation. What she didn't know was whether the drugs were coming from somewhere or going to somewhere.
And the spices? The barbecue sauce they shipped out of state? There were pictures. They had to be involved, somehow. She just didn't know how.
Camden was nowhere in the pictures, she didn't see any indication of his presence or his name, but that didn't mean anything. How long did he say he'd been there? Two years? And he moves around a lot?
He was involved. She couldn't convince herself otherwise.
She caught a few hours of sleep and had to primp extra hard the next morning to make sure she looked decent when she shared this news with the public.
News began at five. She called the police department first, aware Tony wouldn't let her air anything before she passed it on to the police, and spoke with an investigator.
Investigator Preston was surly, and his phone demeanor immediately offended her.
"This is Rayma with News 12. I have some information your department might want to look into."
"Ma'am, I need you to bring that information to the station and share it. I don't have time for phone games."
No way did he just say that. On any day she wouldn't have put up with that, on a day she'd caught maybe two hours a sleep put together, she was definitely not going to put up with an attitude.
She got the distinct impression he didn't care.
"I have a better idea,” Rayma said. “Why don't you watch the news and learn all about it?"
When she talked to Tony that morning and showed him what she discovered, he was livid.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed? Share that with the police, not with the public."
"I have it all planned,” Rayma said. “I'd like to show parts of the video and this picture, but I won't even mention who it is. I'll just say a local company is being investigated and if anyone has any information to please call Crimestoppers."
"What if there's a tracking device in there or something?"
"You watch too much TV,” Rayma said, though the thought had crossed her mind. She realized she was walking in dangerous territory. Most drug smugglers wouldn't take kindly to what she was doing. It was stupid to be so brave, but she couldn't stop. “I talked to Investigator Preston and he wasn't very interested in what I had to say."
"With good reason,” Tony said.
"What reason?” Tony didn't like to create waves with the public, though he didn't mind doing so with his employees. He hated controversy and didn't want to offend the public so even if he did see something here, he probably wouldn't air it.
It made it harder to work for him. News equals controversy and damn, you couldn't please everyone.
"You think this information is fabricated?” Rayma asked. “Maybe the newscast will wake the police force up. Something needs to."



Chapter Six

If I wasn't doing everything around here...

Lacey scoffed at Camden's words, even after he'd been gone for hours. “If only you knew,” she said as she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel to the sound of the current hip-hop favorites.
Though Darrell spent most of his evenings at the restaurant, Tuesday was spent at Sanctions Gateway delivering food and gifts to children who were severely malnourished from drug abuse. Most of those admitted into the facility were still coming off their highs, and Darrell volunteered his time every Tuesday to help.
The DEA often wondered if he was helping or hindering the children's progress, but the food he brought had been studied numerous times and all to no avail. It was just as he presented it to be: food.
No one ever told the kids it was leftover food frozen from the past week's meals. It was the only gourmet meal they would probably ever have a chance to eat.
An undercover agent worked there as a nurse to watch over Darrell, but Lacey assumed she, along with every other nurse there under the age of ninety, was sleeping with him.
Lacey parked the car and exited the vehicle, doing her best to keep hidden and away from the agent. She probably didn't know who Lacey was, but just in case, she didn't need to risk being known or seen. She walked in, carrying her own bag of gifts, and knew it must be her lucky day when she practically ran smack-dab into Darrell in the dining area where the kids were eating.
"Oh, hello,” Lacey said, fumbling with the neckline on her shirt. “What a surprise."
"What brings you here?” Darrell asked, eyeing her sack.
"My brother's in this facility,” she lied. “I try to visit him on Mondays but I didn't make it over yesterday. What about you?"
"Volunteer work. Which one's your brother?"
Lacey looked around the room. “Oh, there he is. Eddie,” she yelled, advancing on the most sullen one she could find in the group.
She laughed and glanced towards Darrell when Eddie looked at her like she'd lost her head. “He always does this. I'm not sure if he doesn't remember me or if he just doesn't want to see me."
She handed the boy a sack. “I brought you a few things."
"Cool.” The boy took the sack and started rummaging through it, pulling out an iPOD and a Game Boy.
She made a mental note to call him Eddie next time she saw him and pulled out her camera, praising herself for her grand thinking. “I want to take a picture of you, Eddie. Our parents are asking about you."
"I don't have any parents,” Eddie said, his attention riveted on the handheld.
Lacey laughed, snapped a few pictures, and put the camera into her purse. She put her arm through Darrell's and walked away with him. “He doesn't claim our parents anymore, and I don't really blame him."
"Why's that?” he asked.
"They pretty much abandoned him a long time ago,” she said and, doing her best to change the subject said, “It's great to see you again."
She looked at him and didn't have to fake the genuine smile or the smitten expression she knew she wore. “You wanna go eat something?” she asked, playing with the lapels of his shirt.
"I already had lunch. How's your husband?"
"Same old,” she said as she traced his collarbone, down to his chest, then teasing the buttons of his shirt. “Will I see you at the beach on Sunday?"
He grinned, and she traced his jaw with her hand. “You don't want to give these children the wrong impression, do you?"
She dropped her hand away and looked at him, pouting.
"I'll be around,” he said, leaving that as his exit strategy.
She watched him walk away, seeing the good in him and not just in his tush. He didn't belong behind bars. So what if he smuggled drugs from country to country? He also helped children who were addicted, something most ordinary civilians didn't do. He didn't make people take drugs; they made that decision for themselves.
He helped children, he loved horses, and he felt good inside of her. Didn't that count for something?
* * * *
"What the fuck is that woman thinking?"
Moore was the first to speak after Rayma's news flash. Camden was too shocked to say anything. Lacey sat with her fingers twisted around her napkin. Camden, always aware of what was going on around him, was racing between two sets of feelings.
They had been discussing their next move and trying to decide how to up the score. Lacey insisted she go undercover and get in good with Web because just playing wife to Camden's landlord wasn't doing a thing. Moore thought it might be best to bring in extra undercover agents, and Camden didn't see how any of that would help. He was getting closer to Web, but his nerves were itching from lack of activity. He needed to do something.
Rayma may have just provided him with movement. She'd obviously acquired pictures and video from the man she met yesterday, and this information could be useful to them. On another level though, they didn't want the local police involved and they didn't want the police to know about their operation.
He had to get that information and he had to make sure Rayma didn't talk about it anymore, thus placing herself in danger. The only way he could do that was if he exposed himself to her, but that was classified and could open up another can of worms.
They increased the surveillance and put a sentinel on Rayma's house and surrounding areas. Camden called her to invite her to an early dinner before he went to work but she refused, claiming she was too busy. He acted as if he hadn't seen the news, and since she hadn't mentioned the name of the business, it would be easy to ignore.
Camden was alert to the tension at work. Men were in the back of the kitchen, discussing things, and Camden picked out the waiters not involved just by the way they acted. Camden longed to be in that group with Web, discussing what to do and hearing what was being said.
It was then he decided to take a risk.
He entered Web's office. “Was that woman talking about Vin Doux?” he asked.
Web swirled scotch in his glass as he leaned back in his high backed leather chair. He eyed Camden like he wasn't sure how to take his rude interruption. Camden wasn't sure what he might have interrupted.
"You mean Rayma, the woman you dated?"
"I went out with her one night."
Web nodded. “Maybe she's using you for information."
"I don't know why. I don't know anything."
"Now you can use her for information,” Web said. “Find out what she knows."
"About what?” Camden asked, playing dumb.
Web shrugged. “Anything.” He picked up papers on his desk and waved his hands, dismissing Camden.
Camden decided not to push his luck. Waiters and busboys scattered as soon as he entered the kitchen. Tension pricked the back of his neck. Jerome, one of the busboys, lingered, his eyes darting at every sound and in every corner.
"What's going on?” Camden asked.
Jerome's face paled. “It's not good,” he said, moving his feet back and forth in a standing shuffle. Then, as if suddenly realizing he shouldn't be talking about this to Camden, he fled to the back.
Camden inched his way over, wishing he had Superman ears to hear what was being said among Jerome and his cohort.
"When do you want to do this?” Camden heard Jerome ask.
"Later this evening."
"How?"
"How else? A gun. Quick and easy, with no fights. She'll be asleep."
"I've never done this before,” Jerome said. Camden could hear the tremor in his voice.
"Welcome to my world."
* * * *
Warm bubbles embraced Rayma in the soft glow of candlelight, which smelled like something between burning wax and cinnamon leaves. She held a glass of Merlot in one hand and a book in the other.
She'd been on the same page for the past ten minutes. The waning candlelight was too dull to read by, and she couldn't have focused on the words even if she wanted to. Her mind was too busy ruminating the day. She aired the news and, though she'd received a few email and phone calls accusing so and so of being involved, so far nothing had panned out.
Her informant hadn't gotten in touch with her either, and she wasn't sure what to think of the silence. The investigator she had been in contact with never called and she didn't bother calling him back. Finally, she talked to James on the phone about it and he suggested she just relax and play it out.
She was trying to relax, hence the bath at almost midnight when she should have been in bed. How was she going to get ready for work in a few hours when she still hadn't had any sleep?
She'd tried. She tossed fitfully since she laid her head on her pillow at nine something, but after a few hours she decided a glass of wine and a hot bath was just what she needed.
Where was the simple life she craved? And why was she trying to blemish it now?
Beacon, growing tired of swatting at the bubbles, lay in the corner on the other side of the room. The door was closed because, since she was in here with him, Beacon wasn't interested in leaving the room.
That aforementioned door suddenly crashed open. Rayma jerked upright and dropped the book, its pages soaking up water and ruining what she'd probably never read anyway. Her wine glass fell in the tub, the red now mixing with the clear to turn the water a blondish pink.
Beacon fled, but she couldn't blame him for not saving her.
Camden put his hands to his lips, indicating she remain quiet, but her heart beat so furiously against her chest, she wouldn't have been able to scream anyway.
Shit, he was going to kill her. They sent him to kill her. She had no defense.
"What are you doing here?” She hissed, not able to form anything more coherent. She grabbed a razor blade—what else could she defend herself with? A shampoo bottle? She grabbed that, too and was just about to go for the wine glass when he pulled her out of the water.
He placed a towel around her body. Her pathetic weapons fell at his feet. She went to let out a bloodcurdling scream but he covered her mouth with his hands.
"We've got trouble."
She fought against him, trying to pull away, trying to claw him, yet trying to maintain her dignity. She only had a towel around her, for heaven's sake.
"Calm down,” he whispered. She'd never felt so weak in her life, and she didn't have a choice but to let him carry her to the bedroom. She wouldn't have been able to stand. He glanced around as if trying to find a place to hide and she didn't tell him there was a small attic above her closet. She couldn't tell him, not when his hands covered her mouth so tightly she thought she would faint.
Was he going to rape her before he killed her?
He didn't release her but did finally take his hand from her mouth. When she almost shrieked, he placed it over her again. She tasted garlic and something acidic. Almost like blood.
"Someone's trying to kill you,” he said. “You know why, so just please shut up and let me do my job."

Your job is to cook, she wanted to say, but couldn't.
"I'm trying to save your ass,” he said, “but I need your help."
Her eyes burned, but she didn't cry. Tears stuck in her throat instead, and she swallowed back bile.
There was a loud bang coming from somewhere, very close to outside her condo, maybe even the kitchen area. Camden could be fooling her, or he could be here to kill her, but since that second glass of wine was muddling her senses, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"There's a small attic space above the closet,” she whispered, and let him take her there. Let him, she thought. I don't have a choice.
She should have been embarrassed with the thought she was climbing through her closet to get to her attic, naked. He trailed closely behind her and she imagined her butt sticking right up against his nose. She was imagining the worse, but when she looked behind her he was being a perfect gentleman, trying to keep the towel around her as best he could.
How could she fault him for that?
The small storage space above her closet thankfully didn't have anything stored in it, and it was impossible to sit with two people inside. They stood side by side. She was grateful for the darkness. Her towel had fallen to her feet and she couldn't bend over to pick it up.
She started shaking. She breathed in, trying to steady her breath and her heart. Oh God. Her head spun. The shock of Camden barging in and the fear of someone out there kept her heart racing. That, and the fact she was standing inches from Camden, naked, in a dark attic. She felt his breath on her cheek, she could smell the spice emanating from his body and wondered what today's special was.
"You okay?” he whispered, his hands holding onto her arms.
No, she wasn't okay. Her body wouldn't stop shaking, she was cold and she didn't think she'd ever been more afraid in her life. She nodded anyway. He couldn't see her, but oh well. He was so close she could feel his body even without a touch. He rubbed his hands across her arms, stoking heat into them. She shivered all the more. She felt things against her skin that shouldn't be there.
If she hadn't been scared for her life, this situation would have been extremely erotic. The tongue of his jeans lapped against her and if she pressed any closer, they'd be a part of her. Her breasts seemed to strain of their own accord towards him and she leaned her head back, resting it against the wall. Moisture still dripped from the inside of her thigh but she wondered if it was from her bath or something else. Despite the cold, warmth pooled between her legs.
And earlier, she'd been afraid he was going to rape her.
"What's going on?” she whispered.
"Someone's trying to kill you. I heard them at the restaurant. I'm not here to hurt you, so please don't be afraid."
Afraid? Now she was afraid of making a total fool of herself. She wondered if he would notice if she touched herself to ease the ache building inside her ever since she met him. Now it was like a raging wildfire. Instead of pulling away, she pressed closer to him.
She was shaking. She needed his arms around her, but she was still in shock. Was he saving her life or was he going to take it? How could she know for sure?
He hadn't seemed fazed at all to burst in the bathroom and pull her out, naked. He hadn't been winded when he carried her down the hallway and up the closet. He was unruffled at being close to her when she wanted him so badly she was about to make a fool of herself in the dark, something she hadn't done with a boy since Spin the Bottle when she was a teenager.
She felt something hard and realized it was a gun. A gun! Why was a chef carrying a gun?
Then she heard rummaging below, cursing, voices she couldn't understand, and she sank into Camden's arms.
* * * *
The glow of her body in the candlelight with the bubbles wrapped around her had almost been more than he could bear. For a moment, he almost forgot about the danger they were in and found a new kind of danger within the folds of her body.
He wanted to touch her, but when she moved into him he realized she only needed his security, not his lust. If he had been a different kind of person, he would be taking advantage of this situation. If he had been a boar, he would take her right now, to hell with what she had to say about it. It was either tolerate him or flee the closet and deal with the consequences of meeting her demise with a man hell bent on destroying her.
He could smell the fruity mint of the soap she used, feminine yet sexy, probably meant to be relaxing yet invigorating his senses every time he took a breath.
He caught a glimpse of light and realized someone was in the closet, looking around to make sure she wasn't hidden beneath layers of clothes. He hoped they wouldn't look up and notice the small storage. He feared the floor would open up and they would fall right into the man's hands.
He pulled Rayma in close to him, whispered in her ear to remain as silent as possible, and held her, as if that would prevent the man from finding them. He felt the solid beat of her heart against his chest, the firmness of her breast pressed against him. She bit her nails into his shoulders as if to hold on.
Her very naked body was pressed into his. Every time he closed his eyes he'd remember this, her naked body surrounded in candles and warm bubbles.
The candles were still glowing, the bathwater was still warm. The men would know she'd been there recently. They might not stop looking for her until they found her.
His heart pounded, but not because of the two men underneath them. He knew who they were and he knew he could handle them, but he didn't want to blow his cover.
He'd had no choice with Rayma. His cover was blown. It could wreak havoc on their case. She could go into work, let all the world know he was undercover, and his life would be ruined. But he didn't think she would and, since she was going to have to live in the safe house for now, she wouldn't have a chance.
He heard the men talking, but couldn't make out what they said. He heard their footsteps, the door slam, and waited several minutes before he moved.
Rayma's body shook. He held onto her, fighting his urge to taste the wine on her lips, but he couldn't hold back.
She was stiff when his mouth touched hers but soon opened up to him. He leaned her against the wall and pressed his pelvis to hers, his covered by denim, hers bare. He moved against her, tasting her neck, her ears, her throat, her mouth. He found her breasts and tasted each one, his teeth nipping at her buds.
If he had been five seconds later, she might be lying in a pool of blood instead of her warm bubbles. If she'd been sleeping instead of bathing, who knew what would have happened?
He brought his mouth back up to meet hers and she returned the kiss. He moved his hips, on the brink of coming in his pants. At this point he didn't care. He should have pulled away, he should have opened his wallet, dug for a condom, and entered her the right way, but his brain was comatose. There was no way he could reason right now.
He knew the exact moment she came though he missed the pulsing against him. He felt his own relief at that moment, the stickiness soaking him inside his jeans. When it was over, she stiffened and pushed him away.
"Oh God!” Her words weren't said with ecstasy but with regret. “What's going on?"
He thought about being a smartass but voted against it. Right now, that would only piss her off more. “I'll make sure they're gone. You stay here."
It would be better to pretend nothing happened between them. Better for him to leave the attic, make sure the men were gone, and let Rayma get herself together.
Better for him to forget what just happened up there, in that tight space with a naked woman. He hadn't even had the pleasure of being inside her.
She was scared, she thought she was going to be killed, and for her, sex was a reasonable reaction to finding yourself alive. For him, he didn't have that excuse. He just wanted the sex.
Camden searched the house before allowing Rayma to come down from the attic. She dressed while he searched for the bag her informant gave her, finding it buried underneath the bed.
He pulled her along the street to his car, masked well in a sprawling apartment complex a few hundred feet away from hers. She followed, but he sensed her reservation.
She didn't give him a chance to even start the vehicle before her words were all over him.
"What's going on? Who were those people? Who are you?"
He held up his hands in mock surrender, fielding her questions. “I'm Camden Alexander, those men were trying to kill you and I'm trying to save your life."
"I didn't see any men,” she said.
"You didn't hear them?” he asked, knowing full well she had. He felt her shiver, and his arms still burned where she'd gripped him. The stickiness on his leg was a stark reminder of what an idiot he was sometimes.
"Where are we going?"
He started the car and pulled away before answering her question. Most levelheaded women wouldn't like his answer, and she was certainly not levelheaded right now. “I'm taking you to a safe house where, obviously, you'll be safe."
"What!” It wasn't a question, more like an expletive, and the words she began to spew out no longer made any sense.
"You're no longer safe in your own house. You now have a contract on your head.” He thought he heard the words such as “why would someone want to kill me” and he took it from there. “You put some information on the news very condemning to a powerful business. Did you not even consider the consequences to your safety?"
"What do you have to do with this?” she asked.
He sighed, wishing he were already within the confines of the safe house. He didn't want to tell her now. She could open the car door and risk her life, yet again. He was concerned she might be foolish enough to run from the compound. He hoped to have their problems fixed so they wouldn't draw attention from Lacey and Moore, who would be more than willing to give their two cents.
"I'm an undercover DEA agent,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. His peripheral vision was fine tuned from years of practice and focused on her. She sat and stared at him in horror, as if he'd just revealed to her he was an alien from outer space and had no human skin. “The accusations you made on the news were true. It's something we've been trying to prove for two years. You, however, easily got information from someone and put yourself into a volatile situation."
"You've been undercover for two years?"
Camden nodded, hearing the skepticism in her voice. “It's one of the most controlled operations, which also makes it one of the most dangerous."
"So you're still one of them. I'm still not safe. I mean, most people undercover that long usually end up corrupt."
It wasn't something he hadn't heard before, but hearing it from her made him feel like he needed to scrub his body with bleach and strip himself of the filth he'd dealt with for years. It was true he had to do some things he wasn't proud of in his undercover operations, but he always held onto his sense of self.
He parked on the street, wishing for the safety of the garage at the moment but since he was the tenant, he didn't park in the garage. He knew exactly where each agent was positioned and, even though they knew his car, he always held out his hand as an identifying procedure.
Even after turning off the car, Rayma didn't move.
"I'm not a part of them,” he reassured her. “I've been posing as a chef, trying to get information, but haven't yet succeeded in earning Darrell's trust. I'm getting closer.” He pulled the canvas bag from the back of the car and held it up for her to see. “This will help."
* * * *
Rayma followed Camden into the house with nothing, not even her purse, a change of clothing or her toothbrush. She wore the clothes she'd been wearing at work since they had still been on the floor and the closest thing she could grab when she came from the attic. She'd left her cat, her electricity was still on, and her alarm was set to go off in two hours.
"What's your name?” she asked as she followed him through the house.
"Camden."
"No, what's your real name?"
"It really is Camden."
"I thought undercover agents used fake names."
"Most of them do. The last name and everything else is false, but I always keep my first name. Less room for confusion and keeps my sense of self."
Rayma snorted, which she realized wasn't very ladylike. She didn't care. It was hard to care about anything right now.
They entered a kitchen, where a woman who looked like she'd just been dragged from bed sat on a stool.
"Lacey, meet Rayma. Rayma, this is another agent who stays in the house.” He set the bag, the only bag he'd retrieved from the house and one he obviously planned on using for himself, on the floor. “She needs toiletries,” he said to Lacey. “Toothbrush, toothpaste. She'll need clothes. Can you go shopping tomorrow?"
"What is she doing here?” Lacey asked.
"We'll talk later. Where's Moore?"
Moore was even more unfriendly than Lacey, leaving Rayma to think she would rather face her consequences with the men who sought to kill her than have these people as roommates.
Camden took her to a small room and told her she would sleep there. When she protested, he turned to her and asked if she'd rather sleep in her own bed, where she would be full of bullet holes by morning.
"Where are you going?” she asked.
"I sleep in a small apartment out back. These people are my landlords. It'd look funny if I sleep in the same house with them."
"Won't it look funny if I do?” she asked.
"Would you rather sleep with me?” he asked, showing his devilish grin.
She wanted to slap that grin off his face. First of all, how dare he leave her alone after what just happened? Second, he was a jerk. Using her, more than likely, for the information he thought she had.
He wasn't a drug dealer. But he was still a jerk.
"No one will know you're here. You're safe. We'll make plans for your future later."
Future? She was beginning to think she didn't have a future. Maybe God was playing a horrible joke on her but if he was, he'd been doing it her entire life.
She still couldn't grasp what happened tonight. Camden had, more than likely, saved her life. Camden was a DEA agent. Camden barely touched her tonight and she'd had the most erotic orgasm.
She felt like a total fool.
A nice enough bed, an empty dresser and a small closet occupied the small room. It was quaint and could have been comforting had she been here for anything other than what she was. She walked down the hallway to find the bathroom, obviously used by Lacey. Full of female bric-a-brac, lotions, hair stuff and a hair dryer, it left little room for Rayma to make herself at home.
What was the point? She'd left everything she had at home. Her cat. She should have made Camden go back and get him. She would, first thing tomorrow. All she had with her were the clothes she wore today and a pair of slip-on black sandals she always kept by the door.
She was in a nightmare. Oh if only this was a nightmare and she'd wake up to find it hadn't happened. She'd go to work in a few hours, and everything would be made right again.
So she'd made a mistake, airing something on the news someone wasn't happy with. It happened all the time. She'd pissed people off before. But never had she had a contract put out on her, if Camden was telling the truth.
She hadn't slept. She'd look like hell at work. Tony might not even let her in front of the cameras. Thank God she kept a change of clothing in the office, along with spare makeup and a toothbrush.
A few hours later, after tossing and turning, she tiptoed to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. She opened cabinets. There had to be something in here to eat. Breakfast was usually a big thing for her. She found bread, buttered it, and put it in a toaster oven. It'd do.
Maybe she should sneak out. Maybe she shouldn't even try to eat. Leave before everyone woke up. She was poking her head out the window when Camden walked in.
"What are you doing?” He wore athletic pants and a tank top revealing broad shoulders and a physique carved after a Roman god.
Rayma ignored him. She hated him for no other reason than he looked so damn good.
So he wasn't a drug dealer. Neither was he a chef, but he could cook better than anyone she'd ever known. So he was a good guy, trying to bust a criminal. That didn't make him great.
"You're not getting out of here, if that's what you're thinking.” Camden opened the refrigerator and grabbed the milk.
"I'm getting ready for work,” she said on the defensive.
"Hah. You're not going to work today."
"What?” No way were they going to stop her from going to work. She whirled around to face him. Damn him! Why did all men act as if they were the decision makers in everything, even those you barely knew? He wore that lazy grin, as if he had no care in the world. And he probably didn't. “You can't stop me."
"I work for the U.S. government. I can do whatever the hell I want. You're under my protection now—"
"The hell I am,” she said. “I didn't ask for your protection."
"No, but you damn sure needed it."
She turned away and headed for the door. Okay, so she'd either have to steal his car or hitchhike, but she'd get there. And out of here.
The door wouldn't budge. She pushed it away from her, she pulled it towards her. She jiggled the lock. Nothing moved. She kept jostling the door to and fro with no results. Her eyes burned, she wanted to break something. Preferably, the door.
She'd been so scared last night. So scared. Camden, breaking in while she was bathing, pulling her into an attic. Doing crazy, wonderful things to her body. Leaving her alone. She was supposed to be safe here on this little island. Safe.
Camden stepped behind her and pulled her away from the door. “You have other options. I can take you into a different kind of protective custody. The kind with bars. Or you can stay here a few days until things settle down."
Rayma lurched away from him. “Go to hell."
"What's going on?” Lacey walked in, wrapped in a robe with a towel around her head. Rayma couldn't help the bitter twinge making her wonder why Lacey even bothered with a towel around her head. She didn't have much hair to begin with.
At least she had a shower. Fresh clothes. Her teeth were probably brushed.
Moore stepped in right behind Lacey and it was like he'd been listening to their conversation the whole time. “Camden's right. Work isn't safe for you right now."
"On the contrary, it's the safest place for me. It's not like they'll come shoot me in front of the entire world."
"You're staying at the safe house,” Moore said, as if that was the end of it and he wasn't used to being told no.
"The safe house?” Rayma asked. “It's a home, without even a security gate to block someone's entrance. What makes it any safer than my apartment complex, which has a security gate and requires a key to get in?"
"I didn't have a key last night,” Camden said.
"You'd be surprised,” Lacey said, filing her nails at the kitchen table. “The place has agents all around that no civilian could possibly notice."
"So place them around my work. Won't they be suspicious if I don't show?"
"Lady, you have no idea the manpower we've used so far to save your ass,” Camden said. “You butted your little nose where it doesn't belong. You almost fucked up our operation. You're here until we can cart your ass off somewhere else or until Web is behind bars."
Lady? Camden wanted to insult her by calling her lady? No, they hadn't had sex but they came damn close. If they'd kept seeing each other, they probably would have.
"Screw you.” It was the only expletive she could find at the moment. Camden merely grinned and gestured a “whatever” motion by lifting up his shoulders.
She wanted to kill him.
"I have to get my cat and some other things from my house."
"I'll bring Beacon to you tonight,” Camden said, “and pick up some things for you."
"I need to call my boss."
"You can use the secure landline we have set up."
"What am I supposed to do all day?” Rayma asked. “File my nails?"
Lacey set the nail file on the table and gave Rayma a condescending look. “You're not stuck inside. It's safe outside as long as you stay around the perimeters of the house. The beach is right outside our doorstep, there's a gym you can use, and I have plenty of nail polish you can borrow."
"How long am I stuck?” she asked, emphasizing Lacey's word.
Lacey turned her glare on Camden. “I've been here two years."



Chapter Seven
"I believe we got off to a wrong start,” Lacey said when she came in to see Rayma sitting at the kitchen table, contemplating her life.
Lacey had been gone all day. Shopping, from the looks of things. She threw a bag at Rayma's feet.
"I bought you a few things. We're about the same size.” Lacey looked at Rayma's chest, “well, almost. Plus, you're taller but it doesn't matter with shorts."
"Thanks.” Rayma glanced through the bag, relieved to find a toothbrush, soap, a long t-shirt and shorts. She was still wearing her suit from her morning show of yesterday.
She was hot, she stank, and she was pissed off at the world. Camden took the bag of information from her and said he was giving it back to Darrell after agents made copies of everything inside. He needed to get on their good side.
She'd bet all these clothes Lacey brought that he was already on their good side.
"You want to go outside, enjoy the sunshine?” Lacey asked. “You look a little down."
"Would you blame me?” Rayma asked.
"Hey, I've been living here for two years and haven't had sex in, well, almost that long. I don't even know my real name anymore, and I can't get in contact with my sister, whom I heard through the grapevine is pregnant. We're allowed to chat online with each other so that's the extent of conversation with my family."
"That must be hard,” Rayma said. “But I wouldn't care if I didn't talk to my family."
"Why?"
"We don't get along."
Lacey opened a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of wine. “You want to have a drink outside?"
A drink sounded like a great idea. Getting drunk sounded even better. And if she was going to live with Lacey for any amount of time, she better at least put in an effort to like her.
"Sure. Let me get changed."
The shorts fit more like underwear, and rode up her crotch enough she almost felt like she was wearing a thong. The shirt covered it enough to feel comfortable outside. That, and the fact Camden wasn't around helped her inhibition.
Lacey was already outside, sipping wine under a chair and looking spiffy in a bikini. Rayma wondered whether Lacey intentionally bought her clothes that didn't fit well.
"What does Moore do all day?” Rayma asked as she sat on the lounger. She took a glass of wine from Lacey. She hadn't seen Moore since this morning but every time Rayma tried to escape outside, someone appeared to keep her inside.
She'd tried to call James, but no phone in the house would go through. She was a prisoner.
"Makes plans, watches tapes from last night recorded at the warehouse. Listens to tapped phone lines hoping he'll pick something up. Takes direction from his boss, the one he doesn't like to acknowledge."
"What about you?"
"Oh I pretty much do all the grunt work. Run errands, do the laundry for all the agents, make sure they eat. You know, the things women do best.” Lacey downed her wine, poured another glass and downed it, then sipped on a third.
"I think you might be the one who's depressed,” Rayma said, grabbing the bottle and pouring another glass for herself. “Have you talked to Moore about this?"
"Are you kidding? You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this,” Lacey said, using a deep but mousy voice to mimic Moore. “If you can't handle it, we'll get another agent in who can. It's not that I can't handle it,” she continued, now in her own voice, “but I'm going crazy here with all this inaction around me, watching the waves crash against the shore, making sure all the agents get fed. I'm completely losing my identity."
"What about Camden?"
"What about him?” Lacey turned to face Rayma, a scowl written across her features at the mention of his name. “He's perfect, he never screws up. He keeps his first name to keep his sense of identity. He's charming, makes a great chef, good-looking, and yet it's still taking him two years and then some to do this job."
"Why is he the only one involved?” Rayma asked.
"That's what I'd like to know,” Lacey said, taking more wine. Rayma held out her glass and Lacey poured more into it, letting it overflow and splash on Rayma. Rayma licked it off her fingers and Lacey held the wine up to indicate it was gone. “Oops,” she said as she placed the bottle in the sand. Her words began to slur. “It was too risky they said, but it's also one of our biggest cases and they're only putting Camden on the job. That's bullshit. And who the hell names their child Camden, anyway?"
Rayma felt a twinge of pity for Lacey, but wasn't quite sure what to think of her. She was beginning to feel the effects of wine inside her own head and the waves, when they started getting closer to the lounge chairs the girls were on, looked as if they were spinning in circles instead of back and forth.
"Camden's been on this job for two years and got nothing,” Rayma said. “I just recently starting looking into it and got almost all the information you need to crack this case."
"Damn right you did,” Lacey said, holding up her glass, which was now empty, in a salute. “I think you should go undercover."
* * * *
The army green canvas bag around Camden's shoulder contrasted with his black and white tux, and he gained a few stares as he trudged up the winding path leading to Darrell's home. Why it was so far from the road was anybody's guess. Even Camden, who was in tiptop shape, could have used an escalator to get to the front door.
He waited inside the massive entry while the maid went to fetch Darrell. He felt like he was in a hospital waiting room. The area was stark and sterile with only a window bringing color to the room. Camden assumed Darrell didn't want to comfort most people waiting to see him—that could explain the lack of plants, color and energy here.
"Camden, my man.” Darrell walked in, slapped Camden on the back, and took his hand in a light grasp. He glanced at his watch. “Shouldn't you be getting to work soon?"
"Yeah,” Camden said. “I wanted to talk to you first.” Darrell glanced at the woman, who then left them alone. “Maybe somewhere a little more private?” Camden asked even after the woman left. Though there was no one around, the space made him uncomfortable. “This is something we shouldn't discuss in the open."
Darrell turned, and Camden followed him into an office replete with leather and wood. It was formal to the point of being choking, and Camden loosened the tie around his neck so he could breathe.
"What's up?"
"I went out with that girl on the news, Rayma, last night. I stole this from her apartment. I thought you might be interested in what she has on you.” Camden threw the bag on the desk where Darrell sat and took it upon himself to open it and show Darrell the contents.
"What the hell?” Darrell muttered as he looked through evidence of his illegal activities. “Where is she?” he asked, looking up at Camden, who still stood.
"She spent the night with me.” Camden wriggled his eyebrows. “She's messed up though. Pretty depressed. She got fired from her job after what she aired yesterday."
"Serves her right."
"I thought so,” Camden lied.
"You going to keep her quiet?"
"Hell yeah,” Camden said. “She's gonna be too busy with my dick in her mouth to be talking much."
"That's my boy.” Darrell came around to where Camden stood, gave him a pat on the back, and indicated he follow him. “If I can trust you with this, I can trust you with more. And you deserve a raise."
"Yeah, well there's something even better than that.” Camden rubbed the back of his neck as he followed Darrell out the door.
Darrell stopped and turned. “What's that?"
Camden took in a deep, obvious breath, manipulating Darrell to think he was nervous. “I'm not sure how to ask this."
"Just ask."
Camden looked around to make sure no one was within hearing range, another manipulative trick on his part. “I need some drugs."
Darrell spewed out a mix between a cough and a laugh, the incredulous twitch to his eyebrow more than showing Camden he'd accomplished his attempt at deception. “I don't allow my chefs to take drugs,” Darrell said. “That's grounds for termination."
"Not for me,” Camden said. Darrell's eyebrow raised another notch, indicating he was waiting for the rest of Camden's story. “For Rayma. I need something ... different. Something to keep her on my dick longer."
"Something like Liquid X?"
"Something that makes her oblivious to life."
"What makes you think I have something like that?"
Camden shrugged and did his best to produce a red face. “I was wrong in coming here,” he said. “I just thought, you know, if I could keep her quiet and all, I could enjoy her company without having to ... you know ... kill her."
Darrell stared at Camden for an interminable time and Camden wondered if he had crossed the line. Although Darrell was suspected of smuggling cocaine into the country, they also suspected he may be producing designer drugs out of the country, and the bag of information Rayma received almost proved it.
"I've been with you for two years, Web,” Camden said. “You can trust me."
* * * *
"Don't even think about putting anything in the food or there'll be hell to pay."
Camden contemplated the words of the young courier who had given Camden a sack full of drugs before he left for the night. The message was obviously from the boss and gave Camden hope. At least Darrell had enough scruples to keep it away from his restaurant.
Camden always tried to give off a laissez-faire attitude towards drugs with his employer, but never wanted to present the wrong vibes. This was his way of starting small because, obviously, nothing else was going to work except downright asking.
And he was willing to try—almost—anything. He missed the niece he hadn't seen in two years. She would be five now. He longed to see how much she'd grown. His nephew had still been a baby when he took this job, and he didn't dare see his family because of the risks.
It was a lonesome job, even though people were around him all the time. He often wished he could just shoot all the drug dealers and get it over with quick and easy, end it once and for all and give him time to be with his family.
His resolve never changed, though. His goal was to get as many drug dealers off the street and out of business as he could, even knowing in prison they still held power. A frustrating part of the business, but one that didn't keep him down.
He stuck the paper sack under the passenger seat and began to drive home before realizing he had to stop at Rayma's house. She would be upset if he didn't pick up the cat.
Her home was as they left it. A wine glass along with scraps of paper floated in the bathtub. She'd been reading, but it was impossible to tell what kind of book it was now. He drained the water and wiped his hands on a towel. One she'd used before. He jerked his hand away at that thought.
"Beacon?” He looked around the apartment, trying not to notice the femininity surrounding him. He took shorts, shirts and a pantsuit from the closet, found her socks and panties, and stuffed them in a bag. The sooner he got them out of his hands, the better. He found shoes, sandals and her purse and by the time he filled the bag, it wouldn't close.
He didn't care. He needed to get out of here, away from the scents, away from her lacy thongs and away from the tiny dresses hanging in her closet.
Then he remembered the damn cat. He would need food. He looked through the pantry while Beacon circled his feet. The cat purred. Camden knelt to pet him. Beacon arched his back.
"You hungry?” he asked. “Sorry. Let's get you back to your mom.” He found a few cans of food, fed them into the bag wrapped around his shoulder and grabbed the cat, planning to leave when a presence in the doorway stopped him.
Beacon scrambled from his arms and shot down the hall. Camden dropped the bag. Cans of food banged to the floor. The guy stopped one with his foot as it rolled towards him.
"Who the hell are you?” Camden hooked his thumbs in the loops of his pants, presenting a casual attitude but preparing to pounce if necessary. The guy filled the doorway, and there was nowhere for Camden to go but forward.
"Rayma's boyfriend,” the guy said, not moving an inch. “Who the hell are you?"
"How did you get in here?"
"A key,” he said, holding it up for Camden's inspection. “How did you?"
Camden was at a cross in the road and debated which way to go. He was pretty sure Rayma had told him the truth when she said she didn't have a boyfriend, but this guy had a key. If he was an ex, wouldn't she have taken the key back or changed locks? Then again, anyone could hold up a key and say it went to this house. Camden had dozens of keys lining his wallet at one time or another.
He could be working for Web. Another goon sent to kill Rayma.
Or Rayma could be lying, and then he'd have a jealous boyfriend on his hands.
"What's your name?” Camden asked.
"Excuse me. I am the one with the key to Rayma's house, not you. Why don't you tell me your name?"
"She told me she broke up with you weeks ago,” Camden said, punting.
"Hah, make that a couple of days,” he said as he stepped towards Camden. “Did she already have you in her bed?” Camden held up his hands to fend off a fight but the guy came closer, his nose a few inches under Camden's. “My name's Mike.” His eyes flickered and he brought out his hands, as if for a shake. Camden went to accept the handshake, but Mike pulled his hand away and punched him in the stomach.
Camden grabbed Mike's arm and twisted it behind him, holding it in a tight grip. Mike fell to the ground and screeched like a little baby. “I grew up in the military,” Camden said as a warning. He'd learned plenty of fighting skills early on, with his dad and his dad's friends. Not to mention what he'd learned in Special Forces. “Don't mess with me."
* * * *
Darrell entered the darkened kitchen of the restaurant. “Did you give it to him?” He asked Landon. The boy was seventeen and had started working for Darrell when he was thirteen.
"Yeah,” Landon said.
"Good job.” Darrell patted him on the back. Landon was probably alive only because Darrell had taken him in. He'd been living on the streets, stealing food and drugs when Darrell found him. Instead of feeding his drug addiction, Darrell had taken him in and gave him food, a home, and a job. Darrell was that kind of guy, looking out for the welfare of others, but he didn't like his employees to be addicted. “Go home for the night. Get some sleep."
He started this restaurant over ten years ago, with hard work and money from years of scrimping and drug manufacturing. When he was young, he thought he'd never again have the pleasure of a tasty meal unless it came from the bottom of a trash receptacle. Growing up on the street taught him to be tough, hoarding money he earned from running errands for the smalltime street dealers. He finally saved enough money to buy a car and start a meth lab and eventually, everyone came to him for the goods.
His mother would roll over in her grave, if she had one, but since her body had never been found, that hadn't been possible. If she hadn't tried to run out on him and his father, she would probably still be alive. Darrell could never prove his father did it, but he was sure his father killed her. He'd never forget the screaming, or the awful silence afterwards. Though his father remained prison-free, he was hell bent on destroying himself with alcohol. As far as Darrell knew, the man was dead. They hadn't spoken in years.
So how could his mother blame him for what he did? He had to survive somehow.
Darrell deserved what he worked so hard for, and if getting rid of some newscaster who was probably a spoiled little rich girl who got everything she wanted in life, then so be it. He didn't force drugs on anyone, they made that decision themselves. He didn't sell them to young people on the street, he sold them in bundles to bigger distributors.
Darrell respected Camden and didn't want him to be at the brunt of his temper, but before he could trust someone they would be put through test after test. Camden thought it best to let the reporter live. He was probably right. He didn't like to kill, but sometimes there was a reason for it. Murder caused cops to start questioning things, and though some of them were on his payroll, not all of them could be trusted. If Camden could keep her silent, Darrell would continue to feed her drug habit and not kill her.
Eventually, the drugs would do that for him.
* * * *
Camden was finally on his way home after getting rid of Mike and making sure he didn't bother Rayma or her house again, when he saw the flash of lights behind him.
"Shit."
Just what he needed, a damn patrol deputy stopping him for doing, what, forty in a fifty?
The dissonant concert in his chest didn't help calm him when the officer approached. Camden, a special agent with the DEA, was actually scared shitless.
All he could think of were the drugs under the seat. That didn't bother him as much as the fact it could blow his cover.
"How are you this evening, sir?” the cop asked as he approached Camden, one hand resting on his gun and the other holding a flashlight.
Camden kept his hands on the steering wheel and Beacon climbed on his lap, attempting to get out the window. “I'm fine, Officer. Just trying to get home after work."
"I'm Officer McMillan,” he said, shining the flashlight in the cat's eyes. Beacon's claws gouged Camden's thighs. “Do you know why I stopped you?"
"No, sir,” he replied, pushing Beacon away.
"You were going seventy in a fifty-five.” Camden knew that was bullshit, but kept his mouth closed. “Do you usually take cats with you to work?"
"No. I picked up my girlfriend's cat on the way home. She's staying with me."
"Step out of the car, please."
It was a test of his skill to step out of the car and keep the cat from dashing out also, all while the officer shined his flashlight through the windows and nearly blinded him.
"Looks like you have a woman's purse."
"Picking it up for my girlfriend."
"Your license and registration, please."
Camden showed Officer McMillan his license while Beacon scratched against the window.
"May I search your vehicle?” he asked as he returned the license.
"No, sir. I don't agree to that."
"You don't agree to that? How about popping your trunk?"
Camden popped his trunk, just so the officer could see there was no dead body hidden inside.
"Where do you work?"
"Vin Doux."
"For Mr. Weberley, huh?"
Ah, the officer knew Web. He was probably on his payroll.
"Yes."
Officer McMillan shut the trunk, opened the passenger door, and rummaged behind the seat. Camden caught the cat, who was ready to split and take his chances with the road. Beacon fought and Camden gained a few scratches from the altercation. Hell, he didn't know how to control a cat. Why not just let him jump from his arms and run off into the dark?
Because Rayma would hate him.
"What the hell are you doing?” Camden asked. If the officer found his stash it wouldn't be admissible in court, but it was still wrong. Apparently, the cops of this town needed to be looked into also. He planned on checking them out as soon as this investigation was over.
"What's this?” The officer pulled out the paper sack and opened it while Camden stuffed the cat back in the car and closed the door. Officer McMillan rummaged through the bag and peeked at Camden, who only glared. “Where did you get this?"
Camden continued to glare and Officer McMillan thrust the bag into his arms. “Get yourself home."
* * * *
Rayma's head felt as if someone had used it as a drumstick. Pins needled their way into her stomach when she tried to sit up. Though the alcohol buzz had dissipated after a restive nap, the nausea that accompanied the wine binge remained.
She hadn't eaten since breakfast and though the thought of food brought a sickening thud to her insides, she still needed sustenance.
Her socks provided the perfect resistance to sound as she tiptoed to the kitchen in hopes no one would hear her. She wanted to grab a quick snack and get back to her room before anyone noticed.
It was almost midnight, most of the lights were off, and there was no sign of Beacon. That told her Camden hadn't made it in yet or if he had, he'd forgotten her cat.
She was relieved to find the kitchen empty. She put a slice of bread in the toaster and raided the refrigerator for anything to appease her rumbling stomach. She heard the thump of footsteps before the kitchen door opened and she jumped, turning from the fridge.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Moore said as he walked in, holding an unlit cigar in his hand.
"Just startled me, that's all.” Finding no hopes of satiety in the fridge, she closed it and grabbed her toast, intending to head back to her room.
"Is that all you're going to eat?"
"There aren't many more options,” she said, though a bag of salad, some ham and fruit, and something that looked like it'd been there longer than everything else occupied the fridge, she couldn't stomach any of it right now.
"I thought Lacey went to the grocery store today."
"There's food in there,” Rayma said. “I'm just not that hungry."
"Yeah, a hangover will do that to you.” Moore smirked and chewed on the end of his cigar like it was a piece of candy. Rayma returned an acerbic grin and began to head out the door.
"Is your room to your liking?” he asked.
"Yes it is, thank you."
"I'd like to talk to you about something,” he said, stopping her at the door. She turned, waiting for his reply, and he ushered her back in the kitchen with a hand gesture. “Please, sit down."
What could he possibly want with her? Only because she was dying of curiosity, she sat down and nibbled on her toast.
"We could use your help,” he said. “Since you're going to be staying with us for awhile, I thought you could help us do some investigative work."
"Like what?” she asked. She didn't know Moore well enough to ponder his objectives or doubt his sincerity, but she suspected his request wouldn't be to her advantage.
"You're an investigative reporter, so you must have some skills. I've seen the work you've done in Austin. We have those documents and tapes you got from your informant, but we need to study them before they will benefit us. You can help with that. When I feel its safe enough for you to go back to work, we'll keep an agent with you at all times and hope you get another call from your CI."
"CI?” Rayma asked.
"Sorry. Confidential informant."
Rayma shook her head. Just going back to work sounded great to her but having an agent follow her around would not work. “How do you expect him to contact me if I have a bodyguard?"
"Even you won't notice the agent,” he said. “When this is all said and done, I promise you an exclusive story. But you're going to have to stay here for awhile."
"Why?"
"You're the closest thing we have to a witness, but expendable to Web and his associates. I won't take that risk."
Rayma looked around the kitchen, thinking about what he said. An exclusive? If nothing else would catch her attention that would. She was sure he knew it. The house was extravagant, there was plenty of room for her to go unnoticed, and the exercise room—although she hadn't seen it yet—was a plus. If she could go back to work and resume a normal life, how could she say no?
But before she had a chance to answer, Camden walked in. Beacon jumped from his arms. Camden cussed and pitched an overstuffed bag onto the floor. A shoe rolled out.
Rayma grasped Beacon in her arms and cooed to him. She could only imagine the stress he must be experiencing after being with this man.
Camden was scowling as he thrust a paper sack at Moore. Where was that fascinating grin he usually wore? Would she finally get to see the real him, minus the charm?
"What's this?” Moore asked as he opened the bag. “Oh."
"That needs to be logged into evidence."
"Did this come from Web?"
"Not directly. One of his goons. And I was stopped for speeding, which I wasn't doing, and one of Web's cop friends found the drugs and told me to get home.” He turned to face Rayma. “And I ran into your boyfriend in your apartment, wondering who the hell I was and what I was doing."
"I don't have a boyfriend."
"He said he had a key."
"Who?"
"Mike."
"Mike? I broke up with him several days ago.” Oh shit, she didn't get the key back, did she? “Did you make him leave?"
Camden harrumphed and left it at that. The only scratch on his arm was obviously from Beacon. She supposed if there was a fight, Camden won.
"We've been talking,” Moore told Camden as Camden fixed a glass of water. “I asked Rayma to help us with this investigation. She can stay here but go back to work. I told her she would have an exclusive story when it was all over."
* * * *
"You what?"
Camden knew he must have heard Moore wrong. There was no way Moore could consider letting Rayma help with the investigation.
Rayma was rubbing that damned cat as if neither of them had a care in the world, and it was pissing him off.
Didn't she realize her life had drastically changed and may never be the same?
"Whose ass are you trying to crawl up?” Camden asked Moore. “And why? You know how I got these drugs?” He took the sack from Moore and though the question was directed at them both, he thrust the sack into Rayma's stomach. “I told Web I needed them to keep Rayma drugged so we wouldn't have to kill her.” He jerked the sack away and dropped it into Moore's lap. “I don't think we need her help."
"She has a CI who obviously doesn't want to go to anyone else but her. We wouldn't have that information if it wasn't for her."
"She wouldn't be in this predicament, either, if she kept her nose where it belonged, out of everybody else's business."
"Hello?” Rayma said, waving an arm. “I'm right here, and I've been in a lot worse situations than this."
"Are you trying to get her killed?” Camden asked, ignoring Rayma. She had no clue, no clue what she was talking about. Worse situations than this? He didn't think so. “Because if you are, I can just march her over to Web right now, who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in her head no matter how pretty she is."
"Is that what this is all about?” Rayma asked, advancing on him.
"About you getting a bullet in the brain? Yes, it is.” It took every ounce of his control not to throw his empty glass across the room and shatter it. He'd do that later, when he was alone, just to hear the sound. He placed the glass in the sink with calm hands. “She isn't going back to work yet,” he told Moore, ignoring Rayma. He slammed the door and left it at that.
Damn, but he was itching for a fight. He wanted to start with Web as a punching bag, and then move on to Moore.
What was Moore thinking? Obviously not with his head, that was for sure.
Or maybe that's what Camden's problem was, he wasn't thinking with his head.



Chapter Eight
Rayma let out a sigh of relief when she found her cell phone at the bottom of her purse.
Who was she going to call to get out of this mess? The police? “Help me I'm being held against my will in a safe house.” Yeah right.
Caitlyn would just panic, James would try to save the day and end up dead.
She had to remember she was safe here, though safe from what she didn't know. Remember the closet? Rayma asked herself. There were men in your apartment looking to kill you.
How many men, she didn't know. She'd been too wrapped up in Camden's heat to pay attention to the fact she could have been killed. If Camden hadn't been there...
She missed a call from Nicole, who checked to make sure Rayma wasn't dying. Rayma never called in sick so something bad must be up, according to Nicole's message. She missed a call from James, and knew she'd have to call them both back so they wouldn't worry about her.
But not at one in the morning.
She retrieved her bag from the floor to search for pajamas or anything besides the shorts crawling up her insides. Beacon jumped up on the bag, his woeful eyes begging her for attention and reminding her life was as she made it, though it had sure given her a lot to contend with.

But you've persevered she reminded herself. She picked him up and gave him the attention he sought, rubbing him between and to the left of his chin and neck. Then, setting him aside, she told him “I need to find some PJs. I'm sick of these clothes."
Camden packed her favorite pair of pink cotton shorts and a matching spaghetti top that said “Nice". Beacon followed her to the bathroom and, because of lack of space, she sat her things on the floor and performed her nightly bedtime routine.
She'd never seen so many feminine products piled across the top of a counter and along the rim of the bathtub. Several accessories that should have been put in a drawer were scattered on the floor. Rayma kept her toothbrush in her bag, figuring it was safer to keep her toiletries with her.
After a shower involving stepping around more containers—what did one woman do with all this stuff?—she donned her pajamas.
She imagined Camden's hands on her body as they had been on her clothes when he packed them. She wondered what else he'd touched in her home. His hands were smooth like a chef's hands with just enough roughness to be erotic. A hard working man's hands, not a man who'd flinch at the site of a thorn. Not accountant's hands, as Mike's had been, who never touched anything abrasive in his life.
The intimacy of Camden touching her panties as he placed them in her bag was almost more than she could bear.
Oh, if only she could have that pleasure.
No, no, stop it! That wasn't going to happen. She didn't want that to happen.

Oh yes she did, she thought, as she carried her bag back to her room, Beacon at her heels. And why not? She was a single woman, a perfectly sane woman, and Camden was a very handsome man. Turns out he's not a bad guy after all, he's a damn DEA agent.
Unless he was working both sides.
Rayma's phone was set to vibrate so no on in the house would hear it and take it away from her, and when she trudged back to her room and put her things away, she noticed a missed call. James again. She'd planned on calling him tomorrow morning, but since he called again, she thought she better call him tonight. Otherwise, he would worry about her.
He answered the phone in a jeremiad of screams. “Where the hell have you been? We've been worried sick."
"We?” she asked.
"Your mother and I."
That stopped her. Suddenly cold, she covered the blanket around her and sat on the bed. She buried her hands in Beacon's fur, urging his warmth to replace the coldness that suddenly rushed through her.
The cold she felt stemmed from her heart and no amount of warmth could stop that.
"Since when did she come into this?” Rayma asked.
"Since she called me frantically in search of you. She needs to speak with you. Says it's very important."
Though her mother thought everything concerning herself was important, Rayma knew it must be significant this time if she'd called James. As far as Rayma knew, they hadn't spoken since James played a part in sending Martha's husband to prison.
Twenty something years ago.
"She's worried sick about you,” James said. “You haven't answered your phone, you didn't go to work. I admit I was starting to get concerned."
"I'm fine,” Rayma said, still dwelling on her mother and the fact she had called James in search of her. They spoke off and on through the years and Rayma, in her early adult years, visited her from time to time, but it'd been only been once in the past three years and that was to meet Martha's live in, or whatever she should be called.
"Please call her,” James urged.
"My mother is living with a woman."
Rayma read James’ silence to mean it shouldn't matter her mom went insane enough to check herself into a facility, where she befriended a woman she was now living with—and not in the roommate sense—then blamed Rayma for her troubles.
Or had she always blamed Rayma for her troubles?
They ended their conversation with Rayma promising she would call her mother, though she didn't plan on doing so until tomorrow and she wasn't even sure she'd do it that soon. She clutched the phone a moment and wondered what her mom could possibly want now. Had her girlfriend left her and now she was confused and lonely? Why didn't she call her two sons?
"Oh wait,” Rayma said aloud as she set Beacon aside and rose from the bed. “She can't. One's in prison, the other's overseas."
* * * *
Moore was in Camden's face, letting out expletives while Camden gripped the counter behind him. Not because of fear, but because he was fighting the urge to knock his former friend to the ground and beat the snide attitude out of him.
Moore had knocked on Camden's door not five minutes after he walked out, and confronted him without Rayma to sidetrack either of them.
As if that would change Camden's mind.
Moore was supervisor and gave assignments to the other agents, but Camden and Moore both had a higher up they consulted with. Moore oversaw the day-to-day activities of the other agents, but Camden's activity was fixed. They consulted each other every night about what happened or, more like it, Camden told Moore everything that had happened that day and Moore liked to think he was choosing what to do next. Camden damned sure wasn't going to take orders from a man who held the same title as Camden yet didn't have a clue what happened on the inside unless he was told.
Team work, Camden reminded himself, yet it was getting harder and harder to play fair. There was more to Camden and Moore's problem than this, but Camden thought they'd gotten past it. Apparently, it was still simmering below the surface. Camden thought they'd be able to work together and they had for the past two years, but he thought it might be time to get a new team. It'd be easy to replace the people behind the scenes.
Moore made most of the decisions around here, but Camden spoke up if he didn't agree or thought it should be done a different way. They always consulted each other before major decisions were made. But Moore wasn't playing fair anymore. He told Rayma she could go back to work, knowing full well that was a bad mistake and would cost money, time, agents and hell.
It pissed him off.
Tired of Moore's soggy nicotine breath in his face, Camden pushed him away. “I will not allow Rayma to place herself in danger for a cause she doesn't need to. She will be more of a hindrance than anything."
"Don't allow your feelings for that girl to sway the right decision."
"She looks good in a skirt, that's it. I don't have feelings for her except that she's a living breathing civilian—” he stressed the last word—"who knows nothing about undercover work."
"She doesn't need to know. She won't be undercover. She'll live her day to day life and go to work. Maybe her CI will get in contact with her again, maybe he won't, but something will happen if word gets out."
Camden loosened his tie and took off his jacket, throwing it along the counter to wherever it would land. “We don't have enough agents to protect her.” He unbuttoned his shirt and stood underneath the cool air of the ceiling fan, trying to let the air seep into his bones. The night was steamy and the breeze from the saltwater only intensified the humidity. He felt it even inside the house and it was beginning to get to him.
Or was it knowing that there was a damned sexy woman in the house? Was it remembering that he had recently touched her panties and was still fighting the ache in his loins because of it?
"The agent at her house still isn't aware of what happened,” Camden continued. “If I hadn't overheard their plans, she'd probably be dead and that agent would still have gotten his rocks off.” The agent he spoke of had been banging some chick in the back of his car when he should have been watching Rayma's apartment. He was now pushing a broom for the administrator in the Dallas office.
"I'll call Burke tomorrow and discuss our plans,” Moore said, as if Moore telling the Captain how it should be would make a difference. Even though Burke was a harder ass than Moore, at least he would hear all sides before determining a plan of action.
"You do that,” Camden said. “I'll do the same."
* * * *
Rayma avoided the kitchen for as long as she possibly could the next morning, not sure of everybody's schedule. She was an early riser but heard someone up as early as she, so she went back to her room to talk to Beacon, try her own version of yoga, and think about what she was going to do.
She could leave. She could call someone now that she had her cell phone. James would save her, but likely risk his own life, too. She could call the police and report she was being held against her will, but she'd blow everybody's cover and she didn't want to do that.
She just wanted her life back. She had nothing to do with this. It wasn't her fault the informant chose to give her information. She was a reporter, that was her job.
When the need for coffee became more than her need to avoid others, she went to the kitchen to retrieve a cup for Beacon and herself. Beacon shot out the door and tramped down the hall ahead of her.
Lacey was the only one in the kitchen and Rayma breathed a sigh of relief. Beacon jumped on the counter, expecting his morning coffee.
"Ugh, I feel like I have a hangover,” Lacey said when Rayma walked in. Rayma poured a cup of coffee and since she had no cat milk, she bribed Beacon with water instead.
He glared, huffed his tail, and turned away.
"You drank a bottle of cheap wine,” Rayma reminded her as she sat at the table.
"It wasn't cheap wine. It was wine Camden brought from the restaurant, and he's going to kill me when he finds out I opened it."
"Oops."
"Yeah,” Lacey said.
Beacon meowed, and Rayma held out her hand. He didn't budge. “Can you get me some cat milk next time you go to the store?"
"Cat milk? What's that?"
"It's in the pet aisle. Unless I'm out of here before you go to the store. Think you can help? I need my life back."
"Join the club,” Lacey said. “I can't help you there."
"I'm being held against my will. I should call the cops.” Rayma had no intention of calling the cops and didn't really know why she said it, but anything to get Lacey out of her funk and make her listen to what she was trying to say. Help me.
"You wouldn't want to do that,” Lacey said as she got up and trudged to the pantry. “You want something to eat?"
"I heard there was an exercise facility,” Rayma said. She'd meant to find it yesterday but never made it. “I'd like to go work out if I could."
"Of course. It's that small brick building right outside, semi-attached to the house."
Rayma looked outside and saw the building. “Will Camden be there?"
"Do you want him to be?"
"No,” Rayma said as she poured herself another cup of coffee. Beacon was at her feet in an instant. Figuring it wouldn't hurt, she gave him a small amount of milk and coffee with water. He had a strong stomach. “I want to exercise alone and he's the last person I want to see."
Lacey looked at her watch. “He shouldn't be there right now. It's still pretty early."
"How do I make a request for groceries?” Rayma asked after searching the fridge for whipping cream and finding none.
"Use the notepad by the fridge."
Rayma found it, wrote her request, and gained a sneer from Lacey after the other woman read what she'd written. “Sounds kinky."
Rayma laughed. “I put it in my second cup of coffee as a treat, but make sure it's fat free."
"Uh, huh."
Rayma didn't officially have any exercise clothes with her, so she chose cotton shorts and a top with a built-in bra. It'd work for the time being, if she only had to stay here a week or so. She grabbed an energy bar from her purse and went to the exercise room.
Camden was there.
Dammit.
And he was doing one arm pull-ups, shirtless, his muscles striating with every move.
He dropped from the bar when he saw her. Rayma turned to leave.
"Don't leave on my account.” His voice stopped her.
"I prefer to work out alone. I'll come back later."
"No. I'm almost done."
He executed a few stretches and Rayma sat on a bench, pretending to tighten her shoelaces, pretending to adjust her socks, anything to avoid him.
Her heart pounded, her fingers shook. She hated herself right now. She hated that she had no control over her body when he was around. He was a man. Men usually didn't frazzle her this way.
She stood. “Lacey told me you wouldn't be here."
"Lacey doesn't know anything about my schedule,” Camden said.
"No, how would she?"
"What's that supposed to mean?” Camden grabbed a towel and wiped beads of sweat from his body.
Why didn't he put on a shirt?
"It means you pretty much do what you please so how would she know? How would anybody know? You could be involved in this drug cartel just as much as Darrell Weberley. Is that why it's taking so long?"
She saw his muscles tense, the gleam in his eye turn to stone. He straightened. The room grew smaller and his height nearly overpowered it, suffocating her.
Rayma took a step back. Her legs were unstable against the flat concrete floor.
"I don't appreciate being accused of not doing my job,” he said, his voice smooth, as if he intentionally kept it under control. “Whatever Lacey said to you when she got drunk on my very expensive wine is a bunch of bullshit."
So he knew about the wine. Should she warn Lacey? “I'm entitled to my own opinion. It didn't come from Lacey."
Camden strolled towards her. For a moment, she wondered what his intentions were. He stopped in front of her, his shoulders wide, his chest ripped. The sheen of sweat on his body was potent enough she swore she tasted him. She fought the urge to smack her lips together.
He wasn't huge as in bodybuilder huge, not brawny as in muscles bulging everywhere, but lean and muscular. She'd never gone for the bodybuilder look, but his muscles were in sync with the rest of his body, stretching where they should be stretching and tapering where they should be tapered.
How long had it been since she'd seen a man who actually took care of his body, who actually had muscles surging from every extremity?
Oh yeah, a man who was obsessed with himself, women, and sex would take care of his body.
Rayma closed her eyes. He was not standing there looking like a god, his almost perfect body—okay his perfect body—towering above her. Imagine a beach. No, a mountain. Water. Anything besides him. She opened her eyes—she couldn't let him think she was trying to avoid him.
Yep, there he was, towel wrapped around his neck and the top of his shoulders, sweat glistening in his thick hair. The visualization technique did not work.
"You still mad at me?” he asked.
"For what?” She focused on his eyes, which seemed safer at first, but the color warmed her in more ways than one. Nothing would work except to stay as far away as possible so she turned away and began a slow jog around the room. Her legs still shook, but they managed to hold her up. “Oh, you mean for lying to me?"
"I didn't lie to you."
She held up her hand to cut him off, and continued her jog. She pivoted, but kept her face turned away from him as she brought her knees up high, praying she wouldn't fall until he was gone.
"And I'm not lying to you now when I tell you Darrell won't forget you anytime soon. He'll be watching for you, asking about you, hunting you. So be mad at me because I won't let you go back to work. At least you'll still be alive."
"That's providing you and your agents can keep me safe."
"You know, its stupid broads like you who cause shit like this to happen. I've been working on this case for two years and here you almost ruin everything I've worked for just so you can have some story on the news to wet your panties."
* * * *
Okay, so it wasn't the best thing to say to a woman, even if it was true. He should have at least kept the ‘stupid broad’ comment out of the insult.
She knew nothing about undercover operations, he didn't care how many stories she wrote about it, and he wasn't about to let her get herself killed, just because she thought she could help. But pissing her off wasn't going to help either.
He'd talked to the Captain, along with Moore, and they decided if anything, she could help shuffle through the documents she'd found and try to spot any significant information that might prove vital to their case. Study the pictures, the drawings, the notes made by this anonymous person. They already had three agents working on it but an outside source, a civilian, may pick up something the others missed.
And at least she could feel important, like she was doing something to help and not being babysat.
She would continue to check her email from the safe house to cull it for any messages the informant sent, but she would not be allowed to reply to any.
He was fraught with tension when he went into work that afternoon, and all the exercises in the world couldn't alleviate the pressure in his chest. As if sensing his mood, most coworkers stayed away from him. The smell of garlic, basil and sage filled the room as he made his special, and dicing the herbs soothed him in ways nothing else could.
Well, maybe one thing, but that wasn't going to happen.
He had to get his mind off Rayma.
She was a woman, he was a man. It was normal for him to want to touch her, to taste her, to feel her soft skin in his hands. It wasn't normal to want to talk to her, to watch her sleep if she would allow it, or to spend every waking moment with her.
And he knew he wasn't in love. So what was wrong with him?
Oh yeah, he hadn't had sex in a while and she was tempting. If he could just have one night with her, his damned ego would return to normal and so would his blood pressure.
She was hot. He was a love ‘em and leave ‘em type of guy. She wasn't looking for a long-term relationship—just the kind of woman he would go for—but because she was causing his brain waves to flow just a little bit batty, she was the kind of woman he should steer far away from.
"Darrell wants to see you in his office,” Jonathan, the assistant chef, said. “I'll take over from here."
Camden rolled his eyes, washed his hands, and lowered his breathing.
"Hey, my man,” Darrell said as Camden walked into his office. As usual, a scotch was in one hand and he was sitting behind his desk. The room was dark, the deep brown and gold plaid patterns on the wall, the cherry wood furniture and the muted lighting helped to keep it that way. “I have someone I want you to meet."
Camden was already on edge, so when he noticed the dude from Rayma's apartment lazing in a chair, he felt as if he'd been punched.
"We met,” Mike said, not bothering to rise from his chair. Camden remained grounded where he was, not bothering to offer a handshake.
"This is Mike, my CPA. When did you two meet?"
As if Mike hadn't already told Darrell. The world was getting smaller and smaller by the moment.
"Last night,” Mike said. “He was at my girlfriend's apartment."
"Ex-girlfriend. She's dating me now."
What did Rayma see in this guy? Is this the kind of man who turned her on? A starched suit with a double-breasted jacket? And what the hell kind of CPA dressed like that, anyway?
Mike rose from his chair, his shoulders hunched, his eyes narrowed. Camden just grinned. Mike clenched his fists at his sides.
"Mike, settle down,” Darrell said. “Before you get hurt."
He was tall, lanky, but still half a head shorter than Camden. He sat back down.
"You two may be working together in the near future. I wanted you to meet."
"What the hell will we be working on?” Camden asked. “I know he's no chef and I don't crunch numbers."
"Do you want more responsibilities or not?” Web asked.
"If the pay's there,” Camden said, playing it cool. Maybe this was his ‘in'. What struck him as odd was that Rayma's ex-boyfriend was involved. Was he the informant, or did Rayma already know more than she was letting on?



Chapter Nine
Camden didn't know what to expect from Darrell when Mike came to get him. Telling Jonathan he'd be right back and throwing his apron to the side, he followed Mike to the back.
Darrell was pouring himself another glass of scotch when they entered. Hell, the guy should be drunk by now. “Would you like some?” he asked, holding out the bottle to Camden.
"No thanks, I'm working."
"Good answer.” Darrell twisted the top on the bottle and swished the scotch around the ice before taking a sip. “I need you and Mike to work together on something. I have a package to be delivered to a very important person. It got screwed up last time.” He turned a scowl to Mike, who seemed to shrink in the room. Facing Camden, he continued. “Now it needs to be fixed. Think you can handle it?"
Camden casually breathed in deep to calm his heartbeat, which now thrummed a tempo a few levels above staccato. This was a step forward and could mean things were almost over for his investigation. But he had to play it cool.
He stuffed his hands in his pants pocket and said, “I can handle it. What you got?"
Darrell held out a black case and Camden took it, along with a rolled up document. “You're to meet Nemmy at the location on the map, tonight after work. If I sense any foul play,” he looked at Camden, at Mike, then back at Camden, “there won't be another chance."
Camden unfolded the map and studied it, but didn't recognize the locality. It was several miles out of town and close to the water's edge. Nowhere near Darrell's house or warehouse.
"Just so you know how important this assignment is,” Darrell said, grabbing the case from Camden, “I want you to see."
Darrell opened it and Camden felt as if someone had gut-punched him. The crystallized powder that had killed his brother stared back at him. It always evoked the same reaction. Fury, a sense of defeat, and an indisputable goal.
He hated it, but remained steady in his words, in his feelings, and in his eyes when he looked at Darrell, who studied his reaction.
"It's weighed,” Darrell said. “No more or less should be taken from this case."
"Not a problem,” Camden assured him, and glanced at Mike. “Will it be a problem for you?"
"No."
"Good.” Darrell snapped the case closed and returned it to Camden. “Pick it up here after work tonight. In exchange, Nemmy will give you another case just like this one. No more or less will be taken from either. Return that case to me. You'll be well compensated."
* * * *
Rayma was tired, her head hurt, and she was frustrated as hell.
Well, she thought, as she stood and stretched, that depended on how frustrating hell really was.
She'd spent the day staring at pictures, studying documents and shuffling through some of the paperwork she'd sorted through already. The evidence of drug manufacturing was there, but nothing pinpointing Darrell Weberley. The evidence of murder, greed, and corruption were there but nothing proving Darrell Weberley was involved.
She'd scanned pictures, making them larger, clearer, and more detectable. What a waste of time.
The only highlight of her day was receiving an email from Caitlyn. Moore, determined Rayma could only check her email in case her informant contacted her but not send a reply to anyone, finally relented when she promised he could read every word. She had to reply to Caitlyn. If she didn't, her best friend would be among the people worried about her. She'd move heaven and earth to make sure she was okay.
She would love to see Caitlyn, but didn't need her coming to visit right now.
Rayma replied she was ultra busy and they had a world of catching up to do. She told her she'd be out of pocket for the next week or so but would catch up with her later.
Rayma missed Caitlyn. She missed the life she led before she met Keegan. But she could never go back to what was normal.
Life hadn't been normal for her since Keegan. She didn't even know what normal was anymore.
Since no one was going to listen to her bellyache about her life, she went to the kitchen in search of food. A box of brownies caught her eye and why not? By the looks of things, there wasn't much else to cook and if they were being saved for something special, Lacey could just go back to the store and buy more.
Better yet, send her.
She'd been craving chocolate for, well, a long time. Not because every time she looked into Camden's eyes she got hungry.
Rayma wasn't much of a baker, that's what bakeries were good for, but she could bake brownies, dammit. She could read directions. All it called for was water, eggs ... oh wait, did they have any vegetable oil?
Would peanut oil work? No, there was some veggie oil, hidden in the back of the pantry.
She preheated the oven, stirred the mix, and put it in a pan. She sat on the floor to lick the pan while Beacon lay in her lap. “I'm sorry I've been abandoning you lately,” she said.
Lacey walked in and rolled her eyes, but Rayma knew Lacey's heart had grown a tad larger since Beacon came into her life. She'd caught Lacey several times petting him in private.
"I'm going to be going out for a little while,” Lacey said. “And I really don't want to tell Moore my itinerary. Can you just tell him I went to run errands if he asks?"
"Where are you going?” Rayma asked.
"I just said I don't want to tell Moore my itinerary. I really don't want to tell you either."
"Whatever,” Rayma said, but with an attitude like that, don't expect me to cover for you, she thought.
She was still sitting on the floor with Beacon in her lap when Camden walked in.
Camden? What was he doing here?
And why was her heart beating so much faster than it was before?
"What are you doing on the floor?” Camden asked.
"What does it look like?"
"Looks like you're making a mess. Smells like you're burning something, too."
"Oh shit.” She jumped up and Beacon thought she was ready to play. He latched on to her ankle and pierced her skin with his claws. “Ow! Watch it, Beacon."
Camden took Beacon from her ankles but she didn't have time to thank him. She opened the oven. Yeah, maybe the brownies were a little overcooked, but they'd be okay. With a glass of milk, no one would ever notice they were, what, ten minutes overcooked?
Camden laughed, but it wasn't a ha-ha funny laugh. Rayma took serious offense, maybe because all she needed was to be caught by a chef—oh wait, a phony chef—burning her food and getting attacked by her cat.
"I don't appreciate you treating me like an imbecile in the kitchen,” she said.
"I didn't say a word."
"My mother was never much of a cook. I wasn't raised with that privilege. Everything I've learned, I've taught myself. I make a mean chicken spaghetti and chicken salad, though."
Why did she feel like she had to explain anything to him?
"Okay,” Camden said, as if confused about where her tirade stemmed from. “I'm sure those brownies are perfect just the way they are. You know where Moore is?"
"In the office."
Camden sat Beacon down and left.
What a conceited little prick. She cringed every time he looked at her, thinking he might remember her in the bathtub, in the attic, naked.
And why should she be the one cringing? It wasn't like it hadn't gone both ways. She remembered clearly what happened, including his orgasm.
Why didn't she just have sex with him and get it over with? Just for that thought, Rayma grabbed two extra brownies to add to the two she already had in her hand, an extra large helping of milk, and walked up to her room.
She was glad to have had something to do all day, even if it was staring at papers and not soaking up the sun, but she was wired and knew the brownies weren't going to help. She made a mental note to ask about a good book to read, preferablly suspense, a thriller, or all out murder and mayhem. No romance, absolutely none.
A book, while soaking up the sun, would be the ultimate vacation experience. Why not take advantage of the hell she was going through? Maybe it'd help keep her mind off of Camden.
Her phone beeped and she realized she needed to turn it off. Not that she was doing anything illegal or damaging to their mission. She felt safer with it, more secure knowing it was here and she could use it if she needed to, but she needed to remember to keep it turned off.
Her mother had tried to call. Again.
She turned her phone off. Let her mother wonder. There was nothing Rayma could do to help her right now anyway, and the only time she ever called was when she needed something.
"No, you can't have a brownie,” Rayma told Beacon as he put his face up against hers and meowed. She sat him on the floor, he jumped back up but this time sighed and lay down. “I'll let you lick my milk glass when I'm done,” she promised.
Rayma wasn't the type of person who could sit idly by and wait for things to happen. This was killing her. She hadn't been happy in a while. She probably would have eventually realized that and moved back to Austin or possibly taken up James’ offer to work with him. Now, with all the time in the world and nothing much to do, she had plenty of time to think about her future.
If she had a future. If she didn't become a grocery store clerk with a fake name she'd have to remember or a secretary with a new face. If she didn't have to hide under the witness protection program for the rest of her life because someone wanted to kill her.
It wasn't something that had ever come up, but as she was going through records of Darrell's operation, the thought had punched her straight in the gut and she couldn't get it out of her head.

Oh well, at least I'd be a different person.
Someone knocked on her door and Rayma sat her glass on the floor to let Beacon have it, just as she promised. Her heart was pounding again, but this time she blamed it on the sudden knock and her having to get up to answer the door. Not because she thought it might be Camden on the other side.
It was Moore. She breathed a sigh of relief.
"Where's Lacey?” Moore asked.
"Running errands."
"She can't just come and go as she pleases."
"Am I her keeper?"
"Come downstairs, I have someone for you to meet."
Camden was no longer anywhere to be seen, but a very large and very black man was seated at the kitchen when Rayma walked in. He stood. Rayma wondered if all agents were just large.
"This is Dex,” Moore said. “Your bodyguard."
"My bodyguard?” Rayma asked. Dex reached his hand out to shake hers and she thought she'd be crushed. He was gentle, his hands were soft, and his eyes were tender. Rayma immediately liked him. But her bodyguard?
Did that mean they were going to let her go back to work?
"He's an agent,” Moore said. “He's going to watch you, protect you if anyone breaks in or learns of this establishment. You're to go nowhere without him."
"I don't go anywhere anyway,” she reminded him.
"You're not to go outside, even to the private beach, without him."
"Why?"
"Because Camden says so. And because there's a man out there who wants you dead."
* * * *
Camden trudged through a marsh of weeds and sand dunes, wondering when they'd ever get to the designated meeting location. He held the briefcase full of drugs in one hand and a flashlight in the other. The flashlight, along with the stars, offered the only illumination.
Both were severely lacking.
Though he couldn't see an inch in front of him, he heard the waves and knew they were close. Up, over a dune and down, trudging through the sand.
They came upon a yacht pounding against a dock. The area was large enough to hold a party, though there was no one within seeing distance. Camden imagined they were all tucked inside with guns trained on them. If Camden had his backup, they could bust these people, but then they'd never get to Darrell. He knew this was a test, and he intended to pass.
Mike called out and Camden heard someone speak, but whoever it was obviously wasn't talking to them. He took a deep breath and his heart pounded slowly. He was good at that, 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.
He was aware of every movement of the trees as they danced with the wind, every splash of water as the air coiled down and up again, mixing salt, air, sand and water in an atmosphere meant to be peaceful.
The stars, this far from the city, glistened. He'd stared up at those stars many nights with his arms wrapped around a woman. The sea slapped against the dock and spit water upon them. What should have been peaceful was set against a backdrop of violence and filth. Men watched from the boat, their hands on their weapons, just in case.
Camden was trained to be aware, to know everything going on around him and anticipate what would happen next. He was aware of every man, though camouflaged well. His training taught him to sniff out every detail and every ‘what's missing in this picture?'
There was someone in the window, gun in hand. There was someone to the left training a gun on them, hiding behind the dock.
When the infamous Nemmy emerged, Camden leveled his eye on him. Suddenly, a bright light blinded him and he had to shut his eyes a moment to adjust.
He'd seen pictures of Nemmy before, so it wasn't hard to recognize him. A large rounded man with a short stature, his straight, white and probably fake teeth contrasted with the rest of his face, which looked like it'd been through the blender a few times.
His real name was Juan Gonzalez, but only privileged people knew that information. He was dangerous but in Camden's eyes, stupid. He did everything himself whereas Darrell sent others to do his dirty work. He'd been busted a few times but always got out on a technicality.
The DEA had done extensive research on Nemmy, but the information out there was limited, almost planted. Juan Gonzalez started showing up a few years ago, but there was no face to go with the name. Nemmy showed up just a year before Camden and was now one of the most powerful drug lords in the business, besides Web.
"How my compadres doing?"
"Fine,” Mike said, his face white, his jaw ticking. Camden sensed his nervousness and figured the last time Mike was in front of Nemmy, he botched the delivery.
The story went that no one liked to deal with Nemmy but all dealers must at one point in time. No one trusted him. He was volatile, like a ticking bomb waiting to go off. Camden saw him as just another loser, just another man to shoot down.
He wished he could do that, literally.
Nemmy approached Mike and slapped him, hard, the sound ringing like gunfire in the otherwise silent night. Mike's head moved sharply to the side and he clenched his jaw but remained in place, his feet digging deeper into the sand as if that would keep him 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 he didn't want to create a scene.
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, looking for wires. “Ah, what's this?” Mike looked over, as if expecting to see wires, but Nemmy pushed on a muscle instead. “No wires there, you lucky S-O-B."
Mike sighed and Nemmy turned to face his men. “Search them."
Camden hoped Mike wasn't stupid enough to bring a gun as he had last time, and wondered if the guy even knew how to shoot one. He was wearing a suit for chrissakes. It was almost a hundred degrees at midnight and they were at the beach. Even Camden, who had to wear a tux for work, changed before coming here.
What had Rayma seen in this guy?
They were searched, the briefcase was taken, and guards watched them as the case was checked over. Nemmy 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. Camden glared, wondering how far this moron would go and how many lessons he needed to learn.
As if knowing who to put in control, Nemmy snapped the case closed and handed it to Camden. “Be good."
Camden remained standing to watch. Only when the guys were inside the boat did he back away and begin their trek across the labyrinth of sand dunes and trees where the truck 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 to where they were going.
Camden stopped and turned. Mike nearly stumbled right into him. Camden grabbed him by the neck and 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 again.” Camden pushed him away, feeling nothing but disgust for the man.
Or was it jealousy that Mike had shared a bed with Rayma and he hadn't?
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 shoes.
"How much did that outfit cost you?” Camden asked.
"More than you make in a year,” Mike said.
"Yeah, stealing someone else's money will do that for you. You sleep in it at night to make spending the money worthwhile?"
"You wanna come over and see just how I sleep?” Mike asked sarcastically.
Camden ignored him. 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 truck, Mike took off his shoes and shook them out.
"Did you send that email to Rayma?” Camden asked.
"Hell no."
"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, Camden drove through a mile long muck of rough roads before landing back on the highway. Mike turned to get the case of money, but Camden's hand snapped down on his before he had the chance to get it.
"I just need to count it. I am Web's CPA, you know."
"You've fucked up once, don't do it again. You'll have more than Web to worry about."



Chapter Ten
Rayma had called in sick over the past week, and knew her job would be in jeopardy if she didn't talk to Tony about it. So Friday, she called to request a leave of absence and to beg Tony to beg her to come back. With that, maybe she could convince Camden she was needed at her job. Dex could be her bodyguard, she could come back to the safe house every night. She didn't see the problem in it and could probably help more that way, if only she could convince Camden.
"You've been sick for the past four days,” Tony said. “Is everything okay?"
Dex stood beside her, not only to watch her but also to make sure she didn't give away her location or what was going on.
"Not really,” she said. “I hope to be back soon, maybe by Monday, but I need to request a leave of absence just in case.” She hoped to convince Camden over the weekend.
"You can't just leave and expect to come back whenever it's convenient for you,” Tony said.
"I'm in trouble,” she told him, though she didn't want to elucidate the problem. Surely he could figure it out. Surely he would know. “I have to stay away for awhile."
"You have problems. I have a career I've worked hard for. I have a family, Rayma. I can't afford for you to bring those problems back with you.” Rayma, almost at a loss for words, felt as if she'd been slapped in the face. “Stay where you are, where you're safe for now. We've found a replacement. I can't keep waiting for you to decide when the time is right to come back to work."
"I'm requesting a leave of absence. I have that right."
"And I have the right to fire you,” Tony said.
"Please don't do that. I'll be back soon and will have a story that will win awards."
"Stop chasing after gold, Rayma."
"I'm not chasing. This one fell. Just please give me some time to get things situated."
"I'm sorry, Rayma."
Rayma stewed around all day, pacing, angry, repressing the urge to throw things. She wasn't a temper tantrum thrower but thought she could definitely start.
But first, with Camden. At night, she went outside and staked out his apartment, waiting for him to come home. She knew Dex was in the shadows, protecting her, watching over her in case some psycho found this place and murdered her in cold blood. She thought it was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. Why did she need a bodyguard when she wasn't even allowed to go anywhere? No one could enter these premises without the millions of agents knowing.
She couldn't blame Lacey for her resentment towards Camden and at this moment, resentment burned through her tenfold. When she saw him walking towards his apartment where he had the privacy to walk around naked, the anger that simmered all day flooded her.
"I'm leaving,” she said as she approached him, not giving him a chance to even notice her.
He jumped and surprised her with his reflexes when he grabbed her in a grip around her neck where she couldn't move.
She gasped in shock and lifted her hands to his wrists, trying to pull free. Even after recognizing her, he didn't let go, but his grip loosened considerably.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?” he demanded.
"I came here to tell you I'm taking my life back,” she replied, attempting to speak forcefully in spite of her distress ... and his warm fingers around her neck. “There's no reason to be here anymore."
"You're not leaving."
"You sonofabitch.” She brought her free hand up to slap him but he grabbed it, dropped the hold on her neck, and tightened his arms around hers, pulling her towards him.
"Let me go,” she spat.
"Don't pounce on someone like that,” Camden warned. “Lest you want to pay the consequences."
"Thought you were the almighty. You should have known I was there."
"Don't sneak up on people around here. You might get hurt."
As if to prove his point, or for whatever reason, his mouth came down on hers. His kiss was soft, a significant contrast to his fierceness earlier. She felt like a piece of bread after warm butter is poured on top. Soft, melting. His grip on her was now just a close touch, causing her to tremor like a bed must feel when it's draped with silk sheets.
And Dex was probably watching in the shadows.
She pulled away. “Do all women fall at your feet at the wonderment that comes out of your mouth?"
"You feeling it?"
* * * *
Camden wasn't in the mood to deal with this, with her, after what he had just been through. He felt sick, like he needed a long hot shower to wash away the filth he dealt with today. Afterwards, a good roll in the sack wouldn't hurt but at this time of night, it was hard to find a respectable woman.
Unless he could change Rayma's mind.
"I lost my job today because they can't wait for me to decide when I can come back to work,” Rayma said.
"You didn't like that job anyway."
"On the contrary,” she said. “I was perfectly content in that job."
"It wasn't exciting enough for you."
"It was just what I needed.” He opened the door and she was right behind him. Clearly this conversation was not over in her mind. “Web is no longer interested in me,” she continued. “There's no reason for him to want me dead now. He has his bag of information that was given to me. I'm a nobody to him."
"You were a threat to him at one time, which means you still are."
"Then I'll deal with that. I can pack up and leave quicker than you've ever seen anyone pack up and leave. I have places I can go, a family I can go to who'll protect me. This business of yours is none of my concern. I won't stick around to be your eye candy."
He laughed and nudged her through the door.
She had nowhere to go.
Feeling as if he'd just rolled around in syrup, he turned the AC up another notch. If he had to go through a brawl with her before he could take a shower, unless he could convince her to join him, then he'd have to find comfort elsewhere. The AC offered little.
"I just got fired from my job. What do you expect me to do now?"
"You'll find another one when you have your freedom back. You're a perfectly capable journalist. For now, enjoy the beach, do what Moore tells you."
"You can't keep me here."
"I can and I will."
"I'm calling the cops and telling them I'm being held against my will."
She couldn't call out on the landline, it was protected by passwords, but he grabbed her arm when she reached for the phone.
"Damn, Rayma, I thought you were smarter than that. Am I going to have to take away your phone privileges too? Take away your cell phone so you won't have any freedom? You're damn lucky not to be a prisoner in this house. You think you're miserable now, push my buttons just a little more."
She pulled her hand away and stepped back, but he hung on to her angry glare and presented one of his own. “You're so naïve, you can't even fathom the dangers you would face if you went back to your kosher life."
"My life isn't kosher."
"You want to know what I did last night? What I did tonight? Camden grabbed a beer and tossed Rayma one, then leaned against the counter. “Last night I delivered drugs to a man with your ex-boyfriend. Today, I met with another man and received drugs in return."
It'd been a crazy day. He'd gone to work as usual and Web pulled him aside to give him another assignment. This time, he'd met alone with a man he'd never heard of who'd given him a supply of life jackets, the same type of life jackets they'd seen in the video, and he returned them to Web. When he asked Web what they were for, Web said a test.
Whether it was a test for new drugs, a test for Camden or a test on how well the lifejackets performed, Camden didn't know. He figured all of the above.
"Why didn't you arrest them all?” Rayma asked.
"There's a time and a place for that. It was neither."
"I knew it,” she whispered, stepping further away from him. “You're in on it, too. 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 just the same.
"If I was in on it, don't you think I'd let you go so you could get yourself killed? You know you're the one with all this information and come to find out your ex-boyfriend is on it. Maybe we should be investigating you."
"I had no idea Mike had anything to do with this. I got an anonymous email and started research."
"How do I know that? Maybe you're just playing this game, feeding all this information to Web on what goes on here."
"That's ridiculous."
He gripped her arms and held them firmly in his hands. She didn't even try to escape. He had to give her credit for standing her ground. “How do I know?"
"I guess you don't,” she said through clenched teeth.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted that clenching mouth to soften and warm under his like it did earlier. He wanted to taste her, to feed her anger and feel her change beneath him, a transformation from anger to desire, loathing to raw sexual need.
"You can't fathom all the things running through my head when I found out Mike was in on this. Apparently, he has been for a long time."
"I didn't know that."
"You say,” Camden said. He believed her, but wouldn't tell her so. He figured someone knew Mike, someone knew Mike's girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, was a reporter, and that someone got her email address and emailed her.
But who?
He pushed her away. “Unless you plan on taking a shower with me, get the hell out of here."



Chapter Eleven
A few days after Camden accused her of being involved with Web in one breath and invited her to shower with him in the other, he found Rayma on the beach with book in hand, the chaise lounger digging a hole in the sand as the waves crashed against it. A cup that had probably held a cocktail nestled against the lounger and was now sporting a combination of sea, salt and sand.
Dusk was beginning to settle in, the clouds painting a mural of pinks, purples and grays across the sky. The sun rested against the top of the ocean and offered rays and shadows across the earth.
"This isn't a very good way to hide,” he said to get her attention.
Rayma glanced at him and shut her book, clicking the lounger up so she would be sitting upright. She swung her legs over the side and grabbed a cover-up to wrap around her. Camden didn't know why she did it. Most women with a body like hers would be itching to expose it.
She was too damned modest but he liked that; he found it sexier than a woman walking around half naked.
Her hair was twisted up in some type of ponytail atop her head, half of it spilling out. That was sexy too, but what turned him on even more was the thought of him taking her hair out of the holder and watching it fall down around her shoulders, feeling the softness between his hands.
He shook himself out of his reverie before she noticed the effects of his fantasy and plopped himself down on the sand along side her lounger. The water saturated his denim shorts but he didn't care. It felt achingly good—the cold water against the tightness in his jeans—much like being whacked on the top of the head with a steel bar. He clenched his fists in the sand as the wind whipped through the waves and urged the sun to warm him.
"Don't you think you should be inside?” he asked Rayma. The waning sun produced a dull light to read by, but the kaleidoscope of colors against the horizon was like peering into a deep abyss of heaven. He inhaled, the scent of the sand and the salt more potent than the cocktail Rayma drank.
Or was that just because she was sitting beside him? Her leg accidentally brushed up against his shoulder and he turned to look at her. She was slowly getting up but he stopped her with his hand.
"No,” she said, not ceding to his wish. “I must go in per your request."
"Dammit Rayma. If you're going to listen to my requests then I demand you sit back down and listen to what I have to say."
She sighed, practically fell back in her lounger, and grabbed her book, making a show of her anger.
"Someone is trying to kill you—"
"Not someone,” she interrupted. “Darrell Weberley. Someone you work for. Someone you could have busted by now."
"And you're on the beach as if you have no cares in the world."
"Didn't you know? There are agents all around me.” She turned her head and waved her arms around as if to show him. He knew Dex was there, and Lacey was a few hundred feet away with her nose in a book and a cap around her head. He wouldn't trust either one of them to protect Rayma if someone walked by and starting shooting. By then it would be too late to do anything about it.
He waved at Dex, whistled for Lacey's attention to indicate they were free to go. Lacey shrugged her shoulders, picked up her towel and, unlike Rayma, let her arrogance show as she sauntered back to the house with barely any clothing.
"You can stay mad at me all you want,” Camden told Rayma when they were free of eavesdroppers, “but that won't change anything. If you think I should just let you go, then you don't know this business or how much danger you would be in. If you think I should let you help us, you're out of your mind. They're out to kill you, and I won't be able to protect you or myself if they find out I'm not really a chef."
"I wouldn't tell them."
"Darrell isn't stupid."
"Someone must be. You're still his chef and he's still dealing drugs."
"Do you know an agent was watching over your house the night those goons came in to kill you? He was banging someone in the back of his car. If I hadn't overheard them talking about their plan, you'd probably be dead."
"Should I thank you for saving my life?” she asked.
"Unless you think Beacon could have saved you."
What the hell was he doing? Was he expecting gratification from this heartless woman? That wasn't his original intention but damn, she pissed him off in more ways than one.
Starting with the way those nipples strained from her barely there top.
"Thank you,” she said, dripping sarcasm. She opened her book and glared at it. Why was she pretending to read when the damn thing was upside down?
She turned it aright and her eyes moved across the page, but the waning sunlight convinced him it was all an act. An obvious attempt to ignore him.
Camden watched her, the way the shadows stroked every ridge of her body, the way the air danced across her skin. He wondered if the chill bumps on her arms were because of him.
He fingered the strap of her top. She shuddered, but kept her eyes averted.
He remembered that night in the closet and how he wished he could do more to her. He went to bed every night thinking about her and not thinking about the mission he was on. No wonder he wasn't succeeding in bringing Darrell down, though what was his excuse the first two years, when he didn't know Rayma?
It was time to fulfill his longing or he'd never be able to get her off his mind. Like a child with presents and all the child could think about was those presents until they were opened, he wanted to open her. He wanted her, and judging by her body's reaction, she felt the same but would never admit it.
He wasn't the kind of man to force a woman and, despite what she thought, he wasn't the kind of man who thought all women were after him and only good for one thing. He admired women, he appreciated them, and he respected them.
If she said no, he'd quit and deal with the pressure inside of him. But she hadn't said no yet.
She ignored him. But she didn't push him away.
He untied her sarong from around her waist and let it fall away from her, all the while watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. His lips touched her between the cloth of her bikini top and he swirled his mouth around the fabric. He moved her bottoms aside and lightly touched her, feeling the heat of her before he placed his finger there. He slowly moved his finger inside her and felt the folds of her warmth move against him.
He felt the inside of her quiver but she held back, refusing to move against him. She remained focused on her book, her brows furrowed, her fingers gripping the page as if she was doing all she could to hold on to her control.
He wanted her to lose it. Like she had in the closet attic, he wanted to feel her move against him, shake inside the way he was.
He continued touching her until her hips slowly began to undulate against his hand. Barely noticeable, but definitely moving. She whimpered when his mouth touched her, tasted her.
She was wet and he was sprung, but damn, this wasn't the place.
The book fell in the sand. Her head fell back. “Stop,” she said, as if fighting the pleasure, but her hips continued to move against him, this time more obvious.
He heard his name being called, but it wasn't from Rayma's lips.
"Damn,” he said. He couldn't afford to be caught and didn't want to embarrass Rayma. “I'll be back."
* * * *
She hated him. He was exactly the kind of man she accused men of being. An egotistical, sex-driven maniac who thought every girl wanted to be with him.
She hated that it was true for her. She hated the way he made her insides feel, like a butterfly attempting to weave through hurricane winds. She hated the way his eyes dimpled at the corners and lit on her as if she were the focal point of his private musings. She hated the way his hands were just soft enough to feel like silk against her body but rough like a man's hands should feel.
Her body betrayed her at his touch. Her objectives turned null after spending time with him. She hadn't wanted anyone this badly in a long time, since Keegan. What she felt for him seemed small in comparison to what she was feeling for Camden. Not love. No, that wasn't it, but there was something there she couldn't describe. Her heart ripped open every time he was near. Fire burned inside her every time she looked at him. It was almost like a school-girl crush or a first-time sexual experience. It didn't help to fight it.
With Keegan, she was ready to fall in love, and that readiness made her think Keegan might be the one. Keegan had been like a one-act play. She never truly knew the real Keegan but only what he wanted her to believe about himself.
Just like she didn't truly know the real Camden, nor would she.
She'd been attracted to Keegan, but their sex was consummated not long after they met. Though she enjoyed it, she never felt as if she'd burst at the seams if she didn't have it.
Not like she had with Camden.
It had taken her a long time to realize Keegan's deception. She still wasn't over the treachery, but it also reminded her of why she shouldn't let a man get close.
It took her a while to understand it wasn't love she felt for him, but a craving to love. It taught her a good lesson: she didn't need that kind of love.
After his deception, she'd had to get out of Austin. She grew tired of the looks, of the questions, of the sympathetic interest she'd received all because of one catastrophic incident and one bad mistake.
Men. Or man. That was her mistake. A mistake she was still living with to this day. And a mistake she wasn't about to make again.
She ran from Austin when the going got tough and she was ready to make a change, to leave the stresses of everyday life. She hoped South Padre would offer her a more relaxed atmosphere, a steady and comfortable job. But steady had been boring, comfortable hadn't been challenging enough, and with challenge always came messes.
She could deal with this mess. With Camden. She'd dated plenty of men with more to offer than him.
Maybe they weren't as good-looking, maybe their personalities were dry, but she could get over it just as she always had. And with Camden, she wasn't dating him, she wasn't having sex with him, though they'd come close enough, and she damn sure wasn't falling for him. She was stuck with him in a different way.
She wrapped her sarong around her to regain some semblance of normalcy, if not mentally then at least physically. She whistled at Beacon, who nestled in the brambles of a bush and came running to her as soon as he heard her call for him. She picked him up and stroked his fur, wishing he wasn't the only male she could trust.
Moore was walking out the door when Rayma entered.
"Must be nice to go out,” Lacey called after him.
Moore whipped around. “Oh give me a break. I'm starting to think I need to put a homing device on you. You disappear all the time."
"Where's he going?” Rayma asked, but no one replied. Lacey was too busy bitching.
"There's nothing in the house to eat,” Lacey said.
"There's plenty to eat if you weren't too damn lazy to fix it,” Camden said.
"I was supposed to be off today,” Lacey countered.
"Me too,” Camden said, “and when I'm hungry, I'll fix myself something to eat. You can do the same. I'm damn sure not cooking."
"It's all about you, isn't it?"
The tension in the house had been rising over the past few days. Rayma felt it oozing from Lacey all afternoon, as if she resented watching over Rayma as she soaked up the sun. What else was Rayma supposed to do when she was stuck here? Lacey had enjoyed the sun just as much as Rayma.
"I don't have to be babysat,” Rayma said, tired of the fights and feeling powerless to do anything about them. She had been alone too long to try to live with a woman whose moods fluctuated every moment.
Lacey rolled her eyes. “I'm going to get something to eat."
"What crawled up Lacey's ass and died?” Rayma asked.
Camden chuckled, that renowned crease at the corner of his eyes emerging. “She's tired of working, being closed up in this house."
"She doesn't work. All she does is sit here, in this beautiful house while the waves crash against the shore. She should love it, it's like she's on vacation."
"She wants to be out where the action is."
"I'm ready to go home and see no reason to stay, yet I don't treat her like shit all day."
"Shall we finish what we started?"
Fury welled within her, like the calm before a storm and the storm just hit. What a jerk, what a player. Was there not any man out there who knew how to treat a woman?
"Go to hell."
"Wait,” he yelled as she turned to leave. “I'm sorry. It was a joke. A bad joke.” Rayma glared at him, wondering where this change would lead. “Look, charm obviously doesn't work on you—"
"You think?"
"But give me a break. My job isn't easy, having to put myself in a drug dealer's control and keep my head on straight so I don't get killed, when all I want to do is curl up in the sand and let the waves wash over me. Then there are people like you who think I'm a bad person, just because I'm trying to bust creeps like Darrell."
Rayma felt a stir of remorse for how she'd acted and treated him when all he'd done to her is save her life. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't think you're a bad person.” What was that she told herself earlier?
"You think I'm working for Darrell. You think I've wasted two years of my life trying to bust him and then turn on my crew so I can work for him."
"There's a lot of money involved, I imagine."
"Money doesn't mean shit to me."
Rayma looked around at the unconventional carvings on the ceiling that made it look as if angels were looking down on them, the white walls appearing as if heaven was just around the horizon, and the marble tile floor obviously from money. “Whose house is this?” she asked.
"Special Agent Tom Dunsky and his wife, Melinda. She's a sculptor and makes a lot of money. This is one of many and they've leased it to us for as long as we need it."
"Where did Moore go?"
"Out. He doesn't get out much anymore. I imagine he needed to get away from Lacey for awhile."
"Don't we all."
"Why don't you let me fix you something to eat?"
"Thought you said you weren't cooking."
"For you I will."
Rayma rolled her eyes but decided to play it cool. She wanted out of here, didn't she? She didn't want to sit around all day and read a book that bored her to tears, did she? It was just dinner. And if it turned into more ... Well, sex was sex and, though she should avoid it with him at all costs, she bet it wouldn't be half bad.
With him, she had a feeling it would be damn good.
Rayma had no heart. Or at least she hadn't been able to find it in a long time. But when Camden passed by and she smelled the musky sweat from his body, that manly smell indicating he'd been hard at work yet combined with a scent she couldn't quite put a finger on, her heart fluttered.
Or was it more like a cat trying to get out of her stomach?
A wall surrounded the heart she couldn't find, mainly because the wall protected it even from herself. She knew it was there yet there was nothing even she could do to bring it down. She'd been hurt too many times to let someone in again. Fun, flirty, sex. That's all a man could be to her now. And when the time came when she would marry, it would be a man with whom she could be friends, whom she could trust, who would give her the space she needed, but not necessarily one who fired her engine.
Definitely not one like Camden. Someone who would make it hard for her to maintain the upper hand. Not that she needed the control in a relationship, even if it was purely sexual, but she needed at least some control. In Camden's case, she would be left with none.
She didn't have a choice in the matter right now, so the best thing for her to do would be to play along. She hated games but she played them and she didn't lose.
She didn't like to lose.
Camden was just another man.
"Dex is here. We can invite him for dinner. Look, I won't touch you, I won't even look at you. I won't put on any sexy music or ask you to dance with me. I'm hungry, I'm going to my house to fix something to eat. I just thought you might be hungry, too."
Rayma followed him outside into his apartment, mainly out of curiosity. Just another addition to the story she was going to write.
She'd been in his apartment before but it was a quick peek and she hadn't paid that much attention. This time, she studied it, trying to get a glimpse into the person who stayed there, the kind of person he was.
It was small but cozy, full of bright colors and chic statements but also masculine to the point of sexy. One door led to the bathroom, and the rest of the apartment was open to each other. A small kitchen complete with stainless steel appliances was tied into the living room by a bar. The living room held a flat panel TV and a tan suede couch accompanied by a tan and olive hearth rug and several green plants.
A bed filled the space off and away to the right. It was in the same room, it being an efficiency apartment, but cordoned off by wooden beams. It wasn't noticeable at first, but when she did notice it, all she could think of was being in it, and not alone.
Camden uncorked a bottle of wine and took two glasses from the freezer. He cut up cheese and sausage, placed them on a plate with crackers, and handed them to her.
She sat at the bar, clicked her glass with his, and tasted the wine.
"Yum,” she said as she piled a piece of cheese and sausage on a cracker. “I'm not usually a white wine fan, but this is good."
"It's a Chenin Blanc from the Hill Country. No, not of France, of Texas.” He smiled and she watched as he arranged shrimp and cocktail sauce on a plate and placed it on the bar.
"Is this how you seduce all your women?” Rayma asked. “Feed them wine and cheese? Hand feed them some shrimp?"
"Do you want me to hand feed you shrimp?"
"No,” she said as she dunked one in cocktail sauce and ate it.
As long as she kept it lighthearted, she was having a good time. As long as she remembered he kept two glasses in the freezer for a reason, she could continue to have a good time.
"Did you have this planned?"
"No. I actually planned on using that shrimp in a stir-fry, but I'll get more."
"Why not make it now?"
Camden looked at her, poured her another glass of wine, and said, “Okay."
She watched as he tossed some shrimp in olive oil, took out veggies already cut up, and tossed them together. He stole some of the sausage from her plate, added seasonings she couldn't see, and seemed to perform some kind of magic around the stove.
Just as he promised, he stayed away from her. He turned on the stereo. She sat on the barstool while he went back to his task of preparing the meal. He treated her as if she were just a guest in his home and not a woman he had his hands on, or quite literally in just moments earlier.
It was hot outside, but the inferno inside of her wasn't like the heat from a hot, humid day. It was akin to the scorch of a fireplace on a cold winter day.
Was the ice around her heart melting?
No. She reminded herself this is how it always felt to find someone new. When three months rolled around, she was perfectly content to end it. Though she didn't have a relationship with Camden, she would be perfectly content to end whatever they had when the time came.
Yes, it could be a lonely existence if she did it until she was eighty years old. She wanted children. She didn't want to be alone forever. But children could come later, after she had lived her life the way she wanted to, decided what she wanted out of it and who she wanted to spend it with.
There would be no settling for her, just because a man was the other half of woman and all that. Children could come without marriage. She wasn't old school and she'd learned a child was sometimes better without a father.
Especially if the father was like hers.
Rayma's motto had always been starting now, and it'd been a phrase of hers since she was a child. Starting now she would come home earlier from her wanderings and not get in trouble. Starting now she would be a good girl so daddy would give her the same attention he gave her brothers. Starting now she would stop chewing on her nails and brush her teeth more.
As an adult, she'd stopped chewing her nails, she regularly brushed her teeth and she no longer craved her father's attention. But starting now she would change her attitude, accept what couldn't be changed in life, and stick with healthy habits. Starting now she would lower her expectations of men, date a man longer than three months, and experience a one night stand.

Starting now never happened for her. She still had the same attitude life had taught her, she still had habits she didn't like, she still tried to change things that couldn't be changed.
And she still put such high expectations on men that not even God could meet them.
"It's ready,” Camden said as he carried the plate to the bar table. He topped off her wine—had she drank that much already?—and sat beside her.
"Thank you. It looks delicious, though the crackers and cheese would have been plenty.” She laughed at his mock scowl. “Hey, you said you were going to cook. I don't count cutting up cheese cooking."
She grabbed a cracker, scooped up some of the stir-fry on it, and munched down.
"What do you like to eat?"
"Well I love pasta and chocolate. Things I'm not supposed to like."
"Together?” Camden's eyebrows raised a notch.
Rayma laughed, feeling light hearted after the wine, comfortable after his smile, and easygoing with mood music set just at the right temperature. Not too sexy, nothing romantic, but nothing hard hitting either. Like a sunset on the beach, relaxing piano intertwined with acoustic guitar. “If you could somehow make the two work, I'd consider trying it."
"Penne pasta with chocolate sauce.” Camden held up his fork as he mimicked a commercial. “Full of carbs, fat, and taste."
"Speaking of taste,” she said, “this is excellent."
Before Camden, food was okay and wine was just another way to get a buzz. She'd always thought pairing the two was overrated but with his cooking, sipping on a glass of wine specifically chosen for the pleasure of enjoying it with the meal brought out the flavors of them both and sent her taste buds to roaring.
She could get spoiled to this.
"Tell me about your family.” Rayma knew it probably wasn't the best conversation to have, especially because she had no intention of sharing her family story with him.
"My father's retired military. My mom used to knit, crochet, hold workshops for military wives. They're in their seventies now."
"What does she do now?"
"About the same. I used to move around a lot when I was young because of the military. They've finally settled down in Colorado."
"Any brothers or sisters?"
"I have a sister and a niece."
It sounded almost like a rehearsed statement and Rayma normally wouldn't pry. But she was on her second, make that second and a half glass of wine, so she said: “If we're supposed to trust each other so much, if we're supposed to be such great friends, why don't you tell me about your real family?"
"I just told you about my family."
"No. I mean your real family. Not the fake one you created for your undercover op."
* * * *
Camden's food suddenly became like a rock in his stomach and he pushed away from the table, grabbed his plate, and fed the remainder to the trash. Talking about his family was off limits, even to Rayma.
His mother did knit and help with military functions up until she died of cancer at forty-two. He was only eight years old, just one year past when his brother died of a drug overdose. Camden often wondered if his mom really died of cancer or of a broken heart.
He did have a sister who was now married to a man who seemed like a nice guy, though Camden couldn't be quick to judge because he barely had a chance to know him. He did have a niece and a nephew he longed to see and a father in his seventies, though he was still working.
His father had been in the military, a single dad who moved around and moved his children around with him, who hired military wives to take care of his children, who barely gave his children the time of day.
But he loved his father. He was a good man who only tried to do what was right. A busy man who tried to give his children, the two left, as much love as he could muster despite his twice broken heart.
One of those military wives had taught Camden to cook. Until he was wrenched away from her, too.
"My mom's dead,” Camden finally said.
"I'm sorry."
Camden nodded. “My father still works. I have a brother who died of a drug overdose. Anything else you want to know?"
He was sorry this evening had taken a turn for the worse. It was one of the things he hated about dating, having to answer that family question. Why did all dates eventually to come to that?
And why did it hurt him so to talk about his?
"What about your family?” Camden asked, seeing the light immediately leave her eyes. “Oh, you don't want to talk about your family?"
Rayma stood, left her plate where it was, and said, “This is why I didn't want to waste my time with you. Good night, Camden."
"You started it. Don't start something you have no intention of following through."
She stopped at the door to assign him a glare, then turned on her heel and walked away.
The door slammed behind her.
Why did he feel like such a heel?



Chapter Twelve
Visiting Eddie every week was starting to cost her. Lacey didn't skimp on the gifts she used as bribes and the money came out of her own pocket. But now, he smiled when he saw her, hugged her as if she were his own flesh and blood.
Which was exactly what she wanted Web to think.
He hadn't shown up at the beach the past couple of weekends but she never missed him at Sanctions Gateway. They'd have lunch together occasionally, but there was always too many other things going around to have a private, er, conversation.
Lacey pitied herself for the lifestyle she'd chosen. She could go out, meet people, make friends, but when this mission was over—if this mission was ever over—she'd have to be someone else. Change her name, take on a different hairstyle, pretend to be someone else she wasn't, and walk away from the people she'd met when she was Lacey.
She should have been an actress. At least then, she would have made a hell of a lot more money and she'd have more friends than she'd know what to do with.
She enjoyed it, she couldn't deny that. She loved pretending to be someone else. She couldn't live with the real Lacey, or whatever her name was, and she loved the excitement of a new life every few months to a year.
But two years were beginning to take their toll. Yet, if she admitted it, they would pull her out, replace her, and say they had every intention of finding her a new act. But that time would never come and if it did, she'd be stuck staking someone out or playing mommy to some asshole. She wasn't a secretary, she couldn't type, couldn't file and could barely read unless it was a trashy dime novel, and she damn sure wasn't going to play servant to some jerk. She wanted, needed to be out in the field and if it took two years, so be it. She would survive, grow tougher, learn something from this and prove to everyone she was capable of so much more than what they gave her.
The female agent at the rehab center—what was her name?—oh yes, Carol would smile flirtatiously at Web in the center's dining room, as if she had dibs on him and was winning. She'd walk up to him and ask him how things were going, thank him for his generous contribution, and practically beg him to her bed.
Well that's how Lacey saw it. It insulted her that the woman who was supposed to keep watch over Web to help bust his ass didn't even know who Lacey was and didn't have any inclination to find out.
Lacey should have been in that position. Lacey should have played Carol's part.
"How are you doing today, Darrell?” Carol asked that bright summer day, her hair twisting around her forefinger as if she were a nervous schoolgirl.
"I'm good, Carol. How are you today?"
"I have some things to discuss with you,” she said. “Can you come by my office later?"
Lacey snorted softly as Carol walked away. Web watched her backside retreating with something akin to appreciation. Lacey leaned in just a little closer, enough to make her cleavage more noticeable, and touched his cheek. His eyes immediately strayed to her chest, which is exactly what she wanted. She'd made sure to wear her lowest cut shirt and adorned her neck with low lying necklaces.
"Can you come by my office later?” she whispered as she fingered her necklace. “I have something to show you."
He laughed. “Just tell me where your office is, little darling, and I'd be happy to stop by."
God, his eyes were so dark and alarming, though not in a frightening way. Menacing to her hormones, maybe, but that was all.
"At the beach. Soft sand. Good memories. Haven't seen you there lately."
"I've been running a business,” he said. “I've been busy."
She grabbed his hands and intertwined them with hers. In her best Marilyn Monroe twang, minus the blond hair, she said, “And just what kind of business are you running that you don't have some time for wild sex?” She grabbed him under the table and squeezed his balls.
After that, he took her to the men's room and locked the door, where she vowed to herself she was only doing it for the good of the investigation.
* * * *
"I had an agent bring your mail over.” Moore heaped a stack of mail, bound by a thick rubber band, on the kitchen table where Rayma was having lunch.
"Thanks,” she said as she handed Beacon a piece of turkey from her sandwich.
Beacon was a sucker for turkey, and she couldn't very well tell him no when he looked at her with those eyes. Lacey had bought Beacon a cat tree and some treats earlier but he was more enamored with whatever everybody else was eating.
She had a lot of mail to go through since this was the first she'd seen of it since she came to stay here. Moore promised to help her deal with things, such as turning off the phone temporarily and sending someone over to clean. She could just imagine what the refrigerator looked like. She sent a letter to her landlord saying she'd be out temporarily so he wouldn't report her missing, and she discussed with Moore what to do about everyday life.
How she was going to pay bills.
"You've been helping us out,” Moore said. “Maybe we can compensate you."
She only wished she could fall for a man like Moore. He wasn't ugly, but not attractive either. He took care of things and his moods didn't fluctuate day to day. Sure, he got irritated sometimes but she always knew what to expect from him. No charm. No deception.
He was like a suede couch wrapped in a down blanket on a cold December day.
That blanket was yanked off that cozy couch, leaving her exposed to the cold when she picked up the next envelope.
The return address was Richard O'Riley and for a moment she thought she'd just ignore it. Her curiosity had always been worse than a cat's, and even her father knew that.
Beacon meowed. Irritated, she ignored his need for more turkey. She sat the sandwich down but he patiently waited until she pushed it his way. She certainly couldn't finish it.
"You okay?” Moore asked.
"I'm fine,” she lied. “I'm going up to my room to finish looking over my mail."
She scooped it up and went to her room, Beacon trailing behind her as if he sensed she needed something besides human companionship. A cat couldn't judge, give advice or question your sanity, but they were great listeners.
"I really need to see you,” the letter began. “I'm sorry for what has happened in your life but I've paid my penance and I'm a changed man. In order for me to begin my life anew, I have to seek pardon for all those I've wronged. I never meant to hurt you. Please call me."
* * * *
"Have you seen your lover-girl lately?"
"Who's that?” Camden turned and fought the urge to wipe a stray tear, initiated by the robust onions and peppers he currently chopped. Web grabbed a few from the tray and popped them in his mouth. “Would you leave my shit alone?"
"Your lover-girl,” Web continued, ignoring Camden's request and taking another bite. This time, Camden popped him on the hand. “That newswoman, what was her name?"
"Oh, her. I haven't seen her in awhile. And leave my stuff alone. It sucks to cut this shit up."
"What happened to her?"
"Who? Oh, the newsgirl. She got tired of me.” Camden tossed his veggies in olive oil. “Up and left one day. She got fired from her job, I don't think she lives at the same apartment anymore. I've looked around but she hasn't surfaced. I think she moved away."
Camden turned the heat on low to let the veggies cook and eyed Web, who suddenly looked as if the world had just crashed down around him.
"I need to find her."
"Why?” Camden couldn't fight back the bolt of fear in his chest, but it was vital he play his role and not act suspicious.
"She has something of mine."
"Shit,” Camden said. “I'd like to find her to. She's got something of mine."
"What?” Web asked.
"She stole some money. Whined about how she was fired and had no where to go, then stole my money when I wasn't looking.” Camden turned his veggies to cook the other side, then poured them over a dish of pasta as he waited for Web's next words. He hoped he wouldn't have to ask.
He glanced at his next order, aware that if he was going to do his job as chef he wouldn't have time to talk to Web, but if he was going to do his job as agent he was going to have to make the time.
Damn, he was tired of playing cook.
"Remember that bag you brought me that you got from her?” Web finally asked.
Camden nodded. Did he mean the bag of worthless information? If anything could be judged by the look on Web's face, something was important.
"There's something missing,” Web continued. “I need it."
"What is it?"
"A database of recipes, videos, that sort of thing. It's vital to this operation."

What operation? He wanted to ask. Your drug smuggling, or your restaurant?
"Damn, Web, I'll see what I can do but I don't know where she went. I thought I got everything from her."
Camden was seasoning chicken when Web grabbed him and pushed him up against the refrigerator, holding him by the lapels of his tux.
"Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Damn, I've been here longer than a lot of these guys. I know what you do. Hell, I wish I could help. I get damned sick of cooking for ungrateful people, but I continue to do my job, work for you, and leave your other business the hell alone. This is what I get?"
Web let go and stepped back, but remained close enough to consume Camden's space where he couldn't move, could barely breathe. Camden's knees shook, not out of fear of death but of fear he was about to be discovered for the fraud he was.
Damn Rayma. She was making things awfully hard on him. She just up and left one day, huh? How obvious was that? Shit, he had to pull it together.
"You want to help?” Web asked. “There's a way for you to help."
"I'm listening."
"There's a price on that woman's head. You find her, you determine that price. Leave it to someone else and they get the deal. Either way, she's a dead woman."



Chapter Thirteen
Rayma thought when she made that inevitable phone call to her mother she'd have to make excuses on why she couldn't come down. She imagined her mom would cry, beg and question what was so important she couldn't make time for her mother. Rayma would have to tell her that her job was too hectic and she couldn't get away. Her boss wouldn't let her have time off, she'd try to get down there as soon as possible, and any other excuses she had to make.
Now she knew when she made that phone call her mother would cry, beg and question but it wouldn't be to visit. Whatever Diane said had to do with Richard.
She piled pillows high around her and sat cross-legged on the bed. Beacon curled beside her. Rayma tried to calm herself with deep breathing before she turned on her cell phone.
She rehearsed her call to her mother a thousand times, but now she was making the call with no plans except to find out what was going on. Maybe her father was dying and he felt he needed to make amends. Good, let him die. It wouldn't change things. She'd never been to the prison to visit him and she'd never start.
She had to make sure no one knew about the phone call. Moore wouldn't let her make any personal calls, she wasn't about to ask Camden, and if they knew about her cell phone it would be taken away.
Camden already indicated he knew about it, but he either forgot or thought it wasn't necessary to seize it.
The conversation with her mother began just as she predicted, but Rayma kept waiting for the punch line. Diane grilled her but didn't wait for an answer before her next interrogation. “You haven't been to see me. What's been going on in your life, why did it take so long to call me back, where have you been?"
"What's the real reason you've been trying to reach me?” Rayma asked. “The letter?"
"Your father is looking for you. He's out of prison."
For the first few years of her life after Richard was sent to prison, she anticipated those words. Later, she stopped keeping track of him and tried not to know whether he was still in prison or not. But her mother kept her informed as year after year he was denied his chance for parole. Rayma never went, she never fought it, she never wanted to have anything to do with it ever again. She wanted to pretend her life was normal.
The fear was not sudden. As the sun gradually rises to start a new day, apprehension rose within her until it became full-fledged terror.
So now, two men wanted to kill her. Darrell Weberley and Richard O'Riley.
"Why?” Rayma finally asked, attempting to take long yoga-type breaths to keep her calm. She unfolded her legs, which had long since gone to sleep. Even with pillows and blankets, she was shaking.
"He wants to talk to you."
"He's been in contact with you?"
"We spoke a few days ago. He's changed."
"Right.” She didn't want to argue with her mother about the fact she wouldn't notice whether or not Richard changed. She never noticed he needed changing and still, after he was incarcerated, Diane lived in denial.
"He survived prison,” Diane said. “Can you imagine what he must have gone through?"
"He deserved more."
"Can you imagine what was done to him?"
"He had done to him what he did to others."
"He's your father."
"No.” Rayma said. “His sperm created me. Your egg bore me. But as far as being a father, he was not."
* * * *
"How can you just lose Rayma?” Mike asked when Camden walked in.
Mike was slouched on the sofa in Web's office, as if he'd been sitting there a while. As usual, he was in his suit but this time there was no jacket, his shirt was untucked, and his tie was askew.
Camden settled comfortably in the chair in front of Web's desk but didn't plan to stay long. Whatever Web wanted with him, he needed to say it and get it over with so Camden could go back to work. He glanced at Web before turning his attention to a sulking Mike.
Camden had a feeling whatever this meeting had to do with, Rayma would be involved. He also had the feeling that soon, very soon, they were going to have to figure out a different arrangement. He hated the thought, but Rayma might have to be moved to a different safe house or be considered for the witness protection program.
Well that was a little extreme but he couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her, despite the fact they'd never shared a bed.
"I didn't lose anyone,” Camden said. “She left. You should understand. She left you."
Mike sat up straighter. “She hasn't been home."
"Why should she?"
"There were people there packing up her things. Where the hell is she?"
"It's none of my concern. None of yours either, considering she broke up with you."
"You sonofa—"
"Mike,” Web warned, putting a hand up to stop Mike from advancing on Camden, thus instigating a fight. One that Mike would most definitely lose. “Settle down. He's right."
Mike sat back down but held onto the scowl. “She's good in bed."
Camden glared. He wouldn't know, considering he'd never had a chance to find out, but he wasn't about to rise to Mike's bait.
"Good enough in bed to make a man forget about what truly matters,” Mike continued. Camden wanted to lunge this time, but he didn't need Web's hand to stop him. His common sense did it for him. He couldn't let them see that anything Mike said about Rayma irked him. “I practically lived with her."
"What? Three months?” Camden knew they'd only dated three months because Rayma had told him so. She also mentioned he stayed over sometimes, but what couple didn't do that these days? That didn't mean he was important to her.
Did it?
And that wasn't jealousy residing in the pit of his stomach, goading him to pummel Mike into a mound of nothing, was it?
"I have another mission I'd like for you both to work on, if you can handle it,” Web said, changing the subject. At least Camden hoped it was changing the subject and had nothing to do with Rayma.
"I can handle anything,” Camden said, “but I don't like to baby-sit Mike.” With that comment, Mike jumped from his roost on the couch and stalked over to Camden. Camden stood to face him. “Do you have a problem with what I said?"
"Gentleman,” Web interrupted. “If you can't work together, I'll have to find someone else. This woman obviously insulted both of you, but you can't take it out on each other."
Mike looked away, towards Web. “I can work with anyone."
"Just keep your greedy little paws to yourself,” Camden said.
* * * *
Rayma wished she had someone to talk to. Caitlyn didn't answer her phone and Rayma's phone was almost out of juice. She left a message and tried to sound happy, but told her she might be out of pocket if Caitlyn called back. “I'll try to email later,” she said.
Caitlyn would know something was wrong the minute she heard the message. She knew Rayma almost better than she knew herself. She'd help just by listening, sobbing with her, fretting and worrying and then telling her to pick up the pieces, stick her chin up and go with the flow.
But Caitlyn had her own life, far away, and Rayma was stuck in a prison of her own, which was probably a good thing.
At least here, Richard couldn't find her.
She thought about going downstairs to talk to Moore, but he would forbid her to meet her father and it was already arranged. She'd meet him a mile from here at an outside grill on the outskirts of the beach in two days, and if she didn't make it, then she'd do it the next day or the next.
It really depended on whether or not she could sneak out of here.
She thought about telling Lacey, who might even help her escape, but she didn't trust Lacey's fluctuating moods. She thought about just not showing up. Let Richard think she was coming. She didn't owe him a damn thing.
Richard couldn't find her here. She could hide from him, and suddenly, she was glad to be here. Safe from him.
Camden was late coming home and only added to the worry accompanying her at every waking moment. Had something happened to him? Had Darrell found out about him? She tried to sleep, but kept listening for his footsteps indicating he'd come in, as he always did before retiring to his own house. Every time she closed her eyes to drift off she saw Richard's face, morphing into Darrell's, back into Richard's.
She urged herself to think of Camden. At least then, terror wouldn't consume her. A slight ache of fear, maybe, but not outright terror. The way his hands felt on her body, the way his mouth tasted on hers, the way his deep voice sounded in her ear when they weren't fighting.
The way his body fit in the suit he had to wear to work, tucked into jeans and a shirt or, even better, with shorts and bare chested.
It was easy to imagine him but she wasn't sure what was harder on her body. Thinking of him, or thinking of the men who wanted her dead.
* * * *
It was well past midnight and still hot as hell outside. Camden swiped at a bead of sweat from his brow as he walked through underbrush and trails overgrown with bee brush and prickly pear. He tried to prevent himself from being severely maimed by them, but gained a few nicks when Mike let the brush go without making sure Camden was clear.
A branch whacked him in the face.
Where was the beach, the soft water, the silky sand, the sound of the ocean to caress his ears? Why did he have to walk through miles of this shit, this backwoods country making him feel like he was in West Texas in the 1800s?
Mike followed in front, which slowed Camden down. Camden didn't want Mike at his back but Mike couldn't seem to find his own dick, much less his way out of this mess.
The overgrowth began to thin somewhat the longer they walked, but it turned into seagrass and marsh and was no more comfortable to walk through than scraggly biting brush. The grass was high, a good cover if he needed one and suddenly his feet fell into a quagmire of dirt, sand and plants he could barely see.
Shit, where was the beach? Why hadn't he familiarized himself with this terrain before he agreed to meet anyone here? How much further did he have to go?
What in the hell was he doing? This was a good way to get himself killed.
Judging by the GPS he held, they were in the designated spot, but nothing awaited them and for a split second, Camden feared they'd made a wrong turn. It would've been easy enough.
But he heard motors from afar, saw lights in the distance, and knew whoever was meeting them probably had a boat stashed away and didn't want it located. Instead, they came on jet skis.
He stepped out of the quagmire to find a safe, albeit small place to stand away from the water and plants that seemed to choke his feet. Mike stood behind him, in the bushes somewhat, but when the jet skis approached, a man told him to come closer.
Earlier, Camden convinced Web to let him carry a gun. If he was going to risk his life to deliver drugs to an unknown source, he at least wanted the protection of a gun. Nobody in their right mind would be without one. Web agreed, and Camden felt somewhat safer with the gun stashed in his pocket, though if they searched him, it'd be the first place they looked.
They weren't working with Nemmy tonight. The flashlight one of the men held was just lucid enough to reveal a woman and three men, two people to a jet ski. The woman carried a backpack, which she quickly threw at Camden's feet.
"What do you have for me?"
She was petite, trying to be tough but not quite convincing Camden. What the hell was a woman doing making a delivery like this? Didn't she realize how dangerous this was?
He handed her the briefcase and, like most dealers, she opened it to observe the contents. Money, and lots of it. Money Camden had kept far away from Mike and his sticky fingers.
Money that homeless children could use to buy a decent meal. Money that could help a single mother buy her children food, diapers, clothing and gifts for Christmas. Money that could help someone in dire need of it.
Instead, it was going to nourish the drug population, and Camden was helping to add to the problem. To put one man and his cronies behind bars for a lifetime, Camden could be contributing to another child's addiction.
He tried not to think of it. It wasn't like someone else wouldn't be doing it if he wasn't, and he was doing it for a good reason. He was getting closer and soon, Web and his allies would be busted for good.
"Looks good,” the woman said. Just as she as about to turn away, one of the men took out a gun.
Several men advanced on them at once. Where the hell had they come from?
"Police."
"Freeze."
"Drop your weapons."
Camden was faced with a dilemma. Run and get shot? Stay and get arrested and blow his cover?
Before he had a chance to think about who was busting them—he knew his guys weren't unless they followed he and Mike and if that happened, there would be hell to pay later—a gunshot rang out. One of the men on the jet skis was hit. Camden grabbed the backpack and dove through the marsh of grass, rolling like a ball through the brush until he found his footing. Then he ran until familiar thorns struck him.
Or had he been shot?
He heard someone behind him at first, but they quickly fell behind. Whether the hammering noise was from the own pounding of his feet and heart, Camden wasn't sure. He didn't give a thought to Mike. Mike would take care of himself. He'd have to.
Rage and fear kept him mobile and quick on his feet. Adrenaline kept him from feeling the pain he would feel if he knew what his body was bashing through.
He tumbled and fell on something hard. It could have been a rock, hell it could have been a dead body for all he knew, but he jumped up and continued to run.
He grabbed his phone, dropped it, and had to search along the ground to find it. He clicked a button, using the light on his phone to guide him in the right direction, or at least the direction he'd chosen to be the right one.
"Moore,” he said as his way of calling. Thank God for voice activated phones. He waited for it to dial and slowed down to a trot through the weeds, thorns and brush.
"This is Moore."
"Shit, Moore, things are bad here.” He explained the situation, told him he couldn't risk going back to his car in case cops were waiting for him there, and Moore promised to send agents out to check on the car and he himself would come to pick up Camden.
Where? Hell, Camden could barely find his way around out here in the daylight.
Thank God for GPS's.
* * * *
"Some of these thorns are embedded in your skin,” Rayma said as she tweezed and yanked out another one from Camden's leg.
"I fell a few times."
"A few? Your arm is bleeding. You look like you've been shot."
"I feel like I've been shot."
"Take off your shirt."
"Whoa. I've been waiting a long time to hear that but—"
"Don't be foolish,” Rayma said. “If you were shot—"
"I wasn't."
"How do you know?"
"It's not like I haven't been shot before. I checked in the shower."
Rayma had been up for hours, ever since Moore got the phone call from Camden. She worried, she fretted while she waited for his safe arrival, and when he walked in and spilled mud all over her freshly mopped floor—what else was she going to do while she waited?—she cringed. Not because he soiled her bright white floors but because he was covered in mud, brush, thorns, and no telling what else.
He'd taken a shower. Afterwards, she tweezed whatever she could find that had attached itself to his body while he and Moore talked about what happened. Who could those shooters have been? Someone who wanted the drugs for themselves? Cops? Camden was itching to find out, so much he could barely sit, until Moore handed him a glass of whiskey and told him he wasn't moving again tonight.
Moore left the room to make a few phone calls and Lacey went back to bed, leaving Rayma and Camden in the kitchen by themselves.
Minus the muck, Camden smelled good, musky and clean. His wet hair spiked out in a clean, yet disheveled look and the dampness made it almost look black.
Why'd he have to look so damn good? Why did she keep thinking about his hands on her?
"I need a first aid kit to dress these cuts,” Rayma said as she rose from her perch on the floor.
"I kinda liked you down on the floor like that,” Camden said, winking at her. “Tending to my wounds."
"It'll be the only time,” she said as she sauntered off to find a first aid kit. DEA agents should have one lying around somewhere.
Moore was still out when she returned, first aid kit in hand, and Camden still sat at the table. He'd taken her advice and removed his shirt.
Why had she asked him to take off his shirt? What was she thinking?
Camden was sculpted almost to perfection so how was she supposed to think straight when she stabbed the tweezers into that body? If this took much longer, she'd need a shot of that whiskey.
She kneeled to wipe cream on the cuts on Camden's leg and did her best to ignore the raging hormones shooting through her. Moore would return at any second, that's what she must focus on. She wasn't a nurse by any means, but she couldn't trust Camden to do it. He'd do a piss-poor job and possibly infect the deep wounds he received from his jaunt in the terrain.
"I do have a deep gash in my upper shoulder, but it's nothing to worry about,” Camden said. “Just need some of your TLC, a band-aid, and it'll be fine."
Rayma eyed the gash. “What happened?"
"I fell."
Rayma bandaged his gash and eyed her work. “I think you'll live."
"I need a swim in the ocean. The salt will cure my wounds. Wanna join me?"
A swim in the ocean in the middle of the night sounded splendid to Rayma. She couldn't remember how long it'd been since she'd done such a thing. She couldn't imagine how long it'd be again.
But a swim, with Camden? How could she live through it without making a total fool of herself?
"I thought I wasn't allowed outside the perimeters of the house."
"I'll tell Moore where we'll be,” Camden said. “I'll get Dex to keep watch."
Well, at least Dex would be there, even if she couldn't see him.
The water was refreshing but the night breeze made it cold. Rayma made the mistake of putting on boy-cut swim shorts and a bikini top and felt the air whish across her body, causing chill bumps. She stayed as far away from Camden as possible.
She remembered the last time she wore a swimsuit with a barely there top. He'd called her boobs sexy. She was getting warm just thinking about it.
Dex was just on the other side of the sand dunes, watching. A few other agents watched around the perimeters and one swam with Camden.
The beach was deserted and calm, the night sky resplendent with diamonds of all sizes, free from the haze of city lights.
What was she doing? Why wasn't she in bed, sleeping?
She knew why. Camden. Day by day, she'd felt the coldness in her heart slowly melting. Although she'd become friendly with most of the other agents, none of them stirred her insides, none of them kept her awake at night.
Except for Camden.
After a light swim close to shore—she wasn't about to go out as far as Camden—she sat in the sand and tried to ignore the way the ocean glistened across his body. He was a strong swimmer, probably had extensive training in it, and he ripped through the waves like they were nothing.
The waves moved to and fro, forming a deep pit under her body. She used it as an anchor for her trembling body, trembling not because of the breeze but because of the stress, the anticipation of the upcoming days. Trembling because Camden was near, and it was getting harder to fight her attraction.
"You okay?” Camden asked as he came to sit on the bank with her.
"I should be asking you that. You're the one who was maimed tonight."
Camden chuckled. “I don't know what happened to Mike tonight."
"I don't care."
"He could be dead."
Rayma remained silent. She wouldn't wish that on, well, almost anyone. “Mike got himself in that predicament. Just like most men I date, he had a side to him I never knew existed. I would never have imagined he was involved with a drug dealer. Even worse, he does the dealing."
"It appears that way.” Camden made shapes in the sand as he watched Rayma. Rayma huddled into herself as she imagined a great big bonfire on the beach. Bonfire, beer, Camden. Perfect.
But she had no bonfire, she had no beer. All she had was Camden's stare to warm her, and it wasn't doing a very good job.
It was hot and humid but the wind cooled her. She felt exposed to Camden's eyes as her nipples beaded agianst her top, the result of the wind. Nothing else. Not because the sexiest man alive was watching her.
Why didn't she just rip off her top and let him take her?
"We could probably cut Mike a deal,” Camden said, “if he'll turn on Web and testify against him. Otherwise, he'll likely be going to prison himself."
"Good. He needs to."
"You're harsh."
"Against men who lie to me, yeah I am."
"You're just harsh against men, period,” Camden said.
Rayma didn't answer. There was no need to. He was right, to an extent, and she wasn't going to give any explanations of why. She took a deep breath, inhaling salted air and exhaling away her tensions and anxieties.
Or at least trying to.
She thought about her meeting with Richard and wished she could tell someone about it. She wished James could be with her. Maybe she could email him and ask him to come down here, but she couldn't take that risk.
Camden lightly touched her arm and she jumped.
"You're off in la-la land."
"Aren't we all?” she asked. She looked at him, seeing the perfect setting to kiss him, to disregard all her troubles in life and make love in the sand.
But she wasn't going to put on a show for the other agents.
As if he noticed the flicker of passion in her eye, Camden leaned over to kiss her, but she backed away. “No. People are watching."
"I can make them leave."
"They're agents, bodyguards, here to protect and to serve."
"Let's go back to my room."
"No.” The thought sounded good, but the reality wasn't, because there would be a tomorrow and the next day and the next day until this was all over. She was attracted to him, but it wouldn't work, and she didn't want to spend day in and day out avoiding him any more than she did now.
"I don't understand why you haven't busted Web yet. Seems to me like you have all the information you need."
"We're close,” Camden said, taking his hand from Rayma's arm.
"Am I safe now? Can I leave? Go home to my family in Austin?” Not that she had a family in Austin. James was living on the outskirts now, but he was the only family she needed.
"No."
"Why?” Rayma asked.
"He confronted me today. He's looking for something he said was in that bag. Did you take something out?"
"I didn't take anything out. Maybe your agents lost something when they were making copies."
"No,” Camden said.
"Of course not. You people don't make mistakes. It must have been me."
"It's important to him, whatever it is, and it could be important to us. Think back. He indicated it was a disk or something."
A disk? Oh hell, the chills on her arms intensified.
Rayma slapped herself on the forehead. “Ohmigod I completely forgot about that."
"Forgot about what?"
"When I bought that information from that guy, there was a DVD, or CD or something he took out when I wouldn't agree to pay his full asking price."
"How much did you pay?"
"A hundred and fifty dollars. Which you still owe me by the way."
"How much did he want?"
"Two hundred.” Rayma shrugged.
"Fifty dollars for one DVD? And you thought it wasn't important?"



Chapter Fourteen
Camden walked into Web's office at Vin Doux, backpack full of drugs already field tested by his agents, and didn't say a word. Web sat at his desk, holding a drink and twirling his chair from side to side. He jumped up and dropped his glass when Camden walked in, sloshing scotch to the floor. Ignoring the backpack, he loped forward and shoved Camden against the wall.
The backpack thumped to the floor. Camden's back hit the wall. He cringed, still hurting from last night's escapade.
"Where the hell did you go last night?"
"I didn't want to risk coming back here,” Camden explained, “in case someone was following me. I didn't want to risk calling you because I had no idea what was going on or who might be listening. So I hid out."
"Mike's in jail."
"That's better than dead."
Camden hadn't expected Web to welcome him with open arms, but neither did he expect to be a suspect, involved in what happened last night. He could see it in Web's eyes, that faint shade of distrust clouding over.
"I don't know about that,” Web said. “If he talks...” he trailed.
"What is he going to talk about? They found nothing on him, they have nothing to pin on him. Who the hell were these people?"
"Undercover cops not on my payroll.” Web released his grip on Camden. “They weren't investigating us, they were investigating Sammy."
Sammy. Was that the name of the girl with the drugs last night?
Amateur cops who screwed up their own mission and nearly screwed up his. Undercover drug agents that probably worked for the county and had no idea what they were doing. Cops who should leave the real work to Camden and his men.
Well, at least he wasn't a suspect in the ordeal.
Web bent over and retrieved the backpack. “All the goods still here?"
"Everything they gave me."
"I thought you were involved in this raid.” Web took the pack to his desk and opened it. “When you didn't show up, I thought you must have taken off with the drugs or the money."
"I told you, I didn't want to risk coming over last night. I thought it'd be best if I just showed up for work the next day, like nothing ever happened. I don't know, they might have seen my face but it was pretty dark."
"Smart thinking. I'm glad to have you on my team. Now I just have to figure out what to do with Mike."
"What do you mean?” Camden asked. He couldn't have Web kill anyone.
"He could be a mole."
"I doubt that. The poor guy was arrested because he was doing a job for you."
"If they grill him and he buckles—"
"Give him a chance.” Camden had no idea why he was taking up for Mike. “Be cautious around him, sure, but don't immediately suspect him. Better yet, keep him in jail for a while."
* * * *
The sun was starting to piss Rayma off. She wasn't the type of person to sit still and study things for hours on end. She'd finished the book she'd been reading—it was interesting enough—but she wasn't ready to start another one. She was tired of writing, she was tired of talking to Lacey when all Lacey did was gripe, and she was tired of the absence of clouds in the sky.
Dex was taking a break from babysitting Rayma because Moore had something bigger planned for him. Lacey had taken over, but if you asked Rayma, Lacey was the one who needed babysitting.
And things couldn't have gone more her way.
Lacey needed to go out but didn't want to tell Moore. Rayma couldn't very well go with her, so she promised Lacey she'd sit right here, basking in the sun. She wore a bathing suit, for goodness’ sakes, where would she possibly go?
Oh, the bag she carried? Towels, books, magazines. Definitely not full of clothes she planned to change into so she didn't have to meet her father in anything less than her best.
She was crazy for planning to meet with him anyway. At any time, her plans could fail and she wouldn't meet with him. That might be best. But so far, things were looking good for her. And she was going to follow through.
It wasn't as hard as she expected. She anticipated a hand snatching her shoulder or even one of those stun guns stopping her. But neither happened and slowly, she inched away from the safe house.
Usually, Dex was with her every step, a little too close for comfort even when she took a bathroom break. This time, God must have been smiling down on her.
She should have taken it as a warning.
The sky was devoid of anything but the piercing sun. The sand seemed to push it back, as if saying ‘no, take the heat back, we don't want it’ but it only caused the opposite effect. Every step she took triggered splinters of heat through her foot. Flip-flops didn't offer the shield she needed. She glanced around, making sure no one followed her.
She didn't see any gun-toting strangers. No one looked out of place, though how could she really know for sure until it was too late?
She would change—in the bathroom of the café where they were meeting—into something less daring, more comfortable, but something showing him she was successful in life. She damn sure didn't need his attention, but she wanted to make sure he knew she wasn't a mere beach bum.
She should have been afraid. He was probably waiting for her with a gun in hand. And if he wasn't, Darrell Weberley was probably waiting just around the corner.
* * * *
Lacey followed Web, she in a classy but inconspicuous metallic blue sedan she borrowed from a friend, and he in his sumptuous green Jaguar convertible. She watched as he pulled Bimbo Blonde from the car and they entered a Tex-Mex restaurant, way below the panache he was accustomed to.
She knew it was Carol who held onto his arm like a decoration, and she couldn't bite down the distaste forming in her mouth. Carol, her hair died blonde, was sleeping with the enemy.
And Lacey was jealous.
They were supposed to meet at the beach today and she'd been there, primed and ready. But he never showed up. And now he was with Carol.
She walked into the bar of the restaurant and ordered a margarita. She watched as he cozied up to Carol in a corner of the room, as if they'd come here specifically to make out.
She longed to scratch his eyes out. Not, she told herself, because he was with another woman but because he had ruined her life for the past two years, dealing drugs, killing people. What kind of person was she to want to have anything to do with him?
She gulped her margarita, took a tequila shot, and wrote him a note on her napkin.
After paying for her drinks and feeling a little more daring, she slipped by his table. “Mr. Weberley, how are you?"
If he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it. “Good, and you?” He rose and shook her hand as if they were old friends. “You remember Carol? She works at Sanctions Gateway."
She ignored Carol. “You're being disloyal to your own restaurant."
"Just need something different every now and again."
"Good to see you,” she said and, before leaving, she dropped her napkin in his lap.
She sauntered to the bathroom, wishing she could know if he read her note to meet her there. Apparently, he had, because a few minutes later, he appeared.
"I missed you at the beach today,” Lacey said, taking him in her arms as if they were lovers. She had to be bold with him or his interest in her would wane. No one else was in the bathroom. She pushed him into a stall, unsnapped his jeans, and unzipped him where he stood.
"Yeah, sorry, I wasn't able to make it."
"I see that,” she said, teasing him with her hand. Though she was perfectly lucid, the alcohol had given her another bout of audacity. She was using it to her advantage.
"It's not what it looks like."
"No worries. If you want to take bimbo blonde out on a date, that's your business."
He looked pained, trying to hold a conversation with her yet longing to sink into the bliss that she could provide if he'd only let her.
And if she'd stop teasing. But she stood her ground and made it just rough enough to keep him interested.
"Besides,” he said, “you're married."
"I never thought I'd be the only girl in your life,” she said, before taking him into her mouth.
He groaned and she rocked against him, taking all of him yet wanting to inflict pain on him as well. When he came, she stayed with him and muttered against him. “I only hoped you'd find someone better than an undercover agent."
"What did you say?” She felt his sudden change and was glad to be down on the floor, close to his sensitive spot. At least if he tried anything, she could defend herself. He gripped her hair and pulled her head away to look at him. She tried to back away but his hold on her tightened.
Had the alcohol made her dense as well? Or was that just plain stupidity? Either way, there was something about this man that made her feel stupid, and she knew it wasn't love.
"Check her out if you don't believe me."
* * * *
"You've done well for yourself.” Richard flicked an ash off the tip of his cigarette onto the concrete slab. He eyeballed Rayma's silk chartreuse pants and matching shell top as if he resented her. She'd worn her hair in a tight bun, trying to appear professional and strong, almost like a schoolmarm yet with class. She was no longer a child, she no longer felt like a child, and his stare could not panic her anymore.
Never mind the fact her heart was hammering inside her.
"Don't ask for money."
"I don't intend to."
"What the hell do you want?"
"You've grown claws,” Richard said in that throaty, irritating rasp that nearly always made her feel as if those aforementioned claws were screaming down a chalkboard. Or worse, down her back. He leaned back in his chair as if they had all the time in the world. As if she weren't planning on getting up before he said what he had to say.
She should have hated him. Seeing her father again should have left her with cold fear. She remembered clearly being ten and shaking in dread as she sat on the witness stand, all eyes upon her. Someone actually had to wrap a blanket around her shoulders to make the quivering stop so she could talk. Even that hadn't helped.
Now, she felt nothing. Lukewarm, like a french-fry left out on the counter too long, now dry and stale. She saw her father as the pathetic man he was and he could no longer hurt her.

He was sick, not her. What happened was not her fault, no matter how much her mother wanted to scream it was.
He no longer had power over her. He no longer had power to hurt her. To control her.
She was selfishly thankful she hadn't received the brunt of his sickness. That was reserved for her friends and the children at the church, as if he knew touching his own daughter was worse than touching another child. He touched her inappropriately once and she let it go. The next time, she ran away, screaming, and told her friend, unaware her friend had been subject to his abuse and scare tactics for a long time.
And thus, he went to prison. When his own daughter spoke out, the children were no longer afraid to say what kind of sick freak he was.
Her mother blamed her for ruining his life. If she'd kept quiet, other kids would never have had the audacity to speak out. Meaning, more kids would have been abused.
"I didn't come here for small talk.” Rayma wasn't sure why she came. Maybe to prove to herself she didn't need to be afraid anymore. He'd wanted to see her, he'd told her he changed, but from what she saw he was only a worse specimen. Older, more bitter, but just as creepy.
She clutched her purse and began to rise from her chair when his words stopped her.
"Then let me tell you why I came."
"Why don't you?” she asked, sitting back down.
"I'm not your father."
His words stole her breath, then she just wanted to laugh. Or cry.
"Is this your way of liberating your guilt at touching your own daughter?"
"You aren't my daughter. That's what I want you to understand."
"Not in my heart,” she replied. She'd craved his attention when she was younger, the kind he lavished on her brothers. He played ball with his sons; he ruffled their hair, only to ignore her. She remembered shrinking in the background when he'd walk by because he never glanced in her direction when she called out to him. Now, it made her sick to think about the notice she ultimately received.
"Your mother had an affair with James Noose. Why do you think I've always hated him?"
"Because he sent you to prison?"
Richard sneered. “Yeah, he enjoyed that."
Rayma rose on unsteady feet, but couldn't find the will to move. One hand touched the table to hold her up and the other clutched her purse. He stood along with her and tried to grab her.
"Get the fuck away from me."
"Think back, Rayma. Look in the mirror. Look at James."
"If you think this admission is going to absolve you of all sin—"
"That isn't my intention.” He remained where he stood, close enough to touch, but he didn't come closer. He stood with one foot back, ready to dart away. “I've served my penance. I think it's time you knew the truth of who your father is."
"I'm glad to hear you're not my father.” She hated him. She should be relieved he wasn't her father, but grief and resentment ravaged her.
What was he saying? James Noose? The only man she ever trusted?
"I just thought you should know the truth."
Richard walked away, as if somehow sensing she was about to blow and not wanting to catch the brunt of it. Waves crashed against the dock. She saw herself being carried away by their sway, slowing taking her out to a point she could never come back from.
Richard was a sick freak, but there was no reason for him to lie to her about this. Maybe he wanted to hurt her for sending him to prison or maybe he had a revelation in prison and felt the need to make things right. Whatever the reason, the fact he wasn't her father should have filled her with great joy.
She loved James like a father. She always wished he could be her father. If what Richard said was true and James was her father, why hadn't he told her?
That hurt. More, it filled her with a deep despair. James had lied to her. By not telling her the truth, he had lied to her about the most important thing in her life.
And at the most important time in her life, when she had to send the man she thought was her father to prison, when she'd cried in James’ arms day after day yet went back to a home she wasn't welcome in anymore. She was only ten years old, and her mother couldn't stand laying eyes on her, as if it was her fault Richard was in prison.
Still, James hadn't told her. Did he know? Yes, he had to know. Why else would he be so interested in her? Why else would he remain friends with her all those years even when her mother no longer wanted anything to do with him?
She should have rejoiced. She wanted to scream. She'd missed out on knowing her daddy, a daddy she had only dreamed of. She was furious at him and her mother for not telling her the truth. And now, she probably still wouldn't know if it hadn't been for Richard.
Her family hadn't shared a Thanksgiving meal since Rayma was ten, but she had plenty of love elsewhere. Like the time all of James’ family came to visit him, and there were lots of them. She ate dinner with them and pretended they were the family she'd always dreamed of. Aunts, uncles, cousins and Grandma were all hers during that time and, though it should have been weird, it wasn't.
At first, her mother and brothers went to prison to share Thanksgiving dinner with Richard. It was something she would never do. As they grew, her brothers found friends to be with at that special time and she was content to spend it with people who weren't her family but treated her as though they were. And those times created memories that would last a lifetime.
Those memories could have been real. They could have truly meant something. Those people could have been her real aunts, uncles and cousins.
Her hands shook as she punched in James’ number. She would prefer to confront him in person but since he was hundreds of miles away, she would have to analyze the tone of his voice to know the truth of what he was feeling at her news. Her battery power was low and after this call, she probably wouldn't be able to use her phone again, so she had to make the most of it.
"How could you do this to me?” Rayma asked when James answered.
"Rayma?"
"Who the hell do you think it is?” she asked, not disguising her anger or animosity but instead letting it fuel her.
"What's wrong?"
"I found out the truth, that's what's wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"Why did you lie to me all these years?"
"About what?” he asked. What was that in his tone? Concern for her or for himself? Acknowledgment? Confusion?
Her phone beeped, her battery was getting lower, and she decided to be just as direct as Richard had been with her. “You sonofabith. Or should I say Dad? You've lied to me all these years."



Chapter Fifteen
Camden and every available agent searched through and around the house but Rayma was nowhere to be found.
Beacon helped. His cat radar was on high alert as he paced through the house with the other agents, meowing profusely.
Camden was furious. Furious with Rayma for leaving the safe house, furious with the agents for allowing her to and, worse, for not noticing she was gone.
Lacey came in and, after Camden berated her, Dex and Moore, they finally admitted Rayma had been left alone with Lacey.
"She promised she'd stay on the chair at the beach."
How could Lacey be so damned stupid? And what was more important than protecting the only witness they had thus far? Didn't they understand how vital it was they stay with her at all times?
The fury he felt disguised the fear consuming him. What if she hadn't left? What if Web had gotten to her somehow and she was, at this moment, dead?
Lacey promised she'd only gone grocery shopping and it hadn't taken long and, since no one knew when she really left, no one knew how long she'd been gone or how long Rayma had been gone.
Web left early today, giving Camden the rest of the day off, too. Web claimed to have a hot date and said he would let Mike stay in jail another day and would bail him out tomorrow.
But what if that hot date included kidnapping Rayma?
She wasn't at her usual place on the beach and he realized how free she had been. She hadn't gone home or to work, and as far as he could tell she wasn't roaming along the sand.
When he found her, he planned to give her a piece of his mind and tie her up until this was all over.
Web had told Camden Rayma was going to die, either way. And Camden had to pretend he was okay with it. That maybe he'd even be the one to kill her.
He'd wanted to kill Web, right then and there. To wipe that smirk off his face. He longed to wrap his hands around Web's neck and choke the life from him when he talked about Rayma that way.
Darrell Weberley was going down. But if Camden had to continually worry about Rayma and what trouble she was getting into, it may be later rather than sooner. She was starting to affect him, very possibly his career, and it was time to do something about it.
When he found her.
He took the lives of civilians seriously and would never risk one for a mission, but for some reason, Rayma's life was more important to him than normal. It wasn't because she looked so good in a swimsuit, hair wrapped around some bun-type ponytail, feet encased in pink slippers or because she liked to eat healthy, save for her own Starbucks-type concoction. It wasn't because he knew more about her and her habits than he did his own family and friends.
It was because, for the first time in his life, he thought he might have met a woman he would like to get to know a little more, develop a deeper relationship with.
Or was that because they hadn't slept together yet?
He looked one last time through the tables of a café on the beach and thought he was hallucinating when he caught a tall blonde with her back to him, holding a phone to her ear. But this woman's hair was different, more stylish than Rayma's, and she wore a business suit.
Everything else matched Rayma. The way she stood—she had good posture despite her height—the way the wispy pants she wore caressed her ass, the way she clutched the phone to her ear. And the bag at her feet was definitely hers.
He caught her scent, heard her voice as he approached, and didn't give her a chance to notice him.
Anger, terror and relief washed over him but he couldn't take the time to feel anything now. He planted his hand on her shoulder and turned her abruptly around. Eyes wide, she stared at him. Good, she should be afraid. It could have been Web who found her.
He took the phone from her hand, pressed end, and caught her hand when it came up.
"What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
"I'm here to ask you that same question,” Camden said as he pulled her away from the café.
"Let me go.” She struggled against him but he clenched his hands around her so she couldn't move away. “Are you trying to cause a scene?"
Camden had no doubt Rayma could cause a scene and the patrons of this lovely establishment would be after him. He'd have to either let her go, face the possibility that someone might call the cops, or deal with an incident he didn't want or need to deal with. Anger fueled him. A man was still out there, watching her, waiting for her.
Wanting to kill her.
He was furious she held such little regard for her life and for this operation. Furious with himself for trusting she would stick around without proper surveillance.
He turned on her and pressed her against his chest. His nose, if she'd been a bit taller, would have touched hers. As it were, they were close enough to breathe the other's breath. Her eyes were wild, whether from fright or rebellion he didn't know and didn't care. Red-hot fire coursed through him but along with the usual inferno of desire, this fire held a bloodcurdling rage.
"Go ahead and cause a scene,” Camden said, his throat barely opening through his fury. “You'll be shipped off to a real safe house where they don't give a damn about you. You'll feel like you're in prison until this is over. You take a risk like that again, leaving like you did without telling anyone, and you won't have free roam. As of now, your free roam has been severely limited."
"You can't do this to me!"
"I can. I will. I just did."
He whipped around and pulled her along with him. He took his time getting back to the house so he could make sure no one was following.
Escorting a frenzied woman, who spat obscenities as she was manhandled back to the safe house, was not an easy task. He didn't concern himself with the bruises that would, hopefully, be on her arm tomorrow.
She only thought she knew what rage felt like. He wasn't a man to slap a woman around, he wasn't a man to bully a woman or terrorize her, but at this point he wasn't above using whatever means necessary.
Dex found them and trailed behind, but kept his distance. He wasn't any use when it came to controlling Rayma.
She pulled away from Camden's clutches as soon as they made it inside the house. Moore and some of the other agents looked on in shock and amusement.
Web had to go down. Before he hurt someone. Before he hurt an innocent child who bought his drugs.
Before he hurt Rayma.
"Don't ever do that again,” Camden said.
"I planned on coming back."
"Web thinks you have something of his. He wants you dead."
"I don't have anything."
"It doesn't matter to him. Either way, he wants you dead. You got in his way. You threatened his freedom."
"Why don't you send me away? I have family I can stay with."
"Web wants you dead,” he repeated. “He'll do what he can to make sure it happens. If he has to, he'll find your family.” Rayma shook her head in denial. “There's a price on your head, Rayma.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her next to him, as if she'd listen more carefully that way. He wanted to shake her, shake some sense into her and the foolishness out of her. “He gave me the option of bringing you to him and naming that price."
"Then why don't you?"
* * * *
Later that evening, Rayma almost talked herself out of going to see Camden. She began to turn around and tread back to the house when she noticed him in the garden. He was kneeling down in the dirt, his shirt pulled around his head like a do-rag, as if the heat of the day was upon him.
Which meant he was shirtless. Instead of sun, the moonlight embraced him, casting a lucid outline around every angle of his body, accentuating the lining of his arms, down his ribcage, his waist tapering to the crest of his jeans.
Rayma shivered.
Despite the lack of sun and the quakes in her body, it was hot outside. He was covered in sweat and probably bug spray—a necessity around here.
He pulled weeds and, when he came across a ripe vegetable, picked it and placed it into a container next to him. A small birdbath complemented a bench in the corner of the garden, glittering with flowers along the fence on both sides. No outside lights marred the perfection of the panorama and the lack of light created a peaceful and cozy atmosphere.
It didn't help to calm her nerves.
She walked slowly towards Camden and he visibly tensed, whipping his head around, probably preparing to fight. When he noticed her, he relaxed somewhat and turned his attention back to the plants, but his body was still rigid and waiting.
"Moonlight gardening?” Rayma opened the small gate to the garden and stood away from him. She felt the tension radiating from his body as if it were a part of her own.
"Yeah.” Camden stood and wiped the dirt from his hands onto his jeans, which were already covered with dirt.
She wished he wouldn't stand. It was hard enough trying to make sense, especially when her nerves were clashing around inside. The length and breadth of his body seized every ounce of energy she had left. Her legs began to tremble.
"Even in the moonlight it's as hot as a mo-fo."
"Exactly how hot is a mo-fo?” Rayma asked as she knelt down to pick a weed. It was safer to sit, and she let her butt hit the dirt.
Camden laughed, shrugged, then knelt back down and joined her. “I don't have time in the day anymore to tend the garden.” He picked a flower and placed it behind her ear. She smiled, all the while debating what she would say to him.
Will you do to me what you did on the beach? Will you let me taste you? Will you forgive me for leaving and understand why I did without me having to explain it? Will you stop ignoring me? None of those would be appropriate, but at this point, she was tired of being appropriate.
"I don't know if I ever thanked you for saving my life."
Camden looked at her and shrugged.
"Well, thank you."
"You're welcome."
Silence. He resumed pulling weeds and picking vegetables, and she raked her fingers in the dirt, feeling the soft loam in her hands and urging it to relax her. The soft glow of the moonlight helped her to be more open and honest, as if the darkness was hiding her vulnerabilities. It was easier to open up that way.
"I'm sorry I've been so difficult. I have a hard time trusting people, especially men."
"Who hurt you?” Camden set his hand shovel aside and sat fully on the dirt, looking at her as if he'd wait as long as necessary for an answer. She wanted to like him for that but feelings caused by past relationships and issues rose within her. Feelings she wasn't sure would ever go away, no matter how many times she talked about them.
"Which time?” she asked with a laugh, doing whatever she could to lighten the mood. The dimness seemed to provide a shield to hide behind, though she could see every inch of him and he her. Still, the mask of protection was there, so she opened her mouth to speak. “My mom, my dad, ex-boyfriends."
"Tell me about your parents."
"The man I thought was my father wanted to see me. That's who I was meeting today. He's been in prison."
"Why?"
She let out a mild laugh. “To inform me he wasn't really my father."
"What did he do?"
Purposely avoiding a direct answer, she said, “My mom went halfway insane when he went to prison and checked into a facility where she met a woman. They're living together now."
"What did your dad do?” he asked again.
Rayma couldn't tell him. Even though she knew none of it was her fault, the shame of Camden knowing was too much for her to bear. Tears welled in her eyes and Camden scooted closer to her. He took her chin in his hand and his breath grazed her mouth with a light touch.
"He told me the man I've always wished was my father is my father. Just another deception in my life I've had to deal with."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You had nothing to do with it."
"I'm sorry for the hurt it's caused you."
"I was on the phone with James reaming him for not telling me he was my dad when you hung it up and took it away from me. He's probably worried sick."
"Serves him right,” Camden said. “But how do you know he even knew? Maybe he was never told the truth either."
"I know he knew,” Rayma said. “It all makes perfect sense now."
Camden, as if not knowing what to do or what to say, picked at another weed and patted the dirt around a tomato plant.
Rayma slapped at a mosquito.
"You wanna go inside?” he asked. “Have a glass of wine? Talk about families?"
Rayma laughed, but inside, her heart felt like a leaden vessel pulling her deeper downstream in a mire of disarray. “Make love to me,” she whispered.
He gasped, as if that was the last thing he expected her to say. She closed her eyes and began to scoot away.
What was she thinking?
If only she could hang her head in shame without looking like a total idiot. If she were a child, she'd stand up and run, pretending it never happened. She could always try to stuff her head in the dirt, but the need to breathe would win. She could claim temporary insanity. She could escape to her room, but she'd have to face him eventually.
He touched her and pulled her closer. She opened her eyes. His lips found hers in a whisper soft caress. His hand brushed past her cheek and he gripped her behind the neck, holding onto her hair, holding onto her.
His cadence turned hungry and she responded in kind. She gripped his shoulders to feel the strength beneath them, feeling safe.
It was crazy, she knew. He would protect her, but not from what she really needed protection from. If she allowed herself to feel anything but raw sexual hunger for him, she would be toast.
He pulled away. He was shivering, a deep but barely perceptible tremble, as if holding back was killing him.
It was sexy as hell.
"Are you sure?” he asked in a raspy voice. She could only pretend he felt as vulnerable as she did right now.
She'd never been so sure of anything in her life and, as much as she'd love to feel the soft earth beneath her, she knew this was not the place for their first time. She stood and took his hand, pulling him along with her.
Her legs were unsteady as they walked to the house, but Camden took his time. They went in and washed their hands, but he seemed to pull away from her. Was he having second thoughts now that they were inside? The light filled the room. They should have just left it off. He pulled a wine bottle down from his cabinet.
"You hungry?” he asked.
* * * *
He felt like a complete idiot.
He'd been with enough women to know what he was doing. He never stumbled. He never second-guessed himself. And his heart never pounded as furiously against his chest as it was pounding now.
He was always a James Bond-type of lover, confident and self-assured, using every pleasurable moment to its fullest and guessing exactly what the woman wanted. Then leaving, walking away as if it was the best thing to ever happen but it was time to move on.
He wanted Rayma, and he didn't want to leave afterwards. What that meant about him he wasn't sure, but he wanted to touch her, to taste her, to experience her and to posses her. But if he didn't stop acting like a first grader she was going to laugh at him and leave.
She was just a woman. A woman. He'd been with countless women in the past. Faceless women. Women he never really knew and never cared about. Though quality came before quantity, he was still a man who loved women.
Loved. Past tense. For now he could think of no other woman he wanted to be with other than Rayma O'Riley.
He struggled with the wine cork. He couldn't get the damn thing opened and when he did, crimson liquid soaked the counter as he missed his aim for first her glass, then his. Managing to pour a little, he handed it to her and watched her as she took it into her mouth.
He guzzled his. What the hell was wrong with him?
Rayma set her glass on the bar and stepped in closer to him. Instinct took over and he wrapped his hand around her waist. His mouth came down on hers and he tasted the sweetness of the wine on her tongue, making him feel as if he already drank the whole bottle.
She pulled away, trailing her hand down and off his arm as she took first one and then another step back. The femme fatale smile on her face almost did him in. He groaned and tried to grab her. Her smile only grew larger as she evaded his touch.
He grinned and hung his head in defeat but shot his eyes straight into hers.
He lunged for her, grabbed her, and drew her closer. She snaked her hands along his ribs. She unbuttoned his jeans. He was already shirtless, and she ran her soft fingers around the ache of his chest and up to the shirt around his head. Some dirt fell as she untied the shirt. She merely flicked it away.
"I need a shower,” he said.
"Later."
She took his do-rag from his head and ruffled her fingers through his hair. She obviously had the control and he liked it, but he wanted her to like it more. He brought his hands up under her shirt and felt her soft skin, her perfect breasts, and he tried to kiss her.
Grinning, she backed away and sauntered closer to the bed. She pulled her shirt above her head and threw it to the side. Her shorts soon followed until she was wearing nothing but a bra and panties. Panties he'd touched when he went to her house to get her things.
Panties he desperately needed to touch now.
"Damn, woman."
She stood there as he came to her and touched her body, trailing kisses alongside her neck and down her chest. Her hands went for his jeans and he helped her pull them off. His underwear soon followed and she stroked him.
Their eyes held onto each other as he felt her warmth beneath his hands, under those sexy lacy panties.
She backed away when he tried to kiss her, standing up against the bed but not yet on it, teasing him. He continued his prowl, desperately wanting to kiss her but also wanting to see that glow, that fire in her eyes, that come-hither smile on her lips.
"You've pleased me twice with nothing in return,” she said as she trailed her hands down his chest. “Now it's my turn to please you."
"Pleasing you pleases me,” he said. “And we're both going to enjoy this."
Their mouths came together like magnets, strong and pulling. They fell to the bed. He stroked his hands up the sides of her stomach to her breasts. Keeping his mouth on hers, he pulled her away from the bed, arching her back just enough to unsnap the hindrance of her bra. He tore his mouth away from the softest, most exquisite lips he'd ever tasted and pushed her back down to take a nipple into his mouth.
Heaven. This was heaven. The scent of her, the taste of her, the feel of softness and liquidity, velvet and solidity. His thumb played against the rigid peak of her breast until his lips came down upon it. She found his hardness and tried to pull him closer but he stayed back, needing to tease her, wanting to make this last but also, in some sick sense, wanting this to be the most incredible sex she'd ever experienced in her life so she'd forget about any man in her past.
"Touch me,” she said.
He lightly nibbled her lip, teasing her as she had teased him moments ago, fighting his need to kiss her, keeping his mouth away from hers. “I am touching you."
"There,” she cried.
He touched her moist center. She cried out and lifted herself up to him. He thought he was going to mimic their time in the closet and come in his pants, so he pulled away to reach for a condom from his bedside table. He trembled as he put it on and her hands came down, softly helping him. He thought he was going to lose it.
He touched her with his hand again, deep inside until she shook and cried, then entered her velvet smooth core as she pulsed against him.
And they became one. In that one moment in time when nothing else mattered but the exquisite sensations of two people merging, he thought he was falling in love.
* * * *
"I was sixteen when I moved out of the house. I moved in with my nineteen-year old boyfriend, who I thought was going to take care of me. I thought I was all grown up and I was so ready to get out of the house. I was still going to school and working after school. Warren lost his job and swore he was looking, but he was an alcoholic, on drugs, and had all kinds of parties till all hours of the night when I was trying to sleep. I loved investigating, that's the career I wanted to pursue, yet I didn't investigate him, didn't even suspect him because he promised he loved me and would take care of me. I came home early one night and found him with a girl in our bed. Turns out that happened almost every night.
"I left him. Went to college by some miracle and worked hard, got good grades. Met Karl right before I graduated. He seemed perfect, but no way would I let what happened to me happen again. James, who used to work for Austin P.D. and is now a PI, looked into his life. Karl found out about it. He was furious and left, said if I couldn't trust him, we had no relationship. He's married with two kids now."
Camden held her tightly and ran his fingers through the strands of her hair as he listened to her story, wishing he could have been there those many years ago to see her through.
They slept off and on, cuddled next to each other, before they made love again. She teased him, tormented him, promising payback for the teasing he'd done to her earlier. Afterwards, he asked her again about her life, hoping it wouldn't draw her away from him. To his surprise, she opened up to him, though he wasn't sure how much he needed to know about her ex-boyfriends. It was a conversation he never had with lovers. It indicated an intimacy he never wanted to feel.
Until now. With Rayma.
"Then there's Keegan,” Rayma continued. “I was about to turn thirty and thought I was finally ready to settle down. Thought most men my age would be mature. Keegan..."
Camden stiffened. Was she still in love with the guy? It hadn't been too long ago, was she still trying to get over him? “What happened to him?"
"Have you ever heard of Wesley Webb?"
"The racecar driver?” Rayma nodded. “Hell yeah. I read his biography when it came out. I'm a race fan when I have time, but I rarely do. I keep up with the goings-on."
"His wife, Caitlyn, the one who wrote his biography, was my best friend and roommate in college. If you've read the book, you've heard about Keegan. And you've heard about me."
"You were her best friend?” Camden rose, and she had to take her head from his shoulder to let him. He needed a better glimpse of her.
"Yes."
"My God.” He remembered the story. It had been plastered all over the newspapers in some shape or form and when the book finally came out, Camden snatched it up and read it. Wesley Webb found out his real father was actually an uncle he never knew existed. The uncle had a son, Keegan. The two of them were living with stolen identities and had committed a host of crimes to cover it up, including murder. When Rayma found out the truth, Keegan and his father locked her and Caitlyn in a basement, intending to kill them.
Her life had been hell. It was no wonder she didn't trust men.
"There's more,” Rayma said.
More? How could there be more? What else had this woman been through?
"The man I thought was my father abused little girls. And boys.” Her voice cracked.
His throat barely opened for his next words. “Did he hurt you?"
"He tried. The first time, I took it, though it was only a light touch before he was interrupted, thank God. The next time, I ran away from him before he could do any damage and I told my friend. She told her mom. Come to find out, he had abused her and some other kids. Some I didn't know, some I did."
Camden wanted to jump up and find the bastard. “I should kill the—"
"No,” she interrupted. “He paid his penance. I survived, became stronger."
"Do you call not trusting people being stronger?"



Chapter Sixteen
Camden was right, Rayma knew. Not trusting people did not make her stronger. It was weak, it was painful, and it was going to ruin her life in the end. There was someone out there who was ready to settle down and have kids. She wasn't, by any means, but when she was there would be somebody for her. Only, if she didn't start trusting people, she would lose that person. Whoever that person might be.
It wouldn't be Camden. He had nothing to offer her but a life of wondering every day if he'd come home alive, and Rayma had nothing to offer him but mind-blowing sex.
At least, that's what she wanted to continue offering him. Regardless of the fact she felt like a total idiot for even allowing herself to fall for him in any way, especially that way.
She'd never shared that story with anyone. Not even Keegan knew what Richard had done, and she thought they'd been fairly serious about one another. Most people wouldn't understand the hell she'd been through. Most people wouldn't be able to grasp it without looking at her differently, wondering if she was sane, if maybe there was something mentally wrong with her. How she'd been affected by her childhood, and if she was normal.
Somehow, for some reason, she knew Camden would understand. Maybe it was his career field that made her trust him in that aspect, or maybe it was because she just didn't care anymore—she was either accepted as she was or not—but whatever reason, she'd never spoken of it before, never had a desire to speak of it, and wasn't sure she ever would again.
She wasn't falling in love with Camden. That's not why she told him her story. She needed someone to talk to and he was there. She was hell bent on purging her ghosts, and it started with talking about them. He just happened to be the only one there at the time.

Yeah right, she thought as the other half of her—the irrational half—was afraid she might be falling. She didn't want to. This feeling she had was different, so she wasn't sure. This love was slow, a deepening feeling of wanting to be around him, but not all the time. Nothing like being startled awake, this was more of a slow awakening, opening eyes, laying in bed a moment to grasp conscious state; rising slowly, fixing coffee, having a shower until alertness hit. Kind of like a Saturday morning when there was no rush to beat traffic and get to work. The feelings he evoked in her were confusing but even more, they were intense, kind of like his eyes when they looked at her. She wanted to laugh, cry, scream and tear the walls apart all at the same time when he was near.
It was probably just a crush. With men, she used them as an ornament in her life. Mike had been someone to wear on her arm and go out with occasionally, someone to sleep with even though it was no better than sleeping alone. She must have enjoyed his company at one time. Surely she wasn't so desperate to hang out with a guy she didn't like. But Camden, despite the fact he was gorgeous, was different in that she enjoyed being around him and craved his interest.
It was only because she was rarely around him. She knew that, and she knew if she spent too much time with him she would start to dislike him. That's how she was. There was no use dreaming of love.
Love would entail hurt. Love, though most people would say was worth the hurt, only constituted depression, solitude, and the feeling nothing would be right again. At least without love, one knew where they stood in life.
She didn't need to experience the thrilling rush, the effervescence that always came before the fall, which inevitably led to a hurt beyond description and a complete metamorphosis of life and of person. She didn't want that, she didn't need that, and she would do well to never experience that again.
It hurt that the one person she trusted most was the one person she should've trusted the least. Had James known all these years? Looking back, she was sure he did. Judging from their conversation, he knew. Even when she needed him the most he lied to her.
Could she look past that? She'd missed out on so much as a child but if she held onto these feelings of regret and blame, she'd miss out on so much more.
Would things change between them now that she knew? Would it be awkward between them now that he wasn't a friend but the man who sired her?
* * * *
Darrell Weberley had a lot to lose and very little to gain as far as people went. His trust in people was nil. Despite that, he always gave a person the benefit of the doubt. To hear Lacey tell him Carol was an undercover agent disconcerted him. Not that he had anything to worry about. Carol didn't know anything about him. He was undercover himself. His life was like an undercover operation.
To Carol, Darrell was just a rich guy who liked to take care of drug-abused kids. But it pissed him off that he was being investigated. Again. Didn't these damn people realize they had nothing on him, never would?
Darrell held a side that scared even him. Once someone crossed him and that person couldn't be trusted again, he agonized over everything he said and everything he might have done wrong to the point he couldn't control his thoughts, his temper, or his longings to dispose of that person properly.
Killing didn't bother him. In fact, he quite liked seeing the terror in a person's eyes just when they knew they were about to die. To hold a person's life in his hands—there was no greater power. He never wondered if they had kids at home, a spouse, parents to grieve for the child they lost.
Killing didn't bother him, but he didn't like to do it. It created a new set of problems, covering up the crime, taking time from his busy schedule to see it through. He had a few employees he trusted completely for those things but the less people to turn on him later, the better.
Lacey. Mike. Rayma. Camden. They were all involved with one another in some twisted way. Mike and Camden were Rayma's ex-boyfriends. Lacey was Camden's landlord. Rayma, a television reporter, found out about Darrell's operation before Camden was ever in her picture.
If Carol was an agent, it wasn't likely she was the only one sent to infiltrate his operation. They were like cockroaches. You see one of the bastards and you could damn well expect a whole group of them in no time.
So there was someone out there he couldn't trust. Mike had been with him a long time and before that, his father had been a part of Darrell's operation. Mike was obtuse, a little on the naïve side, and a greedy sonofabitch. But he was faithful to a fault when it came to Darrell's dealings. His money had to be watched when Mike was around, but Mike was only stupid enough to try to steal from him once.
Rayma was an enigma. He wasn't sure where she got the information she did. He had his people checking on that, but someone gave it to her and that someone was being checked on, too.
Shawn might have been a mole. Darrell had let him live a little too long.
Lacey was capricious, deceitful and out for her own good. She was only one thing to him and that would end soon enough.
Camden. The best damn chef Darrell had ever employed, the best damn gofer he'd used in awhile and one hell of a good actor. Could Camden be a cockroach? Darrell didn't know any agent who could withstand two years of undercover without fail. No one was that good.
He would be put to the ultimate test.
* * * *
"I've been dating a woman."
Camden sat in Darrell's office and listened to him tell his story, hoping against hope he'd called him in his office to let him do another drug run but instead, he'd chosen to give him a sob story about women. If they were true friends, Camden would tell him about the most extraordinary woman he'd ever met. A woman he'd spent last night with, woke up this morning to, and couldn't wait to get back home to. All he could think of was Rayma. He wanted to call her, check on her, see if she wanted to get together again tonight.
But he couldn't tell Web that.
"She's married,” Web continued, his attention focused on something just to the left of Camden as if something or someone was standing there. “I followed her home one night."
For a brief nightmarish moment, Camden thought Web was going to ask him to kill a woman. A married woman he'd been dating. No, killing he did not do, not even to bring Darrell Weberley down.
"Do you know a Lacey Bowman?"
It took Camden a moment to apprehend what Web had said. Irritation was like prickles of heat under his skin, stabbing him from the inside out. The beginnings of a headache formed into a tight fist in his skull.
He wanted to kill Lacey, or at least shake the idiocy out of her, if possible.
"I followed her home. She lives in your subdivision."
"I know a Lacey. She and her husband are my landlords for the time being."
"For the time being?"
"I'm looking for a bigger place,” Camden lied.
"I'm not sure I can trust her."
"You can't, Web. She's a married woman. She belongs to somebody else."
Camden knew things were going to start getting ugly, if not now then very soon. Lacey had been dating Web right under their noses? What else had she done? And why hadn't Camden noticed? Why hadn't Moore kept her on a tighter leash?
Camden knew he'd been paying more attention to Rayma than a case he was beginning to feel was all for nothing. Two years, two years of his life and Lacey wanted to destroy it. What had she told Web? Could she be trusted, or was it time to pull out?
Camden could bust him for insignificant manufacturing or delivering, but he would only serve a couple of years and be a free man. No, Camden wanted Darrell Weberley to go down and live the rest of his life behind bars where at least the public could be protected from him.
If Lacey didn't screw it up.
But at least if he was busted for petty drugs, he'd have a record, he'd spend time in prison. Hell, maybe he'd pissed off enough people that someone would kill him and ease Camden's concern about getting out.
Then there was Rayma to think about. Not that he didn't do enough thinking about her already. It wasn't fair to keep her there indefinitely, but neither could they just let her fend for herself. Web wanted her dead, and if she were left to her own devices, she would be.
"I don't know what to do about her,” Web said.
"Move on. Forget about her. Find someone else. Married women can't be trusted."
"What do you know about her?"
"I rarely see her. I deal mostly with her husband."
"What does he do?"
Lacey and Moore's phony careers had already been mapped out in case something like this ever happened, though he never would have imagined it would be because Lacey had done something so stupid. Camden knew exactly what to say. “He's a research analyst. Makes enough money for them both. She doesn't have to work and probably gets bored."
"You ever sleep with her?” Web asked.
"Hell, no. She's not my type. Have you?"
Web raised his brow, wiggled them, then turned away. It was all Camden could do to continue working.
When Camden went home that night, Lacey and Rayma were in the kitchen, Beacon on the table with his legs sprawled out, and the girls having toddies and laughing over some girly things.
Anger boiled over beyond him even wanting to control it. He no longer considered Lacey as a woman. She was a Special Agent with the DEA and could take a beating just like the rest of them.
He jerked her up from her chair by the arm, digging his fingers into her flesh and shaking her, hard. “What the hell were you thinking?"
* * * *
Rayma jumped from the table at Camden's unexpected outburst, spilling Beacon, who was curled in her lap, to the floor. In a mad rush to get out of there, the cat sped from the room. The chair crashed to the floor behind her.
"Camden, what the hell is going on?” Moore asked as he entered the room, his hand resting on his gun.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out,” Camden said.
"Release Lacey."
Camden held onto Lacey by the arm. Lacey, her eyes wild and defiant, only glared.
"She's an agent. If she can't take it, she needs to get the fuck out."
Rayma merely stood to the side and watched. Lacey was like a can of gasoline sitting in the hot sun. It wouldn't explode for that reason, but just one wrong shift in its design would create a wildfire. Lacey was different every day, like a woman with multiple personalities. Rayma didn't trust her nor did she particularly like her very much, but she tolerated her.
Rayma would like to believe there was a perfectly good explanation for Camden to be so upset. Or was he a naturally violent man? Where was the charm now? He was so tense, like a rattlesnake just waiting to strike.
He glanced at Rayma and let Lacey loose, though not with grace. He pushed her, she stumbled, and he clenched his fists as if he were fighting the urge to grab her again.
She pulled back and massaged her arm. “Asshole!” she shrieked.
"How could you do it?” Camden took a step closer, she moved a step back.
"Do what?” Moore asked.
Camden jerked his head around to Moore. His jaw tense, his eyebrows furrowed. “She's sleeping with Web."
Rayma gasped as Lacey just looked at him with a bite of rebellion written on her face.
"You're what!” Moore stepped toward Lacey. She flinched.
"I'm not exactly sleeping with him. We've been in contact. That's all."
"He thinks you're dating,” Camden said. “He followed you home. He figured out I live in the same vicinity."
"I never meant for it to happen like this."
Camden grabbed Lacey around the shoulders and gave her a shake. He maintained his grip as he said, “I told him you and your husband were my landlords. Do you know what kind of position you put us all in?"
"It's no different than what you're doing!” she said as he let her go with a hard push against the counter. She straightened and flipped her hair. “First of all you fuck around with him all day yet you have no real reason to arrest him. He has a contract on Rayma's head but you're fucking her instead of trying to protect her. You're screwing this all up instead of trying to get us out of this mess! I figured it was about time to do something on my own, and I already have, for your information. I know he's having a huge party in the next couple of weeks and a lot of important people are coming."
"I know he's having a party too, Lacey. Maybe he's messing with you. You ever think about that?"
Lacey shook her head. Rayma watched in silence.
"Why don't you get your shit and leave?” Moore demanded of Lacey.
"Oh hell no,” Camden said. “She's sticking it out with us. She thinks she can do better, let's see if she can. She wants to leave. She probably wants to go tell her lover-boy everything she can about us. I wouldn't be surprised if he already knows."
"You know what kind of crime you're looking at?” Moore asked.
Lacey sank to the floor and tears spilled out of her eyes. Rayma felt nothing. She was a good actress, she'd give Lacey that. But a stupid agent.
In Rayma's most humble opinion, they were all acting foolishly. They'd all made several mistakes. Not that she would know the first thing about it. She'd never been an undercover agent, but she had been an undercover reporter and did well at her job.
Or at least she thought so.
"He doesn't know anything,” Lacey said. “I shouldn't have been so careless."
"You shouldn't have been so damned stupid,” Camden said. “Nothing will be the same now. We're going to have to leave, get a new team together."
"We're close to bringing him down,” Lacey said between sniffles.
"There's no ‘we’ anymore,” Moore said. “You're going to be a prisoner in this house now."
"No. I won't."
"Then you're under arrest,” Moore said. “You can stand trial."
"Let's see if she can finish what she started,” Camden said. “Something tells me it's going to be a lot harder than she thinks."
"What? And get us all killed?” Moore asked.
"You know, if you would've left well enough alone,” Rayma chimed in for the first time, “I probably would have already solved this case."
"Really?” Camden turned to her, his brows pulled together, his eyes flashing. He walked toward her and put his nose close to hers, intentionally invading her space. She held her ground, though annoyed with the fluttering in her stomach at just a slight contact between them.
Had he given any thought to that special moment between them last night or was it that way with him every time? That's all she'd thought about today, that and the fact she knew she'd have to call James soon. Camden looked at her indifferently, as if she were just another woman, another notch on his belt.
That fluttering in her heart became a sting.
"Moore, why don't we leave this to the girls and let them get it all figured out?” Camden asked, his breath on Rayma's cheek. “They sound more than capable."
"You're an asshole,” Rayma said. Camden stepped back.
"Lacey is sleeping with the enemy and I'm the asshole?"
"She's an asshole, too,” Rayma said. “You all are."
"Yeah, and you're a prisoner,” Camden said. “Where you're going to stay until I say you can leave."



Chapter Seventeen
"I need a drink. You up for a drink?"
Camden was seasoning the current special of the day when Web approached him.
Fuck. A drink sounded perfect about right now. He'd been fighting emotions all night, all day, all evening. After the best lovemaking of his life, he'd treated Rayma like shit. He was a man used to pulling away from women, after all.
But he didn't want to pull away from Rayma. That pissed him off.
"I'd love one, but I'm working."
"Yeah, we need to fix that. Get that kid to take care of things. It's not too busy."
Camden pulled off his apron and hat and went to tell Jonathan—that kid who happened to be a bright young chef—he was leaving it to him. Since there was another chef in training available, he didn't think they would have a problem.
"You want to go to the bar?” Camden asked, smoothing his hair. He hated wearing those damn hats.
"I gotta get out of here,” Web said. “And you seem a little tense yourself. We'll go somewhere else."
Damn, was he being that obvious? He had to loosen up before Web got suspicious.
They rode with Web's chauffeur to a bar and grill down the street. Web poured them both a scotch from the bar in the limo. Camden took it, smiled, saluted, and sipped. He had no intention of drinking heavily lest he lose his wits, something he needed at all times around Web.
Web was edgy tonight. It matched Camden's mood.
Camden watched from the corner of his eye as Web leaned back in his seat, the black leather sparkling like diamonds. Though the limo was adorned to the nines with bling, all Camden noticed was Web's life; tarnished like silver—pretty on the surface but after the polish wore, seriously corroded. One could keep polishing but the imperfections were always there. Web could hide behind his niceties—helping kids overcome their addiction in Sanctions Gateway, playing soldier to his employees and smiling when the time was just right—but he would never be genuine.
Web was only out for himself, no one else.
"I have a new chef coming on.” Web finally broke the silence and for a moment, Camden thought he was being fired. “He starts Saturday. I want to free up your time, make you more available to me. If you're interested."
"If it pays more,” Camden said, playing his cool. Either this was a turnaround and Camden was finally going to get involved with the downside of Web's business, or Web was testing him, tossing him to the wolves.
Web laughed. “I'm throwing a party in a couple of weeks and need a fulltime chef over the entire weekend. Are you available?"
"I'm available. What do you need?"
"You'll stay at my place. We'll go over the drink list and menu later. It's a rowdy bunch, but sophisticated. Good food, good wine, good drinks, good drugs."
Camden laughed and high-fived Web. “I'm here for you, man.” Inside, he hated himself. This may be the pivotal moment, the changing point in his career and in his life, and inside he hated every moment of it. He hated himself for ever getting involved in undercover work. Why couldn't he have been in banking, insurance, or a real chef?
One day, where would he be in life? Alone, acting like a person he wasn't just to bring someone down. Someone who was evil yet still had a shred of decency. Someone who deserved to rot in prison for all he'd done yet was too careful for that to happen. Someone who would probably spend a year, maybe two, and get out just to do it all over again.
It was taking two years out of Camden's life to bust Web, and he could still get away scot-free. So many undercover agents lost their identity and became one of the ones they were trying to bust. Camden wasn't going to allow that to happen, but damn if it wasn't hard sometimes.
There were so many people in life that had a hard time making it. And this guy was rolling in the high-life. It made Camden sick. But he continued to smile and carefully sip his scotch.
They stopped at La Grange, a hopping dance club full of wild music and women. Ordinarily, it would have been just what Camden was looking for.
But Camden had changed. No, he didn't feel any different inside except for a hole in the middle of his heart filled with longing. For what? He wasn't sure. Longing for this chapter of his life to end and a new one to begin. He wanted to see his niece and nephew, talk to his sister, share holidays with his family again. He wanted a break, he needed to contemplate his future because he'd been undercover for too long.
And he wanted to make love to Rayma.
She hadn't spoken to him since their blow-up last night. She'd finally gone to her room and hid herself away all night and day. He'd stayed awake all night talking to Moore about what their next move was going to be. He finally caught a couple of hours of shuteye when he knew agents were guarding the house.
They checked on Rayma just to make sure she was there, but now there were so many agents covering the place, it'd be hard to leave. He'd taken her cell phone, she no longer had access to the phone inside even with an access code, and put underground wires around the perimeter of the house to let out an alarm if she so much as stepped over them. If the agents couldn't keep her in, those would.
He doubted he'd have another chance to make love to Rayma. He seriously doubted she would ever speak to him again. What he did wrong was beyond his comprehension. He was merely doing his job and trying to save her ass.
"What are we doing here?” Camden asked as he exited the vehicle.
"My head's spinning. I need to give it a reason to."
The music gave it a reason to. Screaming, thundering sounds set to the tempo of a wild banshee thrashing around in a small cage, attempting to flee. It made Camden's head spin, but not in a good way.
Web ordered them both a drink and Camden tried to relax. He couldn't have changed in just a few short days. This used to be his pastime. Going out with friends, having some fun, having some drinks, having hot women surround him. He wasn't married, he certainly wasn't tied down.
A woman in a tight red dress approached the bar and smiled. “Hi boys,” she said.
This was his chance to prove to himself he was the same Camden, but he felt nothing but disgust when she placed her hand on his. He turned his attention to the bar, studying the liquor there as if he'd be tested on the contents later. The damn woman looked old enough to be his mother, and she was coming on to him.
Damned if he was going to buy the woman a drink.
When he didn't say anything, she let out a loud “huh” and walked away.
"What was that all about?” Web asked.
"I'm not interested in whores,” Camden replied.
"You still tied up over that news woman?"
"Hell, no. What about you? You seen that married woman lately?"
"No. She hasn't met me at our location in a while nor has she called. I don't know what's going on with her."
"She's married,” Camden reminded him yet again.
"Speak of the devil,” Web said, his voice trailing off as he sipped on his liquor.
Camden turned and hid his shock at seeing Lacey. She faltered a moment, as if expecting to see Web but not Camden. Then, a smile plastered on her face, she walked up to Web and placed a kiss on his cheek.
"Darling, I want you to meet a friend of mine and my favorite chef.” Web introduced them.
Lacey reached out her hand, playing her part exceptionally well. “Yes, we know one another. He's my tenant,” she said to Web. Then to Camden, “I hope things are going well."
"They are. And where is your husband?"
"He couldn't be here tonight,” Lacey said. “He told me to tell you he'd talk to you later,” she told Web, and giggled. Camden didn't miss the wink.
"Good,” Web said, taking her in his arms.
"Hey,” she shrieked.
"Let's dance."
She was good, he had to give her that. Covering up the fact she was here without her husband, although she didn't technically have a husband, so Camden wouldn't question it was a brilliant display. She hid her nervousness well, unless she just didn't care that Camden was going to kick her ass when they got home.
For all he knew, she had a wire. The entire house could be wired without their knowledge. Without even Lacey's knowledge.
Camden watched as they danced until he lost them in the crowd. He asked the bartender for water and sipped it slowly. He didn't want to lose his head tonight.
Web had been testing him. He knew Lacey was going to be here tonight. They'd probably made plans to meet, and Web brought Camden to see his reaction.
But why?
Lacey insisted Web didn't know. She insisted he only thought she was a woman cheating on her husband. Moore thought they should bring in new agents.
Camden didn't know what to think.
* * * *

You're a prisoner, where you're going to stay until I tell you that you can leave.

Camden's words remained with her throughout the night and into the day. A day she spent hiding in her room. Pouting, one might call it, but she had no intention of showing her face. She hated it, Beacon hated it, but she wasn't about to let him roam a house that wasn't hers.
Her prison.
Camden took away her cell phone so there was no way to call even if she had someone to call. But at least he'd reassured her all men were as she thought: egotistical jerks.
And she'd slept with him. She probably would again if given the chance. She'd shared the details of her past with him and she'd never shared her life with anyone. Only Caitlyn knew. Why had she put Camden in the same class as her best friend in the whole world? Why had she succumbed to weakness at her lowest point?
Why why why, she kept asking herself, though there was no answer and there was no taking back what happened. He was an undercover agent and to be that, one had to be sly, underhanded and phony. He was definitely all of those, because she thought he really cared.
And why would she think he really cared? Hadn't she learned early in life when to trust a man?
Never. Especially not when you're lying in bed with him.
* * * *
What a waste of time. Precious time. Time he could spend touching Rayma, tasting her lips, relishing in the feel of her skin against his.
But bimbo blonde's hands were sliming their way up his thigh and he'd had to move them away several times. His last hard glance towards her obviously worked, at least a little, because she kept her hand on his arm and, though her fingers drummed against his skin, she didn't try anything else.
Camden wished he were back in the safe house with Rayma instead of stuck in a club full of drunkards and prostitute wannabes. It was a nonsmoking club and since he didn't smoke, he couldn't use that as an excuse to step outside. Needing a breath a fresh air usually meant “you wanna step outside and make out” so that excuse was out.
He could always start a fight, but then cops would come, he'd get arrested, his criminal history would be run. He couldn't have that. The damn woman couldn't find him in a restroom so he made that his excuse.
She stood near the exit. Damn his luck. He was a chef, he didn't have an emergency appendectomy to perform, and he had to play nice for Web's sake. He couldn't say he had a hot woman waiting for him at home, because Web would want more details and Camden couldn't give those.
He saw his exit as soon as another woman came up to talk to bimbo blonde. He took it, keeping to the shadows of the club. Blending in.
Blending in was not his strong suit, especially when he was half a head taller than most people. He still wore his black pants but had taken his jacket and tie off. His white shirt was disheveled and untucked, with a slight opening at his chest.
The moon cracked a grin at him as soon as he stepped outside. He didn't share in its contentment. The air was sweltering and muggy, tasting of bitter wine and smelly socks, but a welcome relief from the raunchy-people-clubbing smell.
Clouds moved over to confront the moon and Camden let out a thank you. He was tired of being the receiver of a taunt when he couldn't lash back.
Though earlier, he'd been looking for a fight.
"There you are.” Bimbo blonde squealed with delight when she saw him. Did women really do that? Had they always and he'd just been too dumb to notice, or what? She wrapped her arm through his. “I was wondering where you'd gone off to."
Trying to get rid of you, he wanted to say but couldn't. This was Web's friend. Probably a woman sent to tend to his needs. To check up on him and make sure he was doing what he should be doing. A test.
So he had to get rid of her easily so as not to offend her or Web.
He stifled a yawn. “It's getting late. I need to head home. I have a long day tomorrow."
Cue the shoulder massage. “You feel so tense. Let me relax you some.” Her hands kneaded his shoulders and he allowed it until they trailed across his chest and he felt nothing.
Nothing. What was wrong with him? She was cute. Web had replaced the older woman with this young one. She wore a little too much makeup and her hair color was all wrong for her, but at any other time he'd be happy to oblige her.
He took a step away. “It was great to meet you. Can you tell Web I'll see him tomorrow?"
Cue the lip stuck in a pout. Not even remotely sexy. “If you leave, what will I do?"
"Oh, there're plenty of men here who'd love to...” he didn't finish. He couldn't. There were probably plenty of men who would love to, he just wasn't one of them.
She placed a hand on her waist and thrust her hip to the side. “You're not gay, are you?"
He stifled a gasp. Shit, that would have been a great excuse if Web hadn't known him so well.
"No."
"Good,” she said, cue the hands going up to his chest. “How about I come home with you?"
He politely took her hands off. “Not this time."
* * * *
Rayma heard Camden drive up and waited to see whether he went straight to his apartment. She needed to talk to him but she wasn't looking forward to visiting him alone. She knew what would happen if she did.
She'd end up in his bed.
She heard the door and walked out of the room to catch him in the kitchen. He usually went there after work to talk over his day with Moore, and what she had to say could be said in front of them both.
The kitchen served as their meeting room and gathering there had become a nightly ritual. When Rayma walked in, Camden and Lacey were involved in a deep conversation.
"What the fuck were you doing there tonight?” Camden asked waving Rayma in when he noticed she was about to leave.
"I can't make him anymore suspicious of me than he already is, can I?” Lacey said. “Hey, Rayma.” Lacey waved and went to the refrigerator, grabbed the milk, and poured a glass.
"What's going on?"
"Let me get Moore in here and I'll tell you both."
Camden filled Moore and Rayma in on the details of the day. Rayma couldn't help but feel a sick sense of jealousy. Not over Lacey but over the fact that, the night after she and Camden had made love, he went to La Grange, a dance club she knew was crawling with wannabes. Wannabe-in-the-bedroom was how she referred them.
But he came home didn't he? He hadn't gone home with another woman, had he?
"I need to call my father,” Rayma said, changing the subject. She couldn't take anymore. She couldn't listen to anymore. And she didn't want to be in the same room with Camden anymore. She hated him, and she'd keep telling herself she hated him as long as it took to actually feel it.
She felt strange even saying ‘father'. For so long, she hated to even think about her father. Now James was her father, and she wasn't sure what to call him.
"No,” Camden said, not giving her time to explain.
"Yes,” Rayma countered, having her proposal already planned. She'd had all night to think about it. “Throughout my entire life I've talked to James at least once a week. He knows a little about what's happened and that I'm away, but he doesn't know where. He knows why. Last time we spoke, I found out he was my father and you hung up the phone before we finished our conversation. If I don't call him back, he's going to come to South Padre to try to find me. He'll ask around, and if word gets out to Darrell, James could be in danger."
Camden contemplated what she said. His contemplation included studying her a little too closely, a little too intimately for her taste. She glanced at Moore to see if he noticed or what his reaction was, but she couldn't make out anything from the expression on his face. Apparently, everyone knew about her and Camden, though no one mentioned it after Lacey had screamed it out last night.
"I agree,” Moore said. “But I want Camden to be with you when you call him."
"It's a personal call. We have personal matters to discuss."
"You just found out he's your father?” Moore asked.
Rayma glared. “It's a long story.'
"Sounds like you have a lot to discuss, but I can't allow you to be alone."
"Why?” Rayma asked.
"Because you snuck out on me last time,” Moore said. “You only get one chance."
"What about Lacey? How many chances does she get?"
"Oh,” Lacey shrieked.
Rayma sighed. The last thing she needed was Camden to be at her side when she talked to her newly acquired dad. She wanted to rant, to rave at James, but she also wanted to tell him how much she's always loved him and how grateful she was to know the truth.
The truth he would have continued keeping from her if it hadn't been for Richard O'Riley.
She was angry, yet conversely happy about the whole ordeal. James was her father. She had a family. She had nieces and nephews.
Well, sort of. As long as she didn't dwell on the circumstances, she could feel joy at the news.
"And you have to use a land line,” Moore continued.
"Fine. May I make the call now?"
"This late?” Moore asked. Rayma nodded, knowing James kept odd hours and only slept off and on throughout the night. “Go ahead. Camden, show her the phone she can use."
Camden took Rayma by the elbow and she gritted her teeth as she walked with him down the corridor. She wasn't going to speak to him, ever again. He showed her the phone, she ignored his eyes. He was not there, looking downright sexy in his pants and a white shirt that looked as if it'd been balled up one too many times. Dancing, burrowing bodies on the dance floor would do that to what was once was a clean and wrinkle-free shirt.
"Don't I get a greeting?” he asked, keeping himself in between her and the phone. That fascinating, devilish, but irritating smile played at the corner of his lips.
"Hello,” she said. “Excuse me, I need the phone."
"That's it? No ten second kiss?"
"With that cigarette smoke clinging to you? No way.” Okay, the cigarette smoke wasn't that bad, not like it would have been a year ago when smoking was still allowed inside establishments.
"I'd rather have your body clinging to me,” he said.
"I'm sure you had plenty of females clinging to you tonight."
He laughed. “I didn't, but since you asked.” He pulled her towards him and stopped when her breasts thrust against his chest. He kissed her.
He didn't taste like cigarette smoke, nor did he have any remnants of alcohol on his breath. That at least would have made Rayma balk. But his mouth tasted perfect, like a dizzying wave of heaven consuming her.
And she was too weak to step away. To her ignominy, he pulled away first.
She grabbed the phone, but he touched her hand to prevent her from dialing. “Just so you know,” Camden said, his breath touching her ear, “All I could think about tonight was you."
Just as she was telling herself earlier, a phony, egotistical jerk.
It took her a moment to realize she had finished dialing and James had answered the phone. He sounded worried.
"It's me,” Rayma said, taking a deep breath.
"You okay?” James asked as Rayma tried to ignore the heat of Camden's gaze on her back.
She could barely concentrate. She didn't know what to say. She'd never been so tongue tied over a man before. But she'd never shared a bed with a man who seemed to emanate power and control wherever he went.
She hated giving anyone control, especially a man.
"I'm fine,” Rayma said. “Sorry we got cut off the other day."
"Where are you?"
"It doesn't matter where I am, James. Or should I call you dad?"
Her question was met with silence. Camden's hand rested on her shoulder. She wished to hell he would leave her alone, though part of her was afraid he might. Now, after hearing James’ voice, she wasn't sure she wanted to be alone.
His steady arm on her shoulder might be the only thing holding her up.
"I'm sorry, Rayma. You know how much I love you. Your mother didn't want to tell you. Richard didn't even know at first."
"After he was sent to prison would have been the perfect opportunity to tell me."
"Your mother—"
"Didn't want to tell me, I know."
"I'm sorry."
Rayma took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Sorry wasn't going to make a bit of difference, but then again what difference could it make? Why should it even matter anymore? She was a grown woman who faced many hardships in life. One more wasn't going to kill her.
"Rayma?” James asked. “Talk to me."
She was afraid things would never be the same. She wasn't sure she wanted them to be.
"Why did it matter what my mother wanted? She never cared what anybody else wanted. Why succumb to her wishes?"
"Because she's your mother and has the right to make those demands."
"You're my father and you have the right to make those demands, too."
"I'm going to come down there,” James said.
"No. I won't be able to see you right now."
"You know that man you're with? Camden Alexander. I did some digging on him."
"Oh? And what did you find?” She knew what he'd find. Planted information about a chef who didn't really exist.
Oh he could cook, more than most chefs Rayma had known. He could cook, he could make a woman feel like he cared, but he was an undercover agent, and when this was all over, he would still be an undercover agent, only next time posing as someone else. A postal worker, a garbage man, an accountant. It didn't matter. Camden Neal Alexander didn't exist as she knew him.
"What's going on?"
"We'll meet up soon,” Rayma said, at least knowing that now, only one man wanted her dead. Richard O'Riley didn't.
"Are you in trouble?"
"No more than I've ever been before."
Richard O'Riley and his news created a new set of problems. Would Rayma keep her last name, or would she change it? How would Rayma Noose sound?
No better than Rayma Alexander. If, in fact, that was Camden's last name.
"I'm worried about you,” James said.
"Don't be,” Rayma said. “My father taught me well."
When she hung up the phone, Camden turned her around to face him.
"You okay?” he asked.
"I'm fine."
"Are you going to be the kind of woman who acts like last night didn't happen?” She didn't reply, and Camden sighed. Rayma had nothing to say. She was strung out, stressed, depressed, and falling in love.
There was nothing she could say.
"Last night was the most incredible night of my life,” Camden said, his lips next to hers.
She couldn't pull away because there was no place she could go. The desk sat right at the edge of her lower back and his arms were wrapped around her with his hands hitting the desk.
Imprisoning her.
"Let me go,” she finally said, though it sounded like a choke to her ears.
"Not until you kiss me."
"Absolutely not,” she said as she pushed on his chest.
"Then lie to me. Tell me last night wasn't the best night of your life."
She shook her head but inside she was furious. He was pushing her buttons and for some reason, her heart hurt. Is that what he said to all women? Is that what he said to the women he met tonight?
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."



Chapter Eighteen
Camden followed Mike and Web out of the police department. Mike wore his suit, and the pungent smell of jail covered his hair, his clothes, and his skin. Camden was grateful to be outside where he could take in a breath of fresh air, but the hot sun only intensified the odor emanating from Mike's pores.
If only Rayma could see him now.
Camden could try to feel sorry for him but the sucker got what he deserved. Less, actually. A couple of days in jail would be the least of his concerns when this was all over.
Camden's clothes were sticking to his skin. It hadn't rained in months. Clouds provoked the inhabitants below, suggesting rain but holding back. Maybe that's why it was so damn humid.
Or it could be because the tension was so palpable even the sun had found a safeguard.
Camden chose to sit in the back of the car, this time Web was driving and not his chauffeur. Web didn't think a limo would be appropriate to take to the police department. The last thing he wanted to do was attract attention.
Before Camden could open the door and slide in, Mike turned to him, grabbed his shirt collar, and pushed him up against the door.
"You son-of-a-bitch. You left me to die."
"I didn't leave you to die. I did the same thing you would do."
"Bullshit."
Camden flicked Mike aside and saw the muscle in his jaw clench. Camden opened the car door and entered. Mike was a few seconds behind, in the front seat, but turned completely around to face Camden.
"I have to know my partner is going to watch my back,” Mike continued.
"We're not partners,” Camden said easily, not intimidated 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 Web would appreciate a fight in front of the jail. “What the hell did you expect me to do?"
"Camden did the right thing,” Web interrupted. “Now shut up, I have something to discuss with both of you."
Mike turned around to the front, obviously sulking. Camden, his eyes hidden behind shades, lounged in the seat as if he were the most comfortable person on earth.
He felt anything but comfortable. Web had something to discuss with them, he had to fight to keep from revealing hatred for the entire mess he was in, and his senses were heightened so much he had to bite down to keep from puking. He was a man and wasn't allowed to cry, so anger was his next outlet.
He was getting closer to busting Web. They had planned the menu, the drinks, and the party for the upcoming hoopla Web was hosting. Meanwhile, he and Moore were planning on how the bust would go. He was playing two lives, two people, and though he'd done it for two years, now was the most important aspect of it. Remain calm, remain easy, but remain alert.
Anything could happen. For all he knew, Web knew he was undercover and could take a gun out and shoot him in the head before Camden had a chance to think. Camden couldn't carry a gun. Most chefs wouldn't and he had no explanation of why he needed to. Camden had been in this predicament before and always relied on his gut, his intuition and his hands.
Camden was a fighter. Gun or no, he was fast on his feet and fast with his hands. In his career, he had to be. He practiced his fighting skills daily, kept in shape not only for the women and his health but also because he might need to defend himself with his bare hands one day.
Camden listened as Web explained his newest predicament. “I'm having fingerprints run on that information that news woman received. I know it's pretty hopeless but I thought if I could lift prints from it, maybe I could figure out where she got the information. Someone out there needs to be confronted. Someone out there can't be trusted."
"Any luck?” Mike asked. For a moment, Camden wondered if it had been Mike. They were, after all, dating at the time she received the info.
"Not really,” Web said. He glanced in the mirror to look at Camden. “Your prints are there for an obvious reason. You brought it back to me. There were several smudged prints I can't make heads or tails of, more prints than should be on there probably, but there was another one that really bothered me."
"Who's that?"
"A guy who works with Nemmy."
"Nemmy?” Mike asked.
"Yeah his name is Joe, or Jose. Something like that. He's been a part of Nemmy's operation for a long time."
"Why would Nemmy do something like that to you?” Mike asked.
Web shrugged. “Maybe he didn't. Maybe he's not involved. Maybe this guy doesn't even work for Nemmy anymore. I have my people checking on it. Nemmy will be at the function next week and we'll talk then."

We'll talk then. Nemmy was probably a dead man, unless Camden could put Web behind bars first. Or unless Nemmy was ready to talk and willing to be put into federal custody.
* * * *
When Camden came in later that day he was worn out from work, sick with grief and ready for a beer, a hot woman, and slow saucy music. Not necessarily in that order.
What he got was Moore, Lacey and Rayma having a heated conversation in the kitchen. Rayma, to his astonishment, was cutting vegetables and Moore was cutting meat. Lacey was sitting at the table with her legs crossed in front of her.
"What's this?” Camden asked as he grabbed an apple from the fridge, washed it, and bit into it.
"Dinner.” Lacey was the only one to speak. Moore glared before looking away. Rayma pointedly ignored him. “What are you doing here?"
"Oh I see,” Camden said. “You cook when I'm hard at work but the days I'm home no one wants to cook?"
"We're trying something new,” Lacey said. “Trying to get along with each other."
Camden rolled his eyes and looked at Rayma, who didn't look up from her vegetable tray.
"You get fired again?” Moore asked.
"I've been promoted,” Camden said as he grabbed a vegetable from Rayma's tray. Aha, that got her attention but only for a brief second. He grinned. “My hours have changed. I bailed Mike out of jail, talked things over with Web, and now I'm free to do whatever it is I do when I have free time."
"Which is nothing,” Lacey said.
"Tomorrow I'll go to work early, baby sit Web and possibly Mike for a few hours, and come home.” He threw the core of his apple in the trash and munched on the piece of pepper he stole from Rayma's tray.
She still pointedly ignored him.
Moore and Rayma fixing dinner together. Why did that pain him? How often had it occurred? Moore was too old for her, definitely not her type, but then again look at Mike. He didn't seem like her type either but she liked him. Maybe she wasn't into the tough guy charm.
Why did that pain him?
"I brought your mail,” Camden told her, indicating the mail he'd thrown on the table when he came in. Lacey, being her curious self, was already glancing through it.
"Check this out,” Lacey said as she held up a manila envelope. “No return address. Block lettering."
"Let me see.” Rayma wiped her hands on her jeans and went over to take the envelope from Lacey's hands.
"Let me open it,” Camden said.
"Why?"
"You can't mess with mail these days, especially something like this."
"And how are you going to open it any differently?” she asked. “If it's a bomb, it's still going to blow."
"Yeah, but not in your pretty face,” he said as he grabbed it from her.
Rayma had long since cut off the phone, electricity and television from her apartment and the mail was routed to a box of which even she didn't know the location. She wasn't allowed to pick up her mail and an agent did it only one or two days a week.
Camden stepped aside and studied the envelope before tearing into it. An unlabeled DVD glared back with a yellow sticky note reading, “you owe me fifty dollars."
"This could be the answer to our prayers,” Camden said.
Lacey brought in a laptop and fired it up. Beacon jumped on the table to be included in the action.
"Moore, the meat's going to burn,” Camden said as he placed the DVD in the drive. Moore had come over to see what was going on, obviously forgetting he was cooking.
"Shit,” he said as he ran to take it off the stove.
No one cared about eating anymore anyway.
Camden nodded a thank you to Moore when he brought him a beer, and Moore sat beside him.
"What is it?” Rayma asked.
"It requires a password,” Camden said as he began typing in letters and numbers, cursing the whole time. “Get Arnie down here."
Arnie was 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 performed his hacking miracle, and after two hours they still hadn't gotten anywhere.
"Wait a minute,” Rayma exclaimed. “In looking over all that information I seem to recall a sheet with oddball words and numbers, a string of them. Maybe..."
Everyone joined together in the kitchen, Rayma found the paper, and after another thirty minutes of Arnie typing, the disk fired up.
Camden wanted to kiss Rayma.
"You're hired,” Moore said as he thumped her on the back.
Camden wanted to punch him.
Several files were on the disk. Lists of names, another string of numbers, pictures and video.
Camden picked a video of a figure aiming a gun and shooting someone. Not someone. Shawn. He jumped from his chair and banged his fists against the table. “Damn!” He bent over, replaying the video, watching again, as if he needed to see it again. Anything to keep busy. To keep himself from throwing the computer across the room, as if that could save Shawn. Anything to keep from going to Web and wrapping his fingers around his neck.
He replayed it as Lacey scooted closer to one side, Moore on the other, and Rayma behind him. When he turned to look at Rayma, all color had drained from her face.
"That's...” Rayma began in horror, not able to continue her speech. She'd just seen someone murdered on video.
He wasn't sure 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.
No, he wouldn't tell Rayma.
Camden closed the video and continued to open files. “Looks like his payroll.” He searched 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'd had up until two months ago."
Camden turned away, went to the fridge, and grabbed another beer, shooting one towards Moore. Moore caught it.
Camden drank his beer as a fusion of hot and cold surrounded him. Web was a dangerous man, he'd always known it, but somehow this disk seemed to make it real.
As the sun went down, rain pounded on the rooftops, making it sound as if someone was throwing gravel on the coffin he was buried in.
"He told me he was missing some recipes,” Camden said as he looked through more files on the computer. “Looks like this might be one of the recipes he's missing.” He opened a file to reveal instructions for a drug, much like methamphetamine, that was obviously being tested. Another file revealed shipping instructions, not only with the lifejackets but with the bottles of spices they sold.
"Shit,” Moore said. “We've got to go through this whole mess again, to piece this puzzle together, find out where these spices have been shipped."
Camden opened a video icon. Darrell popped up, seated in his famous chair, and several people surrounded him. Camden recognized some. They discussed the importance of a drug operation, already past now, and how much money was at stake. ‘This is what I do,’ Web 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 be inadmissible in court,” Camden said.
"How could it?” Rayma asked. “It came to me by mail. I'll be the witness on stand to tell everyone I received this DVD and shared it with the proper authorities. You didn't come into contact with this in any illegal way whatsoever."
"It could be enough,” Moore said, a gleam in his eye, “to bring him down for good."
"Rayma doesn't need to be involved in this,” Camden said. That edge, the one creeping up on him all day, was in full force.
"Why not? I've been involved in this ever since I received an anonymous email and decided to share it with the public, thinking it was the right thing to do. Then you come busting into my house to tell me there's people out there trying to kill me.” She didn't mention just how he busted into her house, what she was doing when he did, and what happened in the closet afterwards. “I've been living here, I get threatening letters and phone calls. I lost my job because of this. Oh, I'm involved in every way imaginable."
"Let's get a copy of this and have forensics study it from all angles,” Camden said. “Then we need to discuss a game plan.” He handed it to Moore, who wasn't allowing Lacey to do much with evidence anymore, and took Rayma by the elbow. “We need to talk."
Camden steered Rayma out of the house and into his own small apartment, unconcerned with what anyone might think about it.
He didn't frigging care tonight.
"I won't have you testifying—"
"You don't have a choice,” Rayma said, pulling away.
"You don't know how dangerous Web is. Even within the walls of prison."
"I just saw on that computer how dangerous he is,” Rayma said.
"Are you willing to change your name, your life, everything you have in exchange for testifying?"
"I practically already have, haven't I?"
"Not even close."
Rayma stared at him and for the moment, he didn't have a way to convince her how things needed to be and how they needed to bring Web down without her testimony. That was something he'd discuss with his superiors.
Later. When Rayma wasn't standing before him, her blonde hair flowing down her back, her eyes gleaming into his, her lips looking as if they needed to be kissed.
He'd thought about her all day. About her skin against his, his lips on hers. He desperately needed to kiss her, and now. He needed to forget about the ugliness of the world, and he could do so if he lost himself in her eyes.
He didn't think she would appreciate it if he started fondling her right away, so he turned and poured her a glass of wine.
"Don't try to woo me,” she said, but took a sip of the wine anyway.
"It's not something we need to be concerned with now,” Camden said, forgetting his idea of not kissing her now as he pulled her into him.
"Then why did you bring me in here?"
"For this,” he said, as his mouth swooped down on hers.
He was hard before they even touched, and she responded with the same urgency he felt. He didn't give her time to breathe, to think, in fear she would back away and run if given half the chance.
It was dangerous to think about her as much as he thought about her when he was supposed to be thinking about Web and his next move. He'd gone through work today halfway out of it and if someone had come up to him and put a gun to his head, he wouldn't have been prepared.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw Rayma's eyes. Every time he heard a woman's voice he thought he heard her voice.
It was unusual for him to be this infatuated with a woman but he blamed it on his current circumstances. As soon as this was all over, he could get his life back. But right now, Rayma was here. As long as she was willing, he wanted to show her how good it could be. Temporarily, of course.
He finally lifted his head away to observe her expression. Her eyes were befuddled, as if the kiss had disturbed her focus as much as his. Or was that wishful thinking?
"What are you trying to do?” she asked as she placed a hand behind his neck and reined him in. “Tease me?” Then, her mouth was swallowing his and there was no need to question what she wanted.
She wanted it as much as he did. But he was going to savor it, go slower this time, and make her remember it for a long time.
No way in hell was she going to tell him she'd had better.
* * * *
"Hmm,” Camden said as Rayma stretched beside him on the bed. The sun cast a wakeup call through the slits of the blinds. “I wonder if Moore would bring us room service?"
"What?” Rayma asked as she mock punched him. “You don't have any breakfast?"
"Ugh, I'm tired of cooking. After this assignment I don't think I can ever cook again."
"Ah, and that's the only thing I like about you,” Rayma teased.
"Oh yeah?” Camden pinched her nipple.
"Let me be the cook this morning,” she said.
Camden laughed. “Yeah, right. Is your cooking anything like the brownies you made the other day?"
She nodded. “Pretty much."
"And that mess last night? You call that cooking?"
That mess he referred to was still there this morning, unless someone had cleaned it up last night. After the video, no one was in the mood to eat. After Camden brought her to his apartment, they definitely weren't in the mood to eat, except each other.
"Can I have dessert first?"
"That's to be determined.” Rayma said, a sparkle in her eye and a smile tugging at her lips. “How hungry are you?” She moved her hand against his hardness and he groaned.
"Very."
"In that case...” She moved the covers aside and sat straight up on top of him.
He thought he was going to die as she rode him. Or maybe he already had died and he was in heaven right now. Her long blonde hair draped across her shoulders and over one breast.
Rayma was like no other woman he'd ever known. Mischievous and playful, yet thoughtfully serious when the need arose. Intelligent, yet not self-righteous.
An amazing woman. A woman, if given the time, he could fall in love with.
That thought left him as soon as his orgasm hit. Love and lust were two very different things. Lust was in the moment and love was meant to last forever. Lust was all about selfishness and love was about giving things up for good.
Nothing he'd ever had lasted forever, and he didn't plan for it to. He could be unselfish at some things but he wasn't prepared to be in all things.
And his lifestyle wasn't meant to hold on to love.



Chapter Nineteen
While Camden cuddled Rayma's backside, she thought about the most extraordinary, exciting and blistering sex she ever had. Blistering because she felt like she'd been out in the sun too long without sunscreen and was now suffering the consequences.

And she was cuddling.
"So you've had better?” Camden asked, reminding her of their conversation when she'd practically told him he wasn't ‘all that'. Apparently, it still bothered him and apparently, he was also thinking about how hot sex was between them.
It was hard to hate him when they were spooned together like this. Hard to remember her relationship objectives: don't fall in love.
She turned to face him, grinning devilishly. “Well,” she said as she traced his chest muscles with the tip of her forefinger. Camden groaned. “You can keep trying,” Rayma continued. “To see if it gets better."
Camden laughed and took her hands into his. He pulled them above their head and pushed them down into the soft mattress. He moved atop her, holding her down, and she mock screamed.
His cell phone rang. He groaned again and moved aside to answer it. Curious to see just how long he could last, she rubbed his back, across his chest, and around his ears as he talked.
"Shit,” he said, and she immediately felt the tension enter his shoulders. “I'll be right there."
He flipped his phone off, glanced at Rayma with a muttered sorry, and got out of bed to grab his clothes.
"What's going on?” she asked. She sat up and wrapped a sheet around her.
"Boater's Bay is on fire. Looks like it could be arson. I gotta go."
Rayma nodded, but like a slap in the face, she was reminded of why a relationship with him wouldn't work. This is how it'd always be. In the middle of lovemaking, he'd be called away to duty, and there'd be nothing she could do about it.
"Be careful,” she said.
After Camden left, Rayma took a shower in his bathroom, and tried to ignore the manly things surrounding her. A razor, shave cream, Zest soap, some shampoo. Normal things. Things she had in her bathroom.
Camden's things.
Her shower was quick, she couldn't stand to be enclosed in that small shell and think about the ones Camden had taken. She wrapped a towel around her head and put on last night's clothes. She glanced around, thankful to see a two-cup coffeemaker. But upon further inspection, saw no coffee.
She'd slept almost all morning but she couldn't start her day without coffee, no matter the time. To her absolute horror and embarrassment, Dex was sitting outside when she stepped out to go to the main house.
"What are you doing here?” she asked.
"I'm your bodyguard, remember? Couldn't leave you in there by yourself."
"Oh my...” Her voice trailed off, face burning. Had he been here all night? “I'm sorry. I imagine you didn't get much sleep."
"I'm fine,” he said as he rose and walked back to the house with her. “I just got here, when Camden left. I'll grab some sleep later."
Moore and Lacey were in the kitchen when she walked in, and all eyes turned to her. A fresh pot of coffee awaited her, to her relief, so she fixed herself a cup then turned to face them, daring them to say something but not sure what she would reply if they did. She tried to act as if it was none of their concern. Tried to act as if she hadn't spent an amazing night in Camden's bed, as if she hadn't been made love to several times throughout the night.
Rayma knew she never should have gotten involved with Camden. Were there rules and laws against that? She could see the headline now. ‘Witness in safe house has affair with undercover agent and blows operation.'
"What's going on?” she asked.
"We've been looking over the disk you received in the mail, studying it from all angles and making extra copies,” Moore said.
"Are you going to arrest Darrell now?"
"No. We're going to bust him at the party he's holding next week."
"Camden will be there."
"Camden will be there as Darrell's personal chef. He'll be fine."
Moore stood and Beacon, who had obviously been lounging in his lap, jumped to the floor. Rayma grabbed him before he could trot off, realizing how little time she'd spent with him lately. “I'm sorry you missed your morning coffee,” she said as she nuzzled his fury neck. “Want some now?"
"I already gave him some,” Moore said.
Great. Just great.
"You mad at me?” she asked the cat, who only looked up at her with a blank expression.
"Why should he be?” Lacey asked. “He's a tomcat. He understands the importance."
"Lacey,” Moore said as in warning.
"What? I get in trouble for sleeping with the enemy when what Rayma is doing is far worse."
"How's that?” Rayma asked, setting her coffee cup on the table with a loud bang. She sat, faced Lacey at the table, and dared her to continue.
"Camden needs to keep his head on straight,” Moore said, interrupting Lacey.
"It's not like he hasn't had sex before,” Rayma said.
"Yeah, but not with someone he has to come home to every night."
"Oh?” she said, her heart feeling as if something was squeezing it tight. Very tight. “This house is large enough where he can avoid me. He has his own place. And,” she added, “It's not like I'm throwing myself at him."
Lacey snickered. “You're a woman aren't you?"
Rayma glared. “I don't expect or want a relationship. And really, this is none of your business."
"It's no one's business who I sleep with either,” Lacey said. “But people made in their business."
"That is so different,” Rayma said. “I don't know how you can even compare the two."
"They're both immoral,” Lacey said.
"You slept with a man who you are doing undercover work on. A man who'll be going to prison very soon, we hope."
"You slept with a man who changes women like most people change their underwear."
"What does it matter to you?” Rayma asked. Was Lacey jealous, or just being a bitch? She knew Camden wasn't a virgin, by any means, and saw his charm with women as just a way to get them in his bed. She never expected otherwise. Isn't that why she hated herself for feeling something? “Do you have something personal against him? Like maybe, a past relationship?"
"No,” Lacey vehemently said.
"Ladies,” Moore said.
"What you did should be illegal,” Rayma said, ignoring Moore and his attempt at interruption. Rayma knew exactly what kind of man Camden was. He was a player, a womanizer, a charmer, a libertine. He was all for sex with strangers to avoid additional complications with relationships. Rayma completely understood.
"What you did should be illegal as well,” Lacey said.
Rayma didn't agree, not entirely. It was a mistake to sleep with Camden just as much as it was a mistake to sleep with a coworker or a friend's lover. Improper, maybe, but not entirely immoral. What Lacey did or was doing spoke of something much more than mere immorality.
"Camden needs to keep his head on straight,” Moore said. “If he's worrying about you, he could get himself killed."
"If he wasn't having sex with me, he'd be having sex with someone else."
Lacey snorted. “If he isn't already."
"Face it,” Rayma said, irritated with herself for feeling sick at that thought. “We're both sleeping with lotharios."
* * * *
Camden walked out of the remains of Boater's Bay covered in ash and soot. He'd spent the last few hours sifting through burnt remains after the fire investigator told them it was okay to do so. What they were looking for, Camden wasn't sure nor would Web tell him.
The heat of the day baked the ruins and created an unbearable stench. The rain last night kept the ground moist, making it harder to sift through remains that stuck to the ground and desiccated in the sun.
Onlookers came to see what happened, patrons came to offer their condolences, and news crews surrounded the vicinity to get pictures and interviews.
Camden avoided every one of them.
"What exactly is it we're looking for?” he finally asked when Web went back inside to filter through the remnants of ash, smoke and water. “Was there anything important inside?"
"Besides food, furniture and recipes, no. Everything vital is kept in my office at Vin Doux though most people don't know that. I'm just looking for clues."
"Clues for what?"
"Whoever did this must have left clues,” Web said.
"They're ruling it as accidental,” Camden said. “Faulty wiring."
"Hah,” Web said. “Faulty wiring my ass. I'm doing my own investigation. Insurance will pay for it regardless, but whoever did this will pay."
Camden sighed. There was no winning with Web. If he wanted to believe someone did this to him, nothing would convince him otherwise.
"I'm done for the day,” Camden said. “I'm hot, tired, and dirty. See you later."
Camden took a detour home, taking a scenic beach route to go over the past events in his mind and to plan for the upcoming days. As he looked out over the ocean, he could practically feel the waves wash over him, pound him, but it wasn't peaceful this time. He was swirling in those waves, being tossed back and forth inside the roiling waters. He had too much to think, to worry and too many things to do to feel peaceful.
No, the only thing that could make him feel peaceful was Rayma's soft arms wrapped around him in his bed.
His cell phone rang, jarring him from his blissful imagination.
"Is this Camden Neal Alexander?"
"Who's asking?"
"James Noose."
Oh hell, Rayma's dad. How the hell did he get this number?
"We need to talk,” James said.
"Spit it out."
"Meet me at Café Sands."
What? James was in town? Shit.
"You're in South Padre?” Camden asked. He had to play this cool. No way could James know about Rayma right now. No way could anybody know where she was until she was completely out of the line of fire. He wasn't convinced she was yet.
"I'm here to find Rayma. I'm starting with you."
* * * *
James Noose was nothing like Camden pictured. Tall, graying hair and light blue eyes. He wondered why Rayma never noticed their similarities. They even ate their French fries the same.
Camden pictured someone of average height, plump build, and a cop stereotype. What he got was a person with more intelligence than most technology wizards. He expected a supercilious jerk that thought former cop meant something. Instead, Noose was a man who was self-assured, confident but not cocky, and genuinely concerned for Rayma.
When he took his dark shades off and looked into Camden's eyes, Camden experienced a brief conundrum. How could he lie to this man and tell him he had no idea where Rayma was? How could he allow this man to continue his search for Rayma and possibly go to Web next? Web would want to know where Rayma was and possibly kill James for his association.
How could Camden risk that?
What if he was looking into the eyes of his father-in-law-to-be?
Well that was the stupidest thought ever, and Camden had no idea where it came from. Having a father-in-law would entail marriage, and that wasn't gong to happen anytime soon.
Especially with a woman he'd only known a few weeks.
James was seated and eating when Camden arrived, as if he knew Camden wouldn't disobey his orders to meet at Café Sands. Camden, still covered in soot, had no appetite. He ordered a burger and fries anyway. Any other time, a normal person would wonder what Camden did to become so filthy and stinky. Any other time, Camden might have offered the story. Camden might have asked James how his trip went, what Rayma most liked to receive on her birthday, what James did for fun. After all, Camden was sleeping with this man's daughter and worse, falling into some kind of emotional knot with her.
But there would be no small talk today.
"Am I going to have to ask again?” James asked.
Camden chewed on his burger, the food stagnating in the pit of his stomach, and finally trashed the remaining half. “No,” he finally replied. “I need to make a phone call."
"I can find you. Wherever you go, I can find you."
Camden had no doubt the man could find him, as long as he was Camden Neal Alexander. He wouldn't be for much longer.
He wouldn't be able to find the safe house unless he followed Camden, and Camden was too smart for that. Too bad he couldn't say the same for Lacey.
"I have to make a phone call,” Camden said again as he stood. “Wait here."
Camden stepped aside to make a private call to Moore. James waited, but watched intently. Camden watched James from the corner of his eye but kept the rest of him and his mouth hidden. For all he knew, the man could read lips. He wouldn't take that risk.
"Moore,” Camden said. “We have a bit of a problem but one I think can be easily resolved. Rayma's dad showed up, found my number somehow, and called me. He's searching for Rayma. I'm afraid if he doesn't find her, he's going to get his ass in trouble with Web. I think it best if we bring him in."
* * * *
Lacey and Moore were right. Camden had a job to do and Rayma was only going to screw it up. Hadn't she been annoyed with him when he had to leave to tend to Darrell and the fire at Boater's Bay? She had no right to be annoyed. What was wrong with her?
She didn't need a man. She remembered her conversation with Nicole, that her next boyfriend would be old and ugly. What happened to him?
Oh wait, Camden wasn't exactly her boyfriend, so he didn't count.
She'd gone to the exercise room to burn off excess worry and after a killer two-hour workout, hunger hit. She would not let Lacey and Moore affect her schedule so she went to the kitchen. Only, they were nowhere to be found and she ate alone. So what if Beacon chose to follow Moore around everywhere he went and not share her turkey sandwich with her? Soon it'd be only them again.
Why did that thought feel her with dread? Hadn't she wanted out of here? Hadn't she wanted her life back?
She was bored, but the door to the office where the agents congregated was locked. She went upstairs and grabbed a coloring book, but that didn't soothe her. So she began to write.
She couldn't focus on that either.
Where was Camden? Was he okay? Was he lying dead somewhere right now? Had he been set up?
She made a move to act as if she was going to escape outside, and suddenly Dex was there when earlier he was nowhere to be seen.
"Where is everyone?” she asked. Dex shrugged. “Where've you been?"
"Around."
How did a big black man manage to hide so well?
She heard the door in the kitchen open and slam. She walked into the kitchen as Camden walked out. Her first instinct was to run to him, exclaim “you're home” and jump in his arms, but she didn't feel she had the right to do so.
She didn't know what to do. She was still a little angry with him. Last time she'd seen him, they were in bed together and, just like Moore had said, Camden had a job to do. She'd thought about it all day and decided it'd be best to stop their relationship know, even though it was only built on sex. Seeing him again banished those thoughts.
Now all she wanted to do was jump into bed with him.
Then she noticed the man behind him, and nothing else mattered.
Her mind faltered. Her heartbeat slowed. “What are you doing here?” Her first thought was something horrible had happened. Why else would James be here, with Camden?
"I came to see you,” he said. “Called Camden and told him I wasn't giving up until I find you. You're living in a safe house?"
Rayma nodded.
They'd been on good terms the last time she saw him, but seeing him again was almost like meeting her father for the first time.
Technically, she was meeting her father for the first time. Last time she'd seen him, he was only a friend.
How did she feel? God, she was confused. She wanted to hug him and punch him at the same time. She wanted to rant and cry. Did she love him like a daughter loves a father? Maybe when she was eleven years old. Now? Now he was a friend, someone she'd looked up to, someone she could call on at any time. She was through playing games, pretending dolls were students and she was the teacher, pretending Barbie was her friend and they were going swimming together. Pretending James was her dad and could make all her boo-boos go away.
James held out his hands but didn't advance towards her. She remained standing where she was. Camden slowly backed away, as if she and her dad needed this time to talk alone.
The chasm between them could have been filled with one hug, but she didn't close it.
"Can we talk?” James asked, dropping his hands.
Rayma shrugged, trying to act indifferently when inside a myriad of emotions raged within her. But that rage was her primary focus. “Sure.” She didn't move. Whatever he had to say, he could say it right here.
He sighed and she suddenly felt the need for one of Camden's expensive bottles of wine. “We'll go to the kitchen,” she said as he followed her.
She opened the liquor cabinet, but there was no wine awaiting her. She chose rum and coke. “Can I fix you anything?"
"I'm good,” he said, sitting at the table. She chose to stand. “We're not going to be able to talk if you act that way towards me. And you might as well get used to me because Camden only allowed me here if I stay to the end. So now you're stuck with me."
"How long have you known?"
James sighed. “I suspected from the beginning and confronted your mother. She admitted it was true because she hadn't had...” he glanced at Rayma, obviously unsure how far he should take the story.
"I'm a grown woman,” she said. She could handle anything he had to say.
"They hadn't had that kind of relationship in a while. After she found out she was pregnant, she made sure to get Richard in her bed so he wouldn't suspect it. Apparently, he knew.
"I thought things would change once he went to prison. Your mother made all kinds of threats against me if I told you."
"Like what?"
"She threatened to run off with you. She threatened to go to court. She threatened all types of things."
"Oh, like you couldn't find us?"
"I didn't want to take the chance and, if you'll remember, I was married. She allowed me to take you all the time anyway, as a friend. We spent Christmases together. I'd never had that opportunity if I'd told you. God,” he exclaimed as he pushed his hand through his hair. “It killed me to learn what Richard did to you. I never would have thought..."
James’ voice trailed off, and Rayma had the sudden urge to comfort him, at least with words. What Richard did wasn't his fault anymore than it was hers. “He didn't do to me what he'd done to other kids. He never got that chance."
"I wanted to kill him. If he hadn't gone to prison, I would have fought for custody of you. I should have anyway."
It suddenly hit Rayma that James was stressed. He'd lost weight. Was that gray in his hair? He'd always been a drinker since his wife left, but not a lot, and never had he looked so haggard.
"Did your wife leave you because of me?"
James shook his head. “You know the story behind that. Hell, my wife was cheating on me before I ever thought of cheating on her. She needed more out of life than I could give her. I was a police detective. I left her alone many nights. She wanted more."
Rayma came to sit beside him and grabbed his hand. “I'm sorry."
"I'm not,” James said. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I wish I could change how things happened."
"Don't worry about it,” Rayma said, even knowing she'd still never have found out James was her dad if Richard hadn't told her.
"I should have told you when you got older. Your mom couldn't make threats then. But I was afraid you'd hate me like you do now."
"I don't hate you."
"Maybe I do need a drink."



Chapter Twenty
"What does Lacey have against you that she hates you so much?” Rayma asked as she handed Camden his towel so she didn't have to look at his body. Not that she didn't enjoy looking at his body. She enjoyed looking at it very much. She just hadn't expected to see him in all his glory right now, and he was standing there naked, dripping from his shower, as if his nudity was the most natural thing in the world.
She just didn't want to deal with that right now. She didn't want to fall into bed with him. She had to practice her self-control.
"Resentment."
She came into his house meaning to talk, not meaning to find him half naked and preparing for a shower. It was the only way she could get away and have a private conversation with him. She waited while he took one, fighting the urge to jump in with him, and yelled inconsequential things at him over the water to fill a void only she heard.
It was strange. Almost like ... having a relationship.
"Come on. Her hatred holds a more extreme reason."
"You've never resented someone?” Camden wiped his back and hair with the towel but didn't cover himself the way Rayma would have liked.
"Oh yeah, all the time. For many more reasons. And I don't act like that."
Camden flipped the towel over his head and in one swift move had Rayma around the waist, pulling her close to his naked and half-wet body.
She shrieked. “Let me go."
He pressed his tongue into her ear and she wiggled around trying to get free. Not because she didn't like it but because she liked it very much.
"Let me go."
"Where do you have to go?” he asked.
"To see James. He'll start wondering about me. I don't want him to think..."
"Think what?” Camden asked as he dropped the towel and stepped back, revealing a form in competition with Romanesque gods. “That you have a sex life? Or that you have one with me?"
"No, that's not it at all."
"Then what is it?"
Rayma sighed. How could she explain this? Especially when she didn't fully understand it herself. And how did the topic shift so suddenly?
"I just found out he's my dad. We've been doing a lot of talking. I don't want to have to talk to him about this. ‘Rayma, he's undercover, he'll leave you, don't do this to yourself again.’ You know, lectures parents give their children."
"No, I don't know."
He'd become a stone-faced statue but was finally covering his body with clothing, though with jerky movements and obvious annoyance.
"I'm not going to have this conversation with you,” Rayma said. “I don't even know your family. I don't know anything about them. I don't even know if you have one."
"Then don't,” he said.
"Is this a way for you to skirt around the original issue?"
Camden was fully clothed, seated, and in the process of putting his socks and shoes on when he stopped and looked her dead in the eye. “I have never had a relationship with Lacey,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “I have never given her a reason to hate me except by not allowing her to take more responsibility in this operation and by doing my job. If she doesn't approve of what I do, how I treat people, how I do my job, that's her problem."
"She doesn't like how you treat women. Your one-night stands, that sort of thing."
"Have I ever mistreated you?"
Rayma couldn't reply, only continued to stare at him staring at her. In fact, he'd treated her very well. Well enough to cause her to almost fall in love.
"My one-night stands are none of her business,” he continued. “Neither are they yours."
* * * *
James was in the office with Moore when Rayma walked in. She wasn't upset with Camden, she was pissed. Yeah, she could have cried, she could have banged her hands into her pillow and shouted out exasperations, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
She hated him.
She was almost beginning to understand just how stressful his job must be, never having a real home, never having a true identity. She lost hers sometime in the past few weeks and didn't know who she was anymore.
She was definitely not the type of woman to go knocking on some man's door, asking him about his day, demanding to know more.
"What's going on?"
"Showing James what we have on Web so far. Could use the extra help."
Great, she could have remained with Camden without being missed. She could have talked him into bed to avoid the fight they never should have had.
His one-night stands were not her business, and she never made her lover's past loves to be any of her business. She never cared, she never asked, and technically, she hadn't asked then. He'd volunteered, well, nothing, but it hurt the same.
Camden was a man who put his all into his career. An undercover DEA agent with reasons of his own to hide from the world and to punish himself. Sure, someone had to do it, but to do it like he did was almost asking too much of a person. Would he ever have a normal life? What was normal to him?
On the other hand, he dealt with it well, better than any person she'd ever known. His real life was taken away from him every time he went on assignment somewhere, but he managed to laugh and enjoy life. He managed to uphold a strong sense of self, of being, and of goodness.
Maybe his one-night stands helped.
Ok, that was a thought that never should have popped into her mind and was none of her concern. And even if it was, why did it matter?
Because she wanted to be something more to him than that. She wanted to be someone he would remember, someone he would think about from time to time, someone he could fall for if he would allow himself. She found herself wanting to be the woman to change him, which she knew to be impossible. She hated that ‘change-him-if-you-don't-like-him-as-he-is’ syndrome and didn't want to fall under the same category.
She enjoyed being with him, but that didn't mean she would forever. She had to keep reminding herself of that because this would all be over soon, she would start her life over again or possibly a new one. Give him three months, she'd be tired of him.
The bad thing was, she didn't have three months to prove to herself she'd get tired of him.
"You have mail,” James said, indicating a stack on a desk filled with other heaps of junk, things to be looked through, and pictures of Darrell to be organized.
She glanced through the pictures. “So you're helping now?” she asked James. “Do you even know what this guy looks like?"
She handed him a picture and he took a glance at it, then shot his head back to study it more. “Damn, he looks familiar."
"Great, you've probably been followed here. Now we're all going to die."
"Rayma!"
She shrugged. She was feeling cynical, so what? She took a large enveloped addressed from Caitlyn and tore into it. “I've been trying to call you,” a letter attached to spiral bound pages read. “What's the deal? I have news. Call as soon as you get this."
"I need to make a phone call,” Rayma said.
"Out of the question,” Camden said as he walked in, as if he'd been there the whole time.
Fresh from his shower, his hair was still wet and clinging to him. Darker than usual. Those dark eyes lit into her. She wasn't about to back down.
"Not your decision,” Rayma said, glaring.
"Who do you need to call?” Moore asked. Thank God, was he finally going to stand up to Camden? Moore was the one who was supposed to be in charge.
She liked Moore. He'd always treated her right, he'd always done the right thing by this operation, and he'd never denied her an attempt at living even though her life had been seriously disrupted. He was a good guy, an honest man who was just doing his job, and she respected him a great deal. But he needed to grow more balls where Camden was concerned.
"Caitlyn, my friend. I got a package from her and she said it's important to call her."
"Give her a call,” Moore said. “I'll go with you."
She looked through the pages and, realizing what it was, said “Oh shit.” She sank to the chair.
* * * *

I'll go with you. Okay, Camden wasn't usually one to dwell on things, but Moore was really beginning to piss him off. Rayma had stormed up to her room when she came out of the conference area where the phone was located. Camden grabbed Moore's elbow and steered him to the kitchen for some privacy.
Moore had been sending glares and noncommittal grunts toward Camden all day, knocking past him as if he were just waiting to tackle. Camden was worried the heat index was going to cause Moore to explode if he didn't let out some steam.
"What the hell is your problem?"
"You're a playboy,” Moore said.
"This again? I thought we've worked out our past."
"You don't take your job seriously."
"Oh, I don't take my job seriously? How many drug runners have I put behind bars? How many years of my life have I dedicated to this? We all knew the assignment with the infamous Darrell Weberley would be our hardest yet. I haven't given up."
"Stay away from Rayma. She's just a warm body in your bed."
So this is what it was all about. The past tripping over itself. A few years ago, Moore thought he'd fallen in love with a witness they were protecting. Only, the witness had ended up being the suspect. It was almost too late when they figured it out. Moore had been shot by the woman he thought he loved.
Moore blamed Camden. Their pretty little witness was also a sexual deviant who came onto every man around. Moore only saw her as Little Miss Perfect who did no wrong. Moore wasn't about to sleep with a witness and said not yet when she came onto him. He thought it was because she was in love with him. Camden didn't know how to say no to a woman who had her breasts stuck up to his face and her fingers surrounding the contents of his pants.
Moore had been livid, Camden contrite, and they both paid the consequences.
"I'm a warm body to her, too,” Camden said. Yeah, so he shouldn't be sleeping with a witness or victim or anything of that nature, but Rayma was different. Rayma wasn't anything like what's-her-name so long ago who had played every agent in the field to get them looking elsewhere for a suspect right in front of them.
Rayma was a woman you could fall in love with.
He hadn't meant to hurt her earlier when she mentioned his one-night stands. The truth was, he hadn't had that many; he wasn't an animal. He called girls a couple of times afterward if he thought they wouldn't expect anything other than another bedtime rendezvous. He had no intention of marriage, he was careful as hell so nothing would happen to require marriage, and he had no intention of even finding someone he liked enough to marry.
Then Rayma came along and destroyed that intention.
"She doesn't deserve that kind of treatment."
"What, do you think you're in love with her? She's way too young for you."
Moore lunged for him and grabbed him by the collar. Camden was taken by surprise and didn't try to fight his way out of the stronghold.
Moore's eyes glittered dangerously and for a moment, he thought they were going to brawl.
"It has nothing to do with love but genuine respect for the lady."
"I respect the hell out of her and what she's doing."
"You've been in this business too long, you don't even know how to tell the truth."
Moore threw him aside. Camden let him. If it made the guy feel better, so be it.
* * * *
Jack Forrester was dead.
The man who had taken over his twin's identity almost thirty years ago, the man who Wesley thought was his father, the man who was Keegan's father, the man who almost killed her and Caitlyn.
He was dead, and he left Rayma a lot of money.
Rayma was still trying to process the information Caitlyn had given her. She could definitely use the money, especially because she hadn't worked for over a month, but she wasn't sure how to feel about this.
Why would he leave her money?
It was true Wesley didn't need it, but she thought he deserved it more than she did. Caitlyn disagreed and argued with her. “It's yours, you're going to take it."
Caitlyn had told her that Jack left a letter saying how much Keegan had loved Rayma. How much Keegan hadn't wanted this to happen and how sorry Jack was that it did. Jack didn't have anyone else to leave the money to, never mind the fact he had a wife. Never mind the fact that Wesley's life was almost destroyed because of him. For some reason, Jack thought Rayma deserved it more than anyone else. Jack felt that Rayma was his last tie to his dead son.
Jack had almost lost his mind after Keegan was killed.
Rayma couldn't think about where the money probably came from. He was an attorney and had worked all his life. Yeah right, he made false identities for people and sold them for a pretty penny. Could she really accept that kind of money? Could she really turn it down? After all, she almost died because of him and his son. Shouldn't she feel deserving of some type of compensation?
Caitlyn wanted her to come to the reading of the will but Rayma refused. Well, she couldn't have even if she wanted to unless this fiasco in her life was over. She trusted Caitlyn to do whatever needed to be done to handle her money.
She didn't mourn Jack Forrester. She doubted anyone would.
A knock at her door startled her. She ignored it. How long had she been hiding in her room? Beacon was getting antsy, but no way was she going to let him roam the house.
"Open up,” Camden shouted through the door. Was he trying to make a damn scene?
She opened the door, but only so James wouldn't hear whatever he had to say.
"I'm sorry I pissed you off earlier,” he said, sticking his foot in the door so she couldn't close it.
"You didn't piss me off,” she said. Okay, he did a little, but she wasn't pouting because of him now.
"Oh? Is that why you're avoiding me? Is that why you won't look at me and when you do, it's a glare?"
She only stared, her mouth in a thin, straight line.
"Like that,” he said.
He looked so damn cute, like a disheveled cat who'd just eaten a mouse and was proud of it. Proud? He probably was proud for breaking her heart. Put another notch on his belt.
"Apparently, I was the one who pissed you off,” Rayma said.
Camden sighed and tried to pull Rayma close, but she wouldn't budge. No way was she going to let him apologize and fall at his feet for doing so.
"I was wrong to get upset,” he said. “Are you going to make me grovel?"
Yes, she thought she would. It was almost over now. He would bust Web and whether or not she had to change her life, he'd be out of it. Why not start the painful process now?
Painful? Where had that come from? It wasn't painful if you didn't have feelings for the person. Oh, but that's where the problems lie.
"You want to take a walk on the beach?” Camden asked.
"Aren't there people out there?"
"So?"
"Aren't you afraid someone might try to shoot at me?"
"You're safe here. We'll have agents around us. We'll take a walk on the beach with our bodyguards, disguise ourselves fully. No one will know and I think you could use the sunshine."
"Why bother?"
"Rayma."
Oh-kay, she liked hearing her name from his lips but damn her heart was beginning to hurt. Wasn't that a warning sign?
He pulled her closer and she managed to stay taut up until the moment he kissed her. This time, it was only them. There was no past, present or future, no concerns of the world, people to save or criminals to put behind bars. There was no one-night stands, past relationships, or future prospects. It was only the two of them.
Until James interrupted them.
"Harrump."
Rayma jumped and backed away quickly. She felt her body grow warm and not because of the kiss. Camden took his time backing away and he grinned at James.
"We're going out to the beach for awhile to get out of the house,” Camden said as if James hadn't just caught them kissing and as if it didn't matter that he did. “You want to join us?"
And what did it matter? Rayma asked herself. James had been a big part of her life for a long time but it was just recently she discovered how big. Why should she care if he knew who she slept with? Hadn't he always known anyway? She'd run to him to dredge information on her past lovers, why hide anything now?
"Nah, I'm going to stay here, do some more research,” James said in answer to Camden's question. “You sure it's safe?"
"She'll be with me."



Chapter Twenty-One
Camden wrapped a bandana around his head, Rayma donned a sombrero and shades, and they were off to the beach to enjoy Vitamin D and to get away from the tension that was like a time bomb waiting to go off. Agents were on constant surveillance. Lacey paced around trying to catch every word and constantly accused Moore of not trusting her.
The sun was high in the sky and there was no breeze to allow any cooling. It was hot and sticky and Camden could barely breathe.
Oh wait. Isn't that how he always felt when Rayma was around?
A few people milled along the beach, embracing the sun on a lazy afternoon. It was summer, it was hot, and even though it was a weekday, there were people out enjoying the water.
But not too many. He liked it that way. He and Rayma strayed a mile or so from the house and found a place in the sand near the water to lay out a blanket. The salt water splashed a slight reprieve if it came up just right. He watched as she put on sunscreen, thinking she really didn't need to worry about sunburn because she already had a nice tan—probably from living so close to the beach and going outside a lot.
She held the bottle of sunscreen up. “What some?"
"You going to rub it all over me?” he asked.
She threw it at his chest and lay on her belly, where he caught a fine glimpse of her backside. She was wearing those cute, oh-so-sexy-boy-type shorts and a top which filled out nicely with her curves. The suit afforded a modest amount of coverage but offered more sex appeal than the normal bikini.
Or maybe it was just because she was wearing it.
"I can't stop thinking of that night I found you in the bathtub,” Camden said as he poured a mountain of sunscreen on her back and began to rub it in.
She turned her head to look at him. Shades covered her eyes and ever since she'd called her friend she'd been pouting. He'd do anything to bring a smile to her lips.
"I thought you were coming to kill me."
"I carried you out of there, stark naked, and didn't do a damn thing."
"I remember you doing something,” she said.
Camden chuckled. Heat rose within his chest. He'd done something all right. He came in his pants for the first time since he was a teenager, and with Rayma right beside him.
He was about to lose it. His mind, his sanity, his self-control. The stress of his job was getting to him, and he wanted to lose himself in Rayma's heat. Take her right here, on the sand, at the beach, damn the consequences. Damn Web, damn the federal agents, and damn the whole reason he took this job in the first place.
"So what made you choose your career?” Rayma asked. Was she a mind reader? Maybe a witch? Is that why he felt lost when she was around? In a trance. “Have you always wanted to go undercover or did you just fall into this position?” she asked.
Camden stopped rubbing her back and crossed his feet on the blanket as he was shot with a stark reminder of his brother and Greg, which fueled his hatred for Web even more and corked the passion he was currently feeling. He'd watched Greg die and didn't do anything about it. He was too young to save his brother, to realize what was going on with him, but he knew his best friend was in trouble with drugs and, though the death was slow, Camden didn't do anything to help.
"It was the course my life took,” Camden said, not even attempting to weigh his words. “I was seven when my brother overdosed on drugs. Too young to know much at the time, but I wasn't too young when my friend became addicted. I did nothing to help him and he died."
Fear kept him immobile those months he watched his friend consumed by an addiction to drugs. Psychologist would tell him there was nothing he could have done. Hindsight was twenty-twenty. His friend had to want to be helped. There was nothing he could do.
But he would never believe that. He could have at least tried. He hadn't even tried.
And he couldn't forgive himself for that. Just as he couldn't forgive Web for poisoning other innocent kids, teenagers, or adults who had an addiction to something they couldn't control.
Rayma, as if sensing his thoughts, twisted to grab the lotion bottle and splattered some on his nose. She remained on her belly, holding herself upright with her hands, as she rubbed lotion up his nose and down across his cheek. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “That must have been a horrible experience. But don't blame yourself."
"Yeah, yeah I know. There's nothing I could do."
"You're doing something now."
"Not really."
"How many drug dealers have you put behind bars?” Rayma asked.
"Only to get out again."
"Even if they were there for six months or six years, that's six less months they had to spread their disease."
"Unless they had someone do it for them."
Rayma sat up. “Feeling melancholy today?” she asked as she lowered her shades, just a hair, to look at him.
"Every time I think of my brother and Greg."
Rayma placed a hand on his leg, offering nothing sexual, only comfort. “I'm sorry."
He nodded. “What about you?” he asked, changing the subject as he lay down on his back beside her and laced his hands behind his head. “Why did you choose your career?"
"I was always an inquisitive child. Like a cat with nine lives, I was always getting into some kind of trouble. I used to go treasure hunting with my brothers, who made it extra difficult for me. After Richard, I believed people deserved to know the truth about things. Seems my life was somehow mapped out for me, too."
She closed the top on the lotion she still held and set it aside, adjusted her hat, and continued. “James helped. He was an investigator with the police department until he became a private one. He encouraged my interest but I also saw how much it affected him. I mean, he's had problems. His wife left him, things like that. It wasn't easy on him, and since writing was my second hobby, I chose to do reporting."
Camden was thankful for James and he could tell Rayma really loved him. From the time spent with him so far, Camden could tell he was a good man who loved Rayma as if she were still a child. Camden figured Rayma had turned out a better person because of his support.
"Let's give you a test,” Camden said as he sat up.
"What kind of test?"
"Come on. Sit up. I'm going to test your investigative skills."
"Okay,” she said as she sat up. Her breast nearly caught him in the cheek as she moved.
For a moment, Camden forgot what they were doing. She punched him in the arm when his gaze lingered low just a little too long.
Oh right, a test of her investigative skills.
He looked around, eyeing people along the beach, and pointed to a couple walking, quite out of place, through the sand. Perfect. “Take that couple over there. What is it about them that's unusual?"
"She's taller than him."
"Could be the fact she's wearing heels on the beach."
"That's definitely unusual,” Rayma said. “Maybe she's trying to be sexy. Some men might like a swimsuit covered up by that long lacy thing she has on, with high heels to match."
"I've never heard of such,” Camden said, studying the couple who seemed to be involved in an argument. She was carrying a purse that appeared to be too bulky for her light weight, and the man didn't offer to help. Tourists, Camden thought.
The beach wasn't too crowded and to some people's eyes, he and Rayma may appear odd too. She was wearing a great big hat and sunglasses; he had a bandana wrapped around his head. He didn't need anyone to recognize them but neither did he want to stand out in a crowd.
"Look at that couple,” Rayma said, pointing out another couple who seemed enthralled with each other. “Think one of them is teaching the other mouth-to-mouth?"
Camden laughed. “They look like they're enjoying each other's company.” He averted his attention back to the first woman. The back of his neck tensed, the hairs standing up on end like they sometimes did when he felt a touch of unease. She'd gotten closer to them, she was putting her purse down in the sand as if she couldn't handle it anymore, and for a moment she looked right at him.
Suddenly, she reached into her purse. Camden barely saw the gun before he reacted. Gunfire spat at them and, if the woman had been a better shot, he'd probably have been hit. Sand shot up around them, people screamed and started running. Camden grabbed Rayma's hand and pulled her up, putting his body between her and the shooter.
He heard the gunfire behind him but didn't have a chance to think about anything. Finding a beach hut to hide behind, he positioned Rayma beside him and grabbed his gun, which he always kept with him. He thrust his phone at Rayma. “Call Moore."
The woman cursed as she looked around and Camden would have had the perfect shot. Only, he didn't believe in shooting someone just to kill. He hesitated. Someone passed in front and he lost his chance. He watched as the woman took off her heels and ran in the opposite direction. The man who was with her was nowhere to be found.
Rayma held herself in check very well but when Moore got on the phone she fumbled with her words. Camden took the phone from her, gave Moore the scoop on what was going on, and waited as agents came to retrieve them.
Someone had just tried to kill Rayma. They may have been trying to kill him, too.
And he was pissed.
* * * *
"Why the hell was someone trying to kill me?"
Camden didn't knock when he barged into Web's office in the back of Vin Doux. Web was puffing on a cigar and studying his computer screen. He pushed his chair back from the desk, clasped his hands behind his head, and propped his feet up on his desk as if this was a casual visit.
"You lied to me. You told me she left you."
"She did,” Camden said. “She contacted me today. She wanted to meet at the beach and talk. You said you thought she might have something important of yours. I didn't see any point in killing her until I heard what she had to say."
"Yeah? What did she have to say?"
"Didn't get much of a chance to find out, thanks to your goons."
Web placed his feet on the floor and shuffled papers on his desk as if to dismiss Camden. “I told you she was going to die whether you did it or whether someone else did it. Didn't look like you were going to do it."
"You almost killed me in the process,” Camden said.
"Don't get in my way."
Camden's button was not only pushed, it was pushed so hard it had jammed. He wasn't thinking clearly, not only for his own safety but for the fact Rayma had almost been killed and it was because of this sonofabitch. He took three long strides to Web's desk and hauled him up by the collar.
He pushed Web up against the wall. “Don't make a foolish mistake like that again.” Then, as if realizing what he was doing, he let go of Web, who only laughed. “Is this what you're looking for?” Camden thrust the DVD, of which they'd made several copies, at Web. Web was able to grab it before it fell to the ground.
"There's something not right about you,” Web said as Camden made his way to the door.
Camden, his heart pounding with adrenaline he could barely contain, turned. “I don't like to be shot at.” He opened the door and very carefully closed it.
He was angry and afraid. He'd been a fool to allow Rayma to go outside. He'd been a fool to let himself get so wrapped up in her presence that he let his guard down.
He'd been a fool to confront Web like that.
He was already the cause of his best friend's death. He couldn't live with himself if something happened to Rayma.
* * * *
Web snuffed out a cigar that lingered, untouched, in the ashtray and watched as Camden strode out the door. He would hate to lose the guy. He would hate even more to find out he was a cop or, worse, an undercover agent, but Web was beginning to get that tingling sensation behind his ears indicating something was wrong.
Whether it was Camden or not was still to be determined. After all, how many agents could last as long as Camden had without losing it or making a fatal mistake? Ever since Lacey came into Web's life is when things started to go sour. Camden was renting from Lacey, big deal. Maybe Lacey had made sure it could be that way. What would be better than to have Web's chef as her tenant if, in fact, she was investigating Web?
Web stood, stretched, and reached for his phone. There was only one way to find out the truth of this mess, and it started with the woman he knew was an undercover agent. Thanks to Lacey, Carol was exposed.
And, thanks to Lacey, her life was about to end.
* * * *
"What's going on?” Rayma asked when Moore abruptly pulled her from her post by the window and told her to get her stuff.
She was watching outside. Waiting for something else to happen. Waiting for Camden to come back. None of those actions were probably good for her.
"We're moving you and James to a different place."
"What about Camden?"
"Camden and I will stay here."
"What? No."
"It'll look fishy if he suddenly moves,” Moore said.
Rayma glanced towards James, who stood behind Moore with his hands in his pocket. James wasn't going to provide her backup.
"I'm staying here,” Rayma said.
Moore shook his head. “You'll be safe where you're going. You'll have agents all around you. James will be there."

But Camden won't be.
"Where?” she asked.
"I can't tell you."
"Bullshit,” she said. “I'm not leaving South Padre. Not yet."
Beacon came down from the steps and let out a loud howl, voicing his opinion as he rubbed against Moore's legs.

Traitor.

"See, Beacon doesn't want to leave either."
"He doesn't have to."
"Bullshit,” she said again as she picked up her cat and began walking to the back of the house, to get Camden's view on this.
"Where're you going?” Moore asked. “Go get your stuff."
"Where's Camden?"
"He went to see Web."
"What?” she whirled around to face Moore, who was only steps behind her. James watched from a safer distance. “He'll be killed. We were shot at already."
"He can handle himself."
She stormed upstairs to her room and quickly began to grab her things from the bathroom. But when she headed to the bedroom, she stopped and stared.
She had some clothes, a notebook, some books and toiletries, but other than that she had nothing. This had been her home, she had fallen in love, and still she had nothing.

One more month. That's all it would take for her to realize Camden was just a fad, a boy-toy, just another guy. No one special, definitely not someone who held her heart. No one fell in love this soon.
She wouldn't leave without seeing him first.
She packed the rest of her things and carried her bags and Beacon in her arms as she walked down the stairs.
Camden was standing with Moore and James in the living area. She stopped, muzzled Beacon's fur, and urged herself not to cry. She wouldn't. Why would she?
Camden came up to her and took a bag from her shoulder. “You okay?"
She nodded. She wasn't going to cry.
"Moore told you that you're going to a new house?"
She nodded again, this time biting her lip.
All she had to do was walk away. Go to a new safe house, get this crap over with, and begin a new life. If she saw Camden in court proceedings, so be it. This was it. There would be no goodbye but neither would there be anything else.
"I'll be over there later,” he whispered.
Then, he kissed her.



Chapter Twenty-Two
Moore was just hustling Rayma to the garage when his cell phone rang. He answered, listened. Suddenly, his face drained, his hand shot up in a waiting signal, then all hell broke lose.
"Camden, get out to your apartment and don't act startled when Web knocks on your door. You have movers coming. Rayma, you and James go to your room and don't come out. Take Beacon with you and don't let him out. Lacey, meet Web at the door. Find out what he wants. You're just here, on a lazy day, but you expect your husband back in the next hour."
As Moore barked orders, other agents helped Rayma haul her things back up to her room. She didn't have time to think of her safety, of Camden alone in his apartment, of where everyone else would be hiding.
Or what in the hell Web was doing here.
James seemed to take control as he shut and locked the door. He sat on the bed with her, not saying a word. If there was ever a time she needed her dad, this was it. She was glad he was here.
* * * *
"You've worked for me for two years, but I really don't know that much about you."
Web settled himself at the bar in Camden's apartment while Camden shuffled through the refrigerator for two beers. He tossed Web one, opened the other, and drank.
"What's there to know about me?"
Something was wrong. Camden should trust his instincts, bust Web on what they had him on, and let things be.
"Yeah, the TV goes,” Camden said to one of the ‘movers'. Camden was sweating bullets as he made small talk with Web. Web could have pulled a gun and shot him. There was no one or nothing around to prevent that from happening.
"I'm finally moving out,” Camden told Web. “I found a bigger place, a nicer place, a closer place. And with my raise, I can finally afford it."
"Was I not paying you enough in the first place?” Web asked.
"Yeah, but I got a great deal on this apartment. Apparently, the owners really needed to rent it."
Which led them to the discussion about his life. A life they had planned from the beginning, but one they never needed to use.
Until now.
"You're right,” Camden said as he sat on the bar stool next to Web. “There are some things you don't know about me. Some things I never talk about. Some things I was afraid of you knowing.
"I had a colossal amount of debt and I'm finally beginning to see the light. I was married once, my wife was in the habit of drumming up shopping debt and I was in the habit of drumming up gambling debt. She left me high and dry, casting accusations I wasn't willing to fight. I was stuck with the bills. Turned to drugs and alcohol for awhile. I've gotten off that now. My job with Vin Doux saved my life. I moved here to get away from my ex-wife and her crazy family. Found this apartment listed and when I came to see it they told me I could have it for six hundred a month. At that time, six hundred was a lot of money to me, but it wasn't as much as other apartments were charging. Plus, I was able to live right by the beach."
"What was your wife's name?"
"Sharon.” God, he hoped he'd remember that tomorrow. Most of the story was planned, but he punted with some of it.
"You don't have any loan sharks after you, do you?"
Camden guffawed. “No, thank God. I made enough money that we had good credit. Ruined credit now, but it was good. You checked my background; you talked to the restaurant I worked at before I came here.” The government did, after all, have associates in high and low places.
"How did a man who was so into gambling just give it up?” Web asked.
"I wish I could say it was that easy.” Camden swallowed another bite of beer and worked at making his speech perfect. No flaws, no nervousness, no hints of deception. “I didn't just give it up. It took a lot of hard work and nauseous nights. I'd like to blame my ex-wife for most of those gambling problems. I had plans for my future at one time before she ruined me. I moved to Texas where gambling is illegal, as deep into the far corners of Texas as I could get."
"Excuse me sir,” a mover, Dex, asked. What was Dex doing in here anyway? Shouldn't he have been protecting Rayma? He had to say, Dex looked just like a moving guy, hat turned backward, unkempt clothes. “Anything else in the living room need to go?"
"Everything but the main furniture."
"Dishes?"
"Oh yeah, they do need to go."
Web stood. “We'll go outside while they finish up in here."
"Need another beer?"
"Yeah, sounds good."
Web walked outside. Camden shot a glance at Dex before grabbing more beer.
They were fucked.
"What I really came here for,” Web said as he took the beer and popped the top, “is to discuss Saturday night with you. First off, I have to ask, why would you be uneasy telling me about your past?"
"Most employers wouldn't take too kindly to hiring someone with a gambling and drug problem, even if it was in the past."
"Well, you haven't stolen from me yet. At least not that I know of."
"Just a couple pieces of leftover bread occasionally."
Web smiled, Camden relaxed and, right outside the safe house, they talked about their plans for Saturday night.
Camden failed to mention Web would be busted then.



Chapter Twenty-Three
Lacey grabbed her beach bag, adjusted her top to dip just a little lower, and walked to the back of Web's patio where his private beach was located.
After barging into her home and scaring the shit out of everyone, he called her and told her how much he missed her and couldn't wait to see her again. A sixth sense should have warned her something was wrong. He hadn't mentioned Carol since that night Lacey told him about her, and he acted like none of it happened. Maybe he'd been enthralled with the pleasure he'd just received and didn't hear her.
Since everyone else was still in pandemonium mode after he left, she snuck out.
Someone, she was sure Web was behind it, had attempted to shoot Rayma, then Web visits, then he calls Lacey. Something wasn't right. So what was she doing here?
She walked out to the beach but stopped when she saw Web with his arms around Carol. Web noticed her before she had a chance to back away. Carol turned, obviously just as surprised to see Lacey as she was her.
"Come on over,” Web said. Lacey obliged, but with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"What's going on?” Lacey asked as Carol began to back away.
"Yeah, what's going on?” Carol asked.
He wasn't planning on a threesome? Because she wasn't into that, she didn't think.
Before Lacey had a chance to react, Web reached into his pocket, pulled out a gun, aimed it at Carol and fired.
Lacey screamed and tried to back away but Web had her by the hair before she could think. He jerked her head back and she fell to her knees, crying. She tried to ignore the blood pooling around Carol's dead body.
"You'll be next if you don't tell me what the hell is going on."
"I don't know,” she cried. He snapped her head back, hard. She shrieked, thinking for a moment he'd broken her neck. He cocked his gun and leveled it right between her eyes. “No,” she cried. “I'm on your side. Please believe me."
"Tell me why I should,” he said. Calm, deadly. She looked into his eyes and thought for a moment she was looking into the end of a pistol. Hard, cold, gray. “You're a cockroach."
"No."
"You're a fucking cockroach."
Lacey tried to move her head, but couldn't get away from his grip. His finger moved on the trigger and for one horrifying moment, she thought it'd be too late.
"If you kill me, there won't be anyone on your side anymore,” Lacey cried. “They'll come after you. You'll have the murder of two DEA agents on your head."
He tossed the gun to a man who was standing behind her and said, “Kill her."
"No!” she screamed, closing her eyes as if that would ward off the blow.
Web released his grip on her hair. She remained where she was, crouched, head up, eyes burning. He backhanded her, and her head jerked to the side, the pain feeling as if a million fire ants were stinging her. Instinctively, she brought her hand to her face to assure herself there were no ants.
There were none, but she tasted blood.
She tried to back away. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled. Her knees grated against the sand. “Give me one good reason. One."
"I'm trying to help you."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Love.” She hated herself. She hated this man. She had no idea why she was helping him. Maybe she deserved to die.
"Love?” he scoffed. “Or lust?” She didn't reply but looked into those cold eyes, expecting the bullet to pierce her head at any moment. She wondered if it would hurt, if she'd feel anything, or if would just happen and she'd be gone. She wondered if it already had happened and she was about to die.
"What about Camden?” Web asked.
"Who?"
"Camden."
"My tenant? What about him?"
Web hauled her up by the hair and she whimpered. “Give me the damned gun,” he said to his crony and, taking it, he pulled her head back again, leveling the gun at her. He let go for a mere second and her knees gave out. She fell to the ground, her body scraping against brambles and sand. Web sat next to her, practically on her, and leveled the gun at her again. “Is Camden a federal agent?"
She didn't want to die. She deserved to die. Either way, she might anyway. She could risk Camden's life and the life of all the agents that were like family to her to hopefully save her life, or she could risk her own life, continue to lie, and possibly save the operation and the lives of many agents.
She made a decision. She closed her eyes, nodded, and whispered, “Yes."
* * * *
The safe house was scrambling with agents tying up loose ends when Lacey walked in, feeling more bedraggled than she looked. She'd freshened up, she'd wiped away her tears, and she'd stayed away for hours. By this time, everyone would know about Carol.
Web told her to go back and pretend nothing had happened. He promised worse if she told, and she believed what he said. So when she walked in and only Moore was there, she let out a relieved sigh and forced a smile.
"Where the hell have you been?"
"I ran to the grocery store. I thought that's the assignment you gave me. What's going on?"
Moore grabbed her by the elbow. “You don't know?"
She shook her head, giving herself points for playing actress so well. If only she hadn't been stupid about it, things might have worked out. But she'd been consumed with jealousy over Carol and Web, and thus had just destroyed this entire operation.
Oh if only she could sit down and tell Moore everything. But she'd face his wrath and wasn't sure which was worse. His, or Web's.
"Carol is dead,” Moore said. “She was shot in the forehead and found at the beach by a couple of kids."

Poor kids, she thought. She'd never meant for any of this to happen.
"How terrible,” she said, backing away to sit on a chair. She didn't have to fake her despair, because she was still feeling it from earlier. “What happened?"
"We're not sure. You're officially removed from your position and will be placed in a separate safe house as a potential witness until this is all over."
"What?” she said as she stood up, knocking the bags to the ground. Apples rolled to the floor, a six-pack of beer shattered. She didn't care.
He held up his hand to ward off any arguments as she opened her mouth to speak. “I won't hear them, I won't listen."
"What about Rayma?"
"She'll be safe."
"Where?"
"That's undisclosed information."
She heard Camden enter the kitchen but was surprised when he grabbed her around the neck and raised her body up. Not hard, Camden was good about using force without hurting, but it immobilized her nonetheless.
"What have you told Web?"
Lacey tried to shake her head but couldn't move. “Nothing,” she whispered.
"What does he know?"
This would be the perfect time to admit her mistakes. After all, she was going to a safe house where even Web might not find her. There was the kicker. Might not.
But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Carol's blood-covered body, and the lethal gleam in Web's eyes. She should protect her fellow agents from his slaughter, but she would probably go to prison for it.
"He knows nothing."
* * * *
Rayma couldn't complain overly much when the agents gave her the master bedroom and bathroom, complete with luxurious tub and bubble bath. A bathroom to herself allowed her to take long, blissful and very private baths.
True to his promise, Camden came over later, but it was two nights later. Rayma was soaking in the tub for the long haul when he walked in.
She jerked upright and nearly screamed.
"What in the hell? I locked the door."
"I unlocked it,” he said as he advanced towards her. He unbuttoned his shirt, unsnapped his jeans, and took off his shoes. She didn't have a chance to tell him to go away because by the time she could speak again, he was already sliding in the water.
"What are you doing here? What's the point in having a safe house with you at the other one if you're here?"
"It's Friday night. I'll be going to Web's later. I'll be there all day tomorrow planning for the party later that night."
The unspoken words were, I may never see you again.
Camden settled himself behind Rayma. She laid her back against him and rested the back of her head on his chest. His hard body was a solid wall for her unsteady heart.
"I'm scared,” she whispered.
"Don't be,” Camden said. “I've been through worse. Of course, there's always the chance something bad will happen in any situation, but I don't anticipate anything."
"I think you're wrong. I have a bad feeling about it."
His arms snaked around to cover her breasts and he lightly brushed them. “Of course you do. It's natural to be worried."
"Then why aren't you?"
"Because I'm confident in my abilities."
"To face a gun?” She moved and turned to him so she could look at him when she spoke. “I don't understand why you have to do this. With the DVD you have, the pictures, the other information, Web could be brought down without you having to perform this ... this dangerous plan you and the agents have masterminded. You wouldn't have to be involved.” You wouldn't have to risk being killed, she wanted to say.
"It's better to catch him in action and bust him. With that proof and the other information, we might not ever have to worry about him again."
"It's always for a jury to decide,” Rayma said, trying to ignore the way his hands traced the peaks of her breasts. “And it's easier for something to go wrong if you do it this way."
"How should we do it then?"
"Arrest him in the privacy of his office. Nothing fancy, no gunfire."
"Well, this way he'll be arrested along with many other drug dealers that deserve to be."
She turned back around, lay against him, the water and his arms coming up around her breasts.
Was it the thought of what was going to happen Saturday night, or Camden's hands caressing her that made her feel so uneasy?
"It's a bad idea. I'm really worried about it. You could be in danger."
"I've been in danger lots of times, darling,” he said. He trailed his hand down to her crotch. “Right now, for instance."
She turned her face up so she could nuzzle her nose against his neck. “What do you mean?"
"I'm in danger of losing my heart to you."
She laughed and ribbed him. “Yeah right."
"And this,” he said as he took her hands and guided her to the hardness she felt against her back. She moved so she could touch him, giving him one long stroke. As much as she wanted to make love, she couldn't waste the last little bit of time she had not saying things she wanted to say.
She let go of his hardness and placed her back against his chest again. He groaned.
"I heard about Carol,” she said. She wasn't supposed to, that was obvious by the horror on Dex's face when she walked in to hear him and other agents talking about it. “How did Web find out?"
"We don't really know. He's still pretty stressed right now. I won't lie to you, it's going to be tense tomorrow. Rumor has it Nemmy started the fire and Mike might possibly be working for him. If that's the case ... it won't be good for either one of them. He's determined to find out."
"God,” Rayma said, and not because his hands were running across her breasts. She closed her eyes to fight back tears.
She didn't want to lose him. She was so afraid of losing him.
"Hey,” he asked as he pushed her up to a sitting position. “Tomorrow it'll all be over,” he said. “But tonight it's going to all begin."
He turned her head slightly to face him and his lips brushed hers. She cried out and took him in, letting him take possession of her mouth, her body, and her mind. Water splashed across the tub and on the floor as he grabbed her up and took her into the bedroom.
He laid her down, gently but urgently, and neither of them paid heed to the fact they were both soaked, as was the bed. It didn't matter. Tonight, there would probably be no sleep, and the heat of their bodies would keep them warm and dry.
Well, she wasn't planning on staying dry.
* * * *
There was a loud crash against Rayma's door, and a yell she couldn't quite make out because of the trembling in her heart. Camden quickly sat up, grabbed clothes and yanked them on.
"Camden, you in there?"
"Yeah man, one second.” He glanced at Rayma and she saw the unmistakable sign of alarm in his eyes as he threw her shorts and top towards her.
"What's going on?” she asked a few minutes later when she came down to the kitchen, where Camden was already with Moore, James and the others.
No one looked at her as if she'd just made love to Camden. No one seemed to judge her, but she felt conspicuous nonetheless.
"James found out some information on Nemmy,” Moore said. “Seems he's undercover for a drug task force, probably the same one there when Mike was arrested."
"What?” Rayma asked. “How did you find this out?"
"James saw the pictures and recognized him. We've traced Web and his origins for awhile, but James did some digging because he thought they both looked familiar. Nemmy was involved in a large drug bust several years ago. He was suspected of foul play, perjury, possible planting of evidence, that sort of thing. The drug lord got off, Internal Affairs investigated Nemmy. Guess they didn't find anything worthwhile and let him loose again."
"Why is he involved in an undercover operation the DEA is working on?"
"Because we don't consult low-end task forces when we go in. Less chance of mistakes. The fewer people who know, the better."
"Why would they give Nemmy another chance?"
"Probably because they have nobody else. Most of the cops around here turn their heads when Web's on the street. Most of them wouldn't touch Web with a ten-foot pole. Guess Nemmy was their only choice. At this point in time, we're not sure if Nemmy is even on the straight and narrow. He could be working with Web."
Camden studied notes, didn't even glance at Rayma, as Moore told her what was going on. He was so calm, as if the woman he'd just made love to wasn't sitting beside him.
Damn, that pissed her off.
"So, are you going to pull out now?” she asked.
"No.” This time it was Camden who spoke, and he jerked his head up to meet her eyes. “We go in tomorrow as planned,” he said, looking at Moore now. “Get in touch with the South Padre Task Force. Have them pull out. Nemmy will be at this party and they probably won't want to, but this is my turf. I'm not just quitting. Nemmy will be arrested along with everyone else. I don't want to worry about a bunch of task force guys, trying to decide which ones are the good guys if we have to start shooting."
* * * *
"James found some other information,” Moore said.
"Damn, we should have summoned you a long time ago,” Camden said as he smiled, but wasn't in the mood to hear anything else. Hell, he had to go to Web's soon. He didn't need to look like something was wrong, he didn't need to dwell on this all night.
He wanted to make love to Rayma one last time.
"That DVD we got had another password on it, used to open a file on one of the other CDs we hadn't been able to open. The recipes for the sauces they sell were on there. With one extra ingredient."
"What's that?"
"He mixes cocaine in it, sells it to the highest bidder. Those sauces are new, still in the works, but a lot of people are using them. We've got to get them off the shelves."
Camden slammed his hand against the table, the sound reverberating in a room that had suddenly gone silent. “Shit."
"We don't think they all have it,” Moore said. “We think he's using it only with certain buyers and the other sauces are legit. But I'm working on getting all the shit out of production."
Two years of his life and he hadn't gotten a damn thing. James came in and solved it all. “Fuck,” he said, because that's about the only thing he could verbalize right now.
"What'd we do wrong?” he asked when he could finally give voice to his thoughts. “Why'd it take us two years to discover this via a man that's only been here two days?"
Darrell Weberley was going to go down, even if Camden had to kill him. He'd face Internal Affairs if he had to. He'd give up his badge if he had to. At this point, he'd go to prison for killing a man not worthy of living if he had to.
This game with Darrell Weberley was over. And Web was going to lose.



Chapter Twenty-Four
It was all going to end tonight.
Camden hoped it would be soon. He touched his chest, wishing there was a Kevlar vest beneath his shirt, but he knew it wouldn't work for him to wear one. Vests, wires, guns. Camden couldn't chance wearing any of those tonight.
He was a chef. A damned good chef. And he was cooking dinner for Darrell's drug friends. He thought of several different ways to alter their mood tonight, starting with pouring the same drugs they sold into their food. He might have chanced it, but he was being watched too closely.
He grabbed his cell phone and called Rayma, who was safely tucked into the new location.
"What are you wearing?” he asked when she answered the phone.
"Pajamas. What's it to you?"
"I kinda figured you'd sleep nude."
"This house is crawling with federal agents and you want me to sleep naked?"
Camden chuckled and imagined her in pajamas, probably the same cotton pink ones with the fuzzy slippers he'd seen her wear. Beacon would be curled up at her side and she'd have a pen tucked into her hair so she wouldn't chance losing it in the blankets of her bed.
She'd be writing the book she told him she was working on. The book sort of about him, about undercover agents. A book he knew would be a smashing success since he was in it.
He mentally chuckled at the thought, remembering when he told her that for the first time. She'd smacked him and he grabbed her and pulled her alongside him on the bed. Then, after she'd teased him for awhile, he admitted it wasn't because of him it would be a smashing success but because of her.
He knew he shouldn't have called her, but he had to talk to her one last time so he could keep his mind focused on this party. So far, things were running smoothly, but he constantly worried about Rayma. He had to remind himself she was safe. She was locked up tight with federal agents and was safe.
He just had to make sure.
"I need to get back to work,” Camden said as Web approached him. “Talk to you soon.” He folded his phone and stuck it in his pants pocket.
"Who was that?” Web asked.
"A girl I gave up so I could cook for you."
"The appetizers are delicious. We'll be ready for the main course in a few minutes."
"It'll be ready when you are."
* * * *
Rayma was queasy as she trod down the stairs to the kitchen—a new kitchen she had to get used to—to find antacids. She'd never be able to sleep tonight, she'd never be able to write tonight.
She was worried about Camden. Dex was in the house, plus a few agents she didn't know, and more agents were going out tonight to bust Darrell and his cronies. Several hundred, possibly.
And she was scared. She thought she was in love with Camden and she was afraid she was going to lose him. She'd had such rotten luck in the past she was afraid her love lessened his chances for survival tremendously.
Her first two boyfriends were still alive, but she was left with vacant memories of them. Keegan was dead before she realized she wasn't in love with him but his persona, and she was afraid Camden was going to be next.
She shook the thought aside. No, he was going to be okay. This was all going to be over, he was going to leave her and hopefully take a much needed vacation, and then start undercover work again.
But he would leave her.
And she would have to let him. She couldn't admit she was in love with him. She couldn't beg for him to stay. That was out of the question.
Or was it? She should have told him she loved him over the phone when she wouldn't have to see his expression and they wouldn't have that awkward moment afterward. He could think about it while he was doing his job and if he wanted to pursue it, he could. If he wanted to ignore it, he could.
She gulped a glass of water as Beacon stepped around and through her feet.
She'd much rather Camden leave and go on to another assignment, another woman, than to lose him through death. She would get over him that way, but death was forever. Death offered no more chances.
Rayma wasn't sure where James had gone. Dex only told her he was out, safe, and he would be back soon, which pissed her off. He was probably out with them, going to bust Web. How was that legal? How could he do that to her? How could he do that, period?
And how could they allow him to do that and let her sit here, fretting?
She tried to turn on the TV, but it only offered bad news. She tried to find a movie, but she couldn't sit still long enough. So she paced around the house.
Then the doorbell rang.
Her heart stopped.
Agent Sommers went to the door to open it. She walked a distance behind him to see who it was. If it was news about Camden, about what had happened tonight, she wanted to know.
Before she had a chance to think, the agent went down and Mike came roaring in. She turned on her heel to run, to scream, but he grabbed her. She glanced around frantically, knowing Mike couldn't have just waltzed in here without anyone seeing him.
At first, when he turned her around to look into his eyes, fear terrorized her to the point she was ready to give up. She almost saw Richard in Mike's eyes, when she was ten years old and he held her hair in a grip that didn't compare in its intensity to this. Even then, when the man she was supposed to trust held her in a death grip, she hadn't given up. She kept fighting. With that reminder, she kicked Mike where it would truly bring him down. He yelped.
But that only pissed him off.
She tried to run but he grabbed her and pulled her against him, her back against him.
"Don't bother trying to get to your boyfriend,” he spat, his breath in her ear. “He's dead. Web knows about him. Web's going to kill him."
Rayma screamed as fear welled inside. “Web's going to kill you, too,” Mike continued as he clamped a hand around her mouth. She thrashed around to break free. He clenched his hand over her mouth tighter, pulling her closer, until she felt something hard against her back.
She shuddered, fighting nausea.
"But not before I have my way with you,” he said.
They had been intimate once, when she was a stupid single woman just trying to live her life, but she never truly knew this man just as she had never truly known Keegan, James or even the man posing as her own father. She'd never had feelings for Mike, but neither did she believe he could be so cold.
He loosened his grip. She tried to run but he twisted her arm and she fell to the floor. She started crawling away, but he seized her ankle and dragged her across the wood floor.
While one part of her struggled to get away from Mike, another part kept replaying his words. Camden dead? He couldn't be. She'd talked to him earlier. Everything had been fine. In spite of her self-assurances, panic at the possibility surfaced. Tears swarmed in her eyes, sorrow taking over the fear.
She almost lost her will to fight until Mike clenched his arms around her and tried to turn her over. She rammed him with her elbow. It hurt her more than it hurt him, but it dazed him long enough she was able to get out of his grip.
And then Dex was there, a gun pointing towards Mike. Rayma grabbed her phone and called Camden as Dex spoke low threats to Mike.
But he didn't answer.
She felt tears burning her eyes, clogging the back of her throat.
Mike simpered at her as if he knew what she was doing, who she was calling. “He's dead."
* * * *
Camden was in the process of serving dessert to the men in Web's library when Web stopped him. “I want you to be a part of this."
Web nodded to a couple of bodyguards who surrounded Camden and they began to pat him down. Camden looked into Web's eyes, unflinching, unmoving as the guards touched him, prodded him in their search.
His heart sank.
His breath stopped.
Web knew.
"Gentleman,” Web said as he sipped on a glass of scotch and puffed a cigar. “We come to mourn the passing of what once was and to celebrate a new beginning. Camden here—” he nodded his head towards Camden, “has been with me for two years. The best chef I've ever had."
Web stopped. The bodyguards left Camden's side and stood on each side of Web. Web nodded to Camden to have a seat.
Camden sat in the overstuffed chair easily, comfortably, as if he had no worries. On the outside. Inside, he was alert to every expression, every nuance of sound passing over the room. His heart pounded as he waited to hear Web's next words.
"Come to find out,” Web continued, “he isn't really a chef but an undercover agent with the DEA."
The door opened and two men stormed through, pulling someone behind them.
Lacey.
Camden looked at Web, who had an evil smile on his face as he watched the men drag Lacey across the floor to stand in front of Web. “Seems like I've been surrounded by DEA agents. Anyone else I should know about?"
Lacey looked towards Camden, her eyes begging him. For what, he didn't know.
He said nothing, he did nothing. He waited, watched, observed. He had no gun and he didn't see taking on that many men by himself. He knew the agents would be here soon—he idly glanced at a clock—another twenty minutes. Until then, he had to play it cool.
"Turns out Nemmy is undercover, too,” Web said as he glared at Nemmy. Two other goons surrounded Nemmy, one with a gun pointed at his head. “But we all knew that. Hell, he's been working for us a long time. Unfortunately, he's working against us and his task force, trying to destroy me so he can take over my business. I don't know why you thought burning Boater's Bay was going to help your case,” he said to Nemmy. “And paying Mike an exorbitant fee to go to your side, how'd you manage that? No matter, he thinks he's getting back in my good graces by getting Rayma. Then I'll have all of you.
"You can thank Lacey,” Web said as he turned to Camden. “She exposed Carol. She's the reason Carol is dead. And she's the reason you'll be next."
Web's bodyguards pulled Camden from his seat. He went without a fight. They held onto his arms, one on either side of him, and Lacey behind with her own set of pushers.
When they were out of the vicinity of the library and going towards a hallway where the goons would probably shoot them in cold blood, Camden figured now was the time to defend himself. He had no idea what they were going to do with Nemmy, but Nemmy was on his own.
His training, his rough life and his strong foundation made him able to surprise his rivals.
He jerked his arm away from the man on his right and kneed him in the stomach. The guy went down. Startled, the one on his left loosened his grip. Camden dropped to the floor and kicked him in the balls. The man fell, groaning and covering his groin.
Camden slid across the floor and snatched the guy's gun from the holster on his jeans, then elbowed him across the head. The other one ran at him. Camden spun on the floor and shot his foot out, kicking the goon in the calf and taking him down, bashing the gun in his face as he fell.
Camden jumped up, cocking the gun on the men holding Lacey.
Stunned, they stood there, holding her.
"Put your hands up and let her go,” Camden said as he walked backwards.
They did as instructed, holding their hands up after shoving Lacey forward. She stumbled.
"I should leave you here to die,” Camden told her, never taking his eyes off the men.
"Uh, uh,” a voice behind him spoke.
Camden whirled to find Web standing in the hallway. The gun he held was pointed straight between Camden's eyes.
* * * *
"We have to do something,” Rayma said to Dex as she punched in Camden's number again. It rang and rang. “We have to get a hold of Camden. Of Moore."
"It's too late,” Mike said. “Camden's dead, and they're not where you think they are."
"Shut the fuck up,” Dex said, as he hit Mike over the head with the gun. Mike slumped, but remained sneering.
Moore didn't answer his phone either.
"Where are they?” Rayma asked, approaching Mike with the ferocity of a tiger now that he was secured by Dex's grip.
Mike laughed.
"We have to go,” Rayma said to Dex, pleading with him.
After receiving Dex's call for help on the radio he kept with him, other agents came in and took Mike off of Dex's hands.
"Where are they?” Rayma screamed after Mike. An agent she knew only as Cone came up to her and caught her as she fell, crying. “Oh God,” she said as she fell into his arms.
"You shouldn't be a part of this. Stacey, take her."
Stacey was a female agent, broader than Lacey, and more masculine than her counterpart. Stacey, Lacey. Rayma knew their names probably weren't real but wondered why they would use something so similar.
"Come on,” Stacey said. “We'll go to your room. This will all boil over very soon."
"We have to find them."
"The agents here are in constant contact with them. Everything is going smoothly right now."
"Camden doesn't have contact. He was put right in the middle of the danger."
"It's an agent's job."
"It's bullshit is what it is."
"We'll just have to wait and see."
Wait and see? Camden was Stacey's fellow agent but he was the man Rayma loved. Stacey was probably used to losing coworkers in her line of work. Rayma couldn't go through it again.
But she refused to give up. Mike was trying to scare her, taunt her. She continually prayed.
Camden was tough, he was strong, and he was smart. He would make it out of this alive and when he did, he and Rayma would go their separate ways.
* * * *
He would never see her again.
That's all Camden could think of when the knife was clenched so tightly to his neck that he felt a rope was strung around him and if he moved one iota, he was gone.
He would never catch the scent of her hair when the ocean breeze brought it closer to him. He would never feel those legs wrapped around him, urging him to a higher peak than he ever thought possible, than had ever been possible before her.
When he was about to die, when he thought his life at this moment was over, all he could think of was Rayma. He wished he'd known her longer. The amount of women he'd known intimately was no longer an accomplishment and now seemed almost specious. Women with no faces, no smells after one night. It reminded him of the concrete under his feet, cold, gripping, and full of hopelessness. Now, when he was about to die, only one woman was important to him, and he'd never have a chance to tell her.
He should have told her. Tonight on the phone he should have told her he loved her, but he was afraid she would laugh at him or, worse, run. She was good at running, at hiding from her pain. So was he. But now there was no running.
There was nothing to run to but a cold concrete floor and a knife at his neck.
* * * *
Rayma alternated between calling James and Camden with no luck. She knew Dex was in contact with Moore, but either they didn't want her to know James was with them or he wasn't.
That was what scared her. If he wasn't, where was he? If he was, why would he be? Really, it was no more dangerous to do this type of work than it was to do his private investigator work. Probably safer because he had the backup of a team. Still, she worried, fretted, paced, and stressed.
Was Mike telling the truth? Was Camden dead?
No, why would Mike tell her the truth about anything?
"Shit. No. I know. He tried. We're okay.” Dex's clipped sentences caused her anxiety to increase. He flipped his phone closed, glanced towards her, and she followed him to a part of the house where several agents were staked around doors and windows. “We have a situation,” Dex said. “Lacey was kidnapped from the safe house she was staying in. One of the agents was killed. It's believed she's been taken to Web's place. Someone's already tried to come here and failed. We have no reason not to believe it won't happen again. We must all be alert. Rayma,” he said as he turned to her, “you need to shut yourself in your bathroom. There're no windows there. We're putting several agents around you."
"What about the windows in the bedroom?” she asked.
"We have agents covering those."
"Where's James?” she asked again.
"With Moore."
Shit. She could lose two people she cared about most in one night.
"What about Camden?"
"We don't have contact with him, but we didn't expect to at this point."
Rayma stalked to her room, furious with everyone for allowing this to happen. Camden had a phone but couldn't use it, he had no wires, no backup, no radio to call for help. He was basically stuck in this situation and she knew it was a bad idea from the get-go.
She prayed Lacey was okay. Web was a cold blooded killer and she had no doubt he was the one who killed Carol. She only prayed he would be stopped before he did it again.
* * * *
"Camden, my man, what a surprise.” Web paced around the perimeter of a small, concrete room with nothing but a bright, irritating light and desolation. Almost like a jail cell, but with no bars, nothing to indicate there was anything outside, and no toilet.
A room where one wasn't meant to stay alive for long.
"I never suspected you,” Web continued. “I never suspected you were an agent. What kind of agent has Camden as a name? I've killed a few in my line of work. Johnny, Fletcher, Nolen. But no Camden.” He stopped, glanced up slightly to meet Camden's eyes, and moved on to Lacey. “Now Lacey, there's a perfect undercover name. She gave it away the moment I saw her breasts heaving at the side of the road, her car broken down. Do you know she gave it up that very day?” Web grabbed Lacey's crotch and she let out a small cry. “Yeah, right on the beach. She couldn't wait to have me inside her."
Camden wasn't fazed by any scare tactics Web used. He might be on Web's list of dead agents or he might make it out alive. He knew the risks involved when he took this job. He believed those names mentioned were agents Web had probably killed. He knew Fletcher was. He'd worked with him, he'd been a friend, and he'd seen him ... dead.
He blamed himself. He'd fought against the urge to shoot Web in the back or poison his food. God, why hadn't he?
Camden only hoped he wouldn't join the ranks of the fallen agents. He'd like to seek justice and their retribution.
"One more piece of action before you kill me?” Lacey asked, switching Web's attention back to her. She fingered her shirt.
"You owe me at least that,” Web said as he pulled her towards him.
She used that moment to kick him in the groin and was going for his gun when he grabbed her around the neck. Camden knew with one movement her neck would be broken, but he punched her in the gut instead. She fell.
"My men want a piece of you. I'll bring them in."
"Jesus, Lacey, what were you thinking?” Camden whirled around to face Lacey when Web had gone. She was doubled over, both knees on the hard concrete floor, trying to catch her breath. Her whole body was heaving and he realized she was crying, silently.
"Am I going to prison?” she asked, her voice feeble. “I don't think I could handle prison."
"Darling, I don't think you have to worry about prison."
This time she let out a loud wail. “Can't you get us out of here?"
"What do you think I am? Superman? I can't break through concrete or see through steel doors."
"It's all my fault."
He'd like to agree with her, but at this point he wasn't sure anymore and it wasn't worth casting blame.
"The most we can hope for is the agents will storm through before Web goes any further and they'll find us here."
"It doesn't matter,” Lacey said, sitting upright, her back flat against the wall but with her head down. “My life is over whether we get out of here or not."
"I guess that means mine means nothing to you."
Lacey finally glanced up, raccoon eyes red, puffy and smeared with makeup. “I didn't mean it like that."
Whatever. Camden knew Lacey would do anything to save her ass and no one else's. She'd risk Camden's life to get out of here alive. Maybe he should learn something from her.
"He shot Carol in cold blood right in front of my eyes,” Lacey cried.
"Maybe he'll shoot me right in front of your eyes, too. Ample punishment."
"Don't say that!"
"How did he know she was an agent?” Camden asked. “Oh wait, you told him. Tell me, did you tell him before or after you sucked his dick?"
Lacey was weeping now. Two brawny men came inside to keep them company. They stood, doing nothing, saying nothing. They had no weapons in sight, probably because they were told to keep all weapons out of Camden's way.
As if the lack of weapons would stop Camden. After all, he'd been with Special Forces, was trained to take down men twice his size.
Camden didn't know why they were being kept alive, but didn't expect Web's good humor to last long. He only prayed it'd last long enough.



Chapter Twenty-Five
When Rayma came out of her room, no agents guarded her door. “Thanks a lot,” she muttered, wondering where Dex and his promised agents were.
She prayed Camden was safe. She prayed James was safe even while being angry with him for leaving and not telling her his plans. He was a civilian. What right did they have to employ him and use him in a bust anyway?
An agent was walking up the stairs as she started down. “I just have to run to the kitchen a moment,” she said, making excuses as to why she wasn't holed up in her room. How was that any safer? She wanted to be involved, right in the middle of things.
She didn't have a chance to make it down. Suddenly, she was hit hard from behind, and stumbled down the stairs. She heard, more than felt her head hit the floor, and then she blacked out.
* * * *
Camden and Lacey, hands bound tightly in front of their bodies, followed one of Web's thugs down a hallway. Camden tasted blood, sweat, and his own fear.
He didn't try anything stupid. First, he'd follow the guy to see where they took him, then he'd go from there.
Kill or be killed. That's how it was. Only, he had nothing to kill with, only his legs were free.
The guy opened a door. Camden thought he was going to be sick right then. The room was filled with the smell of smoke—a blend of cigarettes, cigars and marijuana. Combined with high-end scotch and the testosterone of the men in the room, it was a repulsive smell. It began its slow creep to permeate the pores of Camden's skin, his hair, and the walls.
Then he saw Rayma.
She was tied in a chair, her face sporting a blue and purple welt.
This time, his heart really did stop.
"Who wants to die first?” Web asked. He pointed his gun at Rayma. “You first."
In that instant, Camden knew if he didn't do something, the woman he loved was going to die in front of him. A cold, cruel and painful death. He'd never felt so helpless in his life, not even when his best friend died.
He hadn't done anything to help then. This time he would probably die trying, but at least he'd try.
He shot his foot up and kicked the gun from Web's hand. Throwing himself against Web, Camden knocked him to the ground. He fell with him and struggled to get to the gun before Web did. Lacey dove for it and a gunshot rang out. Blood spattered from her arm and she yelped.
Web shot up, grabbed his extra gun, and cocked it at Rayma's head. “That was stupid,” he said. “Now she's going to die."
"No!” The sound of the gun was deafening. Camden wished he'd been shot himself, but instead, the pain was from the image of Rayma's face, right before the blast. He closed his eyes, expecting to feel the blow, hoping to feel the blow because life wasn't worth living anymore.
"Camden.” He opened his eyes to see Web slumped against Rayma, blood pooling to the ground. Lacey lay on the floor, whimpering, and Rayma pushed Web off.
Her hands were free. She was alive.
Agents erupted like thunder as they tore through the door. Camden pushed Rayma out of the way as gunfire exploded. They hid behind the couch and Rayma freed his hands.
Bodies fell. All Camden could do was keep Rayma safe. He didn't have a gun, he didn't have the means to fight. So he watched and waited.
The gunfire ended. Agents swarmed in. Lacey lay in a heap on the floor.
"Lacey needs help,” Rayma said. “She saved my life."
"What?” Camden asked, still not sure if this was a nightmare or a dream come true. Rayma was alive.
"Before he could shoot me, Lacey shot Web.’”
* * * *
"Lacey's going to live."
Moore sat beside Rayma in the hospital waiting room and patted her knee. Was her stress that obvious? She set her purse down. The strap had become something to wring around her hands while she waited. James was on her other side, where he'd sat with her, silently, for the past two hours.
"She's going to have a lot to answer to. Her license will most definitely be taken away. She could be looking at a prison term."
No matter, she deserved it, though Rayma was relieved to hear she'd live. She'd gone back to the safe house last night in a vapid haze, drinking three glasses of wine while she lounged in the bathtub, trying not to think about what just happened. She slept, though not well, hoping Camden would come to her bed.
He never did. This morning, she came to the hospital and waited for news of Lacey. At least that gave her something to do, more to fret over. She talked to Caitlyn, gave her a rundown of what was going on, told her she'd see her in the next few days. She had every intention of meeting up with her friend, taking a vacation from her crazy life, getting the money Jack left her and start to figure out what the hell she'd do next.
James had been by her side the whole time, but he had a life and a business to get back to and Rayma didn't need a babysitter.
"A lot of men were hurt,” Moore continued. “A couple of Darrell's were killed, and most of them are talking now that they're behind bars. We've gone over and over the accoutrements and now we're tying up loose ends. It's almost over on our part, it is on yours. You can go home."
Rayma didn't know how to feel about that. Why hadn't anyone mentioned Camden? Was that how it was to be? Crazy wonderful sex, a near-death experience, and no goodbye?
Or was he dead? Had he been shot in that hoopla of war and no one told her? “Where's Camden?"
"He has a lot of things to do, a lot of paperwork, reports, answers to give. He has a few weeks of hell left before he either takes on another case or goes on vacation."
Will I hear from him again? She wanted to ask, but didn't. She knew how it'd be. There was no sense fooling herself.
As long as he was safe.
* * * *
The past two years of his life almost seemed wasted since Darrell Weberley was dead. And Camden hadn't even had the pleasure of killing him. There would be no trial, no proving the last two years of this lie was worth a damn. Hell, he could have killed Web two years ago and saved himself a lot of trouble. A lot of agents, including Lacey, would still be alive, and he never would have fallen in love.
Camden felt as if he'd failed. Moore already accused him several times of not taking this job seriously enough. Now that the suspect was dead, there was no taking him to court, proving his guilt.
On the bright side, Web was dead, wouldn't be punished thoroughly in prison, but neither would he have the chance to extend his power in prison. And they'd arrested several other people who dealt with Web, including two crooked cops.
Then there was Rayma. She could go back to her life, without him, and find herself a good man while he began his next assignment, wherever that might lead. James was offered a job with the DEA and the FBI, but he refused them both, claiming he made plenty of money to see him through and he was happy, he had a life outside of work, and he was semi-retired and could pick and choose his cases.
Maybe Camden should go to work for James.
It was a thought he tried to push away, but it infiltrated his brain waves where he dwelled on it more than he should. James had a small one-on-one business and probably couldn't afford much, but if he and Camden put their experiences together and worked as a team, they could both make it and probably grow the company by leaps and bounds.
But James was semi-retired and didn't want to grow. He just wanted to survive. And Rayma wanted to run and hide; she didn't want to settle down, especially with a DEA agent.
But would she settle down with a private investigator? And why not own their company to boot, work together?
How did he feel since the danger had passed?
How did he feel now that the threat of death was no longer hanging over his head? Was he still in love with Rayma? Or was that just an illusion fabricated because of the stress, the worry that he was about to meet his maker?
No, none of that bullshit. It wasn't the first time he'd stared death in the eyes and lived to tell about it. He was head over heels. And he wasn't going to continue fighting it.
He was in love. Dammit, he was in love with Rayma and there was no denying it now. He knew what it felt to almost lose her, to almost lose his own life, and he knew she was the woman he could spend the rest of his life with and be happy. No other woman would compare, no other woman would make him happy, and no other woman could give him what she could.
Though his life plan was to wait a few more years before thinking about marriage, he knew now just how little two years really meant in the grand scope of things. When the right woman came along, it was stupid to let her go. The thought lingered until it became a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Everything reminded him of Rayma. The sand, the beach, the wind. Every time he looked around the safe house, he was reminded of her. He knew he had to do something before he lost her.
And soon.
Moore dragged in, still wearing his clothes from last night. “Lacey's going to make it."
"What?” Camden asked.
"She's going to be okay."
"Damn, I thought she was dead.” He was glad to hear a former agent wasn't dead, even though he could have died because of her.
"Sorry, haven't had a chance to tell you before.” Moore took a cigarette from his pocket and chewed. This time, Camden didn't blame him. He could use one himself. “I saw Rayma there."
Just hearing her name weakened him. “Where?"
"The hospital. She and James were there. She's going to be leaving soon."
Camden nodded. Was that his cue to do something?
"I owe you an apology,” Moore continued.
"No you don't."
"No, I've been hard on you. I've accused you of things you shouldn't have to take. You're a damn fine agent."
"Web is dead. If I were a fine agent, he'd be facing prison time."
"The world's a better place without him,” Moore said.
Camden couldn't disagree. “I'm thinking of retirement."
"What?” Moore asked. “You can't do that. You still have a lot to offer us."
Yeah, the more he thought about it, retirement sounded better and better. It didn't mean he'd never work again, he'd just make a living being a normal person and not living a persona.
"No, retirement sounds good."



Chapter Twenty-Six
Rayma glanced through a closet she hadn't seen in weeks—or had it been months? She didn't know anymore. Beacon rubbed against her ankles and, when not gaining the result he sought, jumped on a shelf in the closet and stuck his nose in her face.
She scratched behind his ears. “If you're not here to help me find a dress, then you might as well leave.” Rayma picked him up and set him on the bed where he crawled into her suitcase and made himself at home. “And don't worry, I have no intention of leaving you behind."
She was looking for a cocktail dress, simple but exquisite, to wear to a function she would attend with Wesley and Caitlyn. That, along with a week or two's worth of clothing, and the rest she'd pack for storage for James to take to his house. She and Beacon were going to stay in Wesley's mountain home while Wesley and Caitlyn traveled around the world to do their thing. She was moving out of her apartment and taking a sabbatical. She couldn't wait.
The money was in her account now, minus the half the government took, but it was more than she'd expected and enough to get her by without work for awhile. She was going to hide away in the mountains, finish her book, hope to hell Caitlyn's agent would take her on, and then she was going to do some serious soul searching.
The mountains sounded like a good place to start. She could be close to her friend, far away from any beach, memories of Camden and almost getting shot, and she could start her new career. Writing.
Suspense. No romance involved. Okay, maybe a little romance but one that never worked out. The relationship would always fail. No happily ever after. Maybe she could be the next J.D. Robb. Maybe she could meet and marry Harlan Coben.
Yeah right. And pigs really do fly. She'd seen it.
She picked Beacon up and rubbed under his neck, behind his ear, next to his tail, and murmured, “You're going to enjoy the snow."
The phone rang. Rayma set Beacon on the floor and snatched up her phone. Only a select few knew her cell number but the caller id showed ‘unknown'.
Could it be Camden? And if it was would she have the nerve to hang up on him?
Why would it be Camden? She hadn't heard from him but she knew he was alive. She talked to Moore, she called the office, she searched the obituaries even. Call her morbid, but she wasn't above being surprised if someone lied to her about it.
"Hey, sweetie."
"Nicole! How are you?"
"I'm fine, how are you? God, I can't believe what happened."
The news had aired bits and pieces, and apparently, Nicole figured out the rest. Or at least part of it.
"I heard Tony gave you your job back,” Nicole continued.
"I turned it down."
"What? Why?"
"I told him you were the woman for the job. It isn't for me. I'm moving."
"Damn, Rayma. I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you, too."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to see Caitlyn in North Carolina for awhile. Soak up the mountain air."
"Tired of salt air, huh?” Nicole laughed. “Well, I finally introduced my husband to Bob."
Rayma laughed. “Oh yeah? What'd he think?"
"I think we're all going to get along very well."
Rayma laughed again. Forget diamonds, battery-operated-boyfriends were a woman's best friend.
"Listen,” Nicole said, “you keep in touch. Call me sometime."
"I will."
"And take care of yourself wherever you're going."
"Don't worry. Bob will be with me."
She ended the call with a smile. She'd definitely have to remember to pack Bob in her suitcase.
She heard a knock, then a ‘hello’ too familiar for her wellbeing. But it couldn't be who she thought.
It wouldn't be Camden. She hadn't seen him in almost three weeks.
She opened the door. If it hadn't been for the knob she held on to, her legs would have given out. Ohmigod it was Camden, and the effect he had on her was worse than ever.
She didn't feel irritated, but she did feel like throwing a few things. She let out a small smile. Nothing meant to be sexy. Nothing meant to shout ‘I want you!'
"Camden, how nice to see you.” Kill them with kindness. He hadn't bothered to call or attempt to see her after the hell they'd gone through that night, three weeks ago. He hadn't bothered to come see for himself if she was okay. Sure, he knew she was okay, but he hadn't bothered to see for himself.
And what did that tell her?
She let tears burn in her throat just briefly, but bit them down. She was done crying.
She stepped aside to let him in, closed the door behind him and walked back into her bedroom, planting each foot into the floor as her heart pounded in her ears.
Camden followed her and stopped in her doorway, leaning against it. She began folding clothes into her suitcase, anything to keep busy.
She'd looked over her calendar this morning and realized it had been over three months since she first met Camden. She'd passed the three month mark, but it didn't matter anymore because she hadn't seen him in three weeks. Her three month plan was for a relationship. They never really had a true relationship.
"Aren't you supposed to be out on another mission?” Rayma asked.
"I'm taking a break,” he said. He cleared his throat, the only indication he might be a tad uncomfortable.
She'd never known Camden to be uncomfortable.
"I'm thinking about going to work with James."
She stopped folding. “James?” He nodded. “Why?"
"It's time to do something different with my life. I'm wasting a lot of my life going undercover to be someone I'm not."
"You're busting a lot of drug-dealers. That's not a waste."
He shrugged. “I went to visit a niece and nephew I hadn't seen since they were babies. Didn't realize my niece would start school this year. I don't want to miss out on my family anymore. I don't want to miss out on you anymore."
What'd he just say? Her senses were a little muddled. She wasn't sure what he was saying or if he was even meaning what he was saying.
"I found the woman of my dreams,” he continued. “The woman who finally makes me want to settle down."
Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Was he serious? And how did she feel about that?
Did he expect to just come in here and pick up where they left off? Was she asinine enough to let him?
The old Rayma would block her feelings off, try to push him away for fear of getting hurt. The old Rayma had too much pride to give him another chance. She'd tell him to leave, that things would never work out, then she'd go on to live her life, alone and full of emptiness. The old Rayma would convince herself it wasn't worth it, she could trust no one, he'd change his mind eventually. She'd convince herself she was happy just like things were, she was only in love with the idea of being in love.
This Rayma realized sometimes you have to get hurt to experience the pleasures of life. Sometimes you have to take a chance on someone you care a lot about. And, no matter how much she didn't want to, she did care a lot about him.
"It's because of my inheritance, isn't it?” she teased, trying to keep her movements natural as she stuffed a pair of jeans into her bag beside where Beacon was perched. She was shaking, she knew she was shaking, but she hoped he couldn't tell. With his attention to details, she doubted she'd have much luck hiding anything from him.
"You have an inheritance?” he asked, smiling.
"Not enough to support anyone on.” He wasn't going to work undercover anymore?
"I'm in love with you Rayma. Or at least I'm still falling."
Okay, now she had to sit on the bed. She moved the luggage aside. Beacon remained seated inside and just watched them, and Camden came over to sit beside her.
Shit, now he'd hear how loud her heart was beating. Now he'd see how badly she was shaking.
"I have plans,” she said.
"Am I in them?"
"They don't include working with James."
Camden shrugged. “Didn't want to do that anyway."
"I'm going to stay at Caitlyn's house in the mountains for awhile. Take a sabbatical from life in general. Maybe even move down there."
"Alone in the mountains?” he asked, his eyebrow raising a notch. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She was thinking the same thing.
He could come with her. A week or two of intense lovemaking, living alone in a mountain house that took twenty minutes just to get to town, would definitely show her whether or not a long-term relationship with him would work.
"You haven't known me long enough to love me,” she said.
"I know I've never felt this intense about anyone in my life. I know I've never wanted to sleep with a woman more than twice and wake up beside her in the morning. I know I never wanted to give up my career, even my self, for a woman."
"I'm not asking you to do that."
"I want to do it. I once heard being in love meant you couldn't live without that person and if you had to, you'd be miserable. I don't want to spend my life without you."
"It took you three weeks to decide this?"
"I wanted to know how I felt for sure. I didn't feel like you deserved anymore bullshit."
"You'll regret giving up your career later. You'll resent me."
Camden laughed, more like a scoff, and took her hands in his. He held her gaze while she held her breath.
"I can honestly say I've never been in love before,” Camden said. “Never have wanted to. If you don't love me right now, I understand. Just give me a chance, I'll do whatever I have to, to make sure you fall."



Epilogue
She was falling alright.
Camden had fallen too, practically over his own two feet, when he got to have dinner with the infamous Wesley Joel Webb. If that wasn't enough, they stayed in Wesley's house for the past few weeks while Rayma searched for her own. Camden was in awe of the rooms lined with trophies and plaques, his shop of fix-up cars—they already planned on working on them together—and Wesley's all-around good nature. Wesley, in turn, was in awe of Camden's good nature. After all, he had been an undercover DEA agent.
Yes, she was falling, each and every time he stuck his tongue in her ear, grabbed her hand for a leisurely walk along the mountains, or walked into a home she was looking into buying and giving his take on it. She respected his opinion, after all, he could be living with her in the near future.
She was afraid when the weeks turned to months, he'd get bored. He'd want his old life back. Undercover work, being someone else. It offered a challenge, an excitement. Where was the challenge now?
"The challenge is figuring out how to make you happy in a different way, every day for the rest of my life,” he'd say.
Rayma knew when she walked into the house of her dreams. It was perched on a mountainside, a stream running in a canyon below with tall pines looming around. A pool was built into the mountain slope and it only took five minutes to get into town.
For the first time in her life, she bought a house.
"I have an idea,” Camden said on the night she moved in. He'd cooked an elaborate meal complete with wine and candles, and served it on the deck overlooking the mountains. “I'm thinking of opening my own restaurant around here."
"Really?"
"Yeah. And if we really wanted to get into it, we could invest in some log cabins, make a small resort with cottages and a restaurant."
"We?” she asked, smiling.
He moved in closer and grabbed her hands. “I don't ever want to do anything without you again,” he said.
"What will you do when you get bored?"
"With you? Hah. As if."
"I was thinking about opening my own private investigation business,” Rayma said.
"There is that. But I don't care if I never have to investigate anything as long as I live. Except the inside of you."
She laughed. He leaned into her, resting his forehead on hers. He kissed her, long and languidly.
"I never want to see sand or ocean again,” Rayma said when they pulled apart.
"Oh? And here I was thinking we could spend our honeymoon in Barbados."
"Honeymoon?"
That's when he chose to present her with a small, black box that could only mean one thing. Eyes wide, she took it. “Are you looking for an investment partner?” she teased.
"Yes. You, to invest the rest of your life with me."
He slipped the ring on her finger. She said yes, right before she pulled his mouth to hers.
Life was going to be very interesting indeed and starting now, Rayma was going to allow herself to fall.



About the author...
Emma's life has always been grounded in books of some kind. Her mother was an avid reader and read Brer Rabbit to her and her sister so often that her sister, two years older but only 4 at the time, memorized it and recited it back to her. She and her family and friends took turns reading and exchanging whatever happened to come their way.
She's always wanted to write, but life got in the way and dreams became just another hassle to deal with. She gave it up for awhile until she realized dreams may be hard to develop but they're impossible to ignore. She would always have this “something missing” if she didn't follow her dream. To this day, Emma follows her dream of writing while working as a legal assistant full time and making time for life's realities and surprises. Emma lives in Texas with her husband.
Visit Emma's site at www.emmasanders.com
Contact Emma at [e-mail]




Visit www.thewildrosepress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.