by Debra Kayn
Weston
Debra Kayn
New York Boston
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
An Excerpt from Archer
Newsletters
Copyright Page
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Wheels, Luke, Jake, and Jimmy (my guys in the garage): you’re all hilarious. The way you act around cars, motorcycles, and grease is entertaining and a bit obsessive. Thanks for letting me invade your space. Totally badass, dudes.
Acknowledgments
There’s something special about opening up an editorial letter and reading, “I absolutely fell in love with Tony and completely envisioned him as one of my crushes, Charlie Hunnam.” From then on, I knew my editor would make Weston shine. Thank you, Latoya.
To my agent, Stephany Evans, who supports and guides me: thank you.
Chapter One
In an abandoned warehouse on Merchant Avenue, the warm stench of fear tickled Rocki’s nose. Her stomach rolled, and she clamped her teeth to keep from gagging. She’d witnessed enough questionable dealings in the last four months of working undercover, trying to get the goods on Darrell Archer, but nothing had prepared her to watch a senseless beating.
Despite her revulsion of how business in the underground took place, hope soared inside her. Finally, Darrell trusted her enough to let her hang around while he took care of business. This was exactly what she needed because so far, she had nothing concrete to bring Darrell down and put him in prison for life.
Darrell’s team, composed of four men, bigger and more evil than she could’ve ever imagined, dragged an unconscious man she only knew as Joe toward the exit. Joe, who hadn’t paid his debt, foolishly thought he could outrun the underground drug lord.
“Come, Camilla.” Darrell crooked his finger and walked past her toward the front of the building.
Going by her fake name, she followed him out of the building. She’d learned that jumping when he asked her to do something went easier on her and allowed her to stick beside him in her attempt to gather evidence. She wanted him locked in prison for a long, long, long time. The problem was the information she’d collected to date wasn’t enough to take him down, and she couldn’t escape and go back to her normal job of working cases until he went away for good.
In the backseat of Darrell’s black Lexus, she buckled her seat belt, crossed her legs, and stared straight ahead. As his personal assistant, there were certain things he required of her.
Companionship, she could do. A specific job, she might not mind, depending on whether or not blood was involved. Today proved she wasn’t up to witnessing a few hard punches to someone’s face. The seriousness of the situation made it hard to keep believing poor Joe only suffered from a broken nose. She had no idea what would happen to him out of her line of sight.
Sex she definitely wouldn’t do. Darrell had no reason to know that yet. He seemed to enjoy touching her hands and her arms, and giving her an occasional pat on the ass to get her moving out of the room when business was going down. She’d played it cool, and so far, he retreated when she became uncomfortable. Whether he understood her reluctance and disgust or he simply wasn’t interested was anyone’s guess.
Darrell, even at fifty-three years old, kept a steady stream of women coming and going in his life. Not all of them ran errands for him, unless you counted running to his bed whenever he snapped his fingers a chore. She suspected any woman who displeased him ended up on a ship out of the country and sold into the sex-slave business, but she hadn’t gathered any proof. She just had a bad feeling.
Most of the women she’d seen were more than happy to hang around him. The black hair with a sprinkle of silver—not gray—peppered his temples, and the controlling attitude was a total turn-on to some women. Not her, though.
She’d give up the job, go into hiding, and start over somewhere else before she allowed herself to go there with him. However, she wasn’t blind. There was something mysteriously charismatic about Darrell, and something equally dangerous. Those qualities made him unpredictable.
Darrell eyed her in the rearview mirror. “I have an assignment for you. In a few minutes, I’ll be dropping you off near the corner of Main and Elm Street. There will be a red convertible Porsche with keys under the mat.”
She blinked, keeping quiet. He’d tell her more or not, depending on how much he wanted her to know. The last time she interrupted, he’d locked her in the house for two days and forbid her to join him on business.
“The GPS is programmed. Follow the directions straight to your destination. A bar called Corner Pocket. When you’re there, you’ll take possession of the third pool table in the back. I want you to stay at the table all evening.” He turned onto a side road. “You’ll pay attention to the men, who will challenge you to a game. Drink, get loose, and I expect you to report to me tomorrow at noon.”
“Noon?” She clamped her lips together, shocked she’d lost her cool.
That meant she’d have to find lodgings and enough time to call her mom without worry of someone overhearing or her fear of using a bugged phone. She gazed out the window to appear aloft to the plans. Four months, and Darrell hadn’t trusted her away from his side. She slept in a spare bedroom, and when she wasn’t with him, he kept her locked in the house under surveillance.
“I imagine at least one of the men will spend the evening vying for your attention. You’ll be receptive to his advances as he’ll want to get to know you better, and you will do whatever it takes to go home with him. If he wants sex, you will give him your best performance. You’re to keep your ears open and bring back all information you learn, no matter how mundane you believe it is.” Darrell pulled to the curb and left the engine idling. “I don’t have to remind you not to mention your association with me or your true identity. You’re a stranger traveling through town. I’ll contact you tomorrow.”
“Of course,” she murmured, holding his gaze in the mirror.
“The car is across the road and down one block. Remember, you are disposable to me. Don’t disappoint me…”
She nodded and opened the door. She knew her job, and hell to the no, she didn’t want to end up like poor Joe back at the warehouse, who was probably resting in peace with the fish in the Pacific Ocean by now.
Darrell took off the moment the door shut. She stood on the sidewalk, getting her bearings. The area was familiar.
Bay City, Oregon, a half hour away from the police academy and the city of Cannon, where she worked on the police force and taught classes to those still in the academy while working her way up the ladder in the detective division. The youngest and only female on the squad, she expected the Archer case to take her to top detective when her supervisor, Detective Gino Marcelli, retired. Unless the special undercover job took longer and she failed in bringing in Darrell. Or Darrell killed her…God, she hoped not.
The streetlights flickered on, and she realized how long they’d dealt with business at the warehouse. They’d left Darrell’s house before lunch. She crossed the two-lane street, anxious to start playing her role for the night. A public place would have enough people milling around that she could lift someone’s phone and make a call home. She missed her mom terribly.
Her mother, the one constant person in her life, was the only parent she had after her dad left when Rocki was a baby. She gave credit to her mom fo
r teaching her how to rely on herself and never depend on anyone.
Except lately, Rocki wondered if she went overboard on never admitting she needed someone else. Past boyfriends complained she lacked the gene to allow anyone into her life when really she was used to doing everything herself. That control was hard to give up in her personal and professional life.
She pushed her thoughts aside and hurried to the Porsche, which sat unlocked, top down, and looking sweeter than any ride she’d ever driven. She trailed her finger along the sleek side of the car, stopping at the door handle. Sliding into the tan leather driver’s seat, she exhaled on a sigh. This sure beat her two-thousand-dollar used Honda Accord sitting idly in her garage.
Her chest tightened as she found the key, started the car, and put her seat belt on. She blinked away the pang of loneliness threatening to overcome her. For the first time since becoming Camilla Darrow, she wanted to leave the dirtiness behind and be herself.
Rocki Bangli.
Tonight, she’d go only by Rocki and enjoy answering to her own name. No one needed to know anything else. She couldn’t take the chance of someone recognizing the odd-sounding last name, and asking around about her.
Five minutes later, she strolled into Corner Pocket, a quaint bar on the edge of town, half sports bar and half hangout, displaying the cheesiest neon-lighted sign behind the bar with a sexily clad mannequin straddling the letter C. She grinned and relaxed. The place was tacky and homey enough. She loved the bar instantly.
Whether it was the adrenaline of having time to herself away from Darrell or the scent of greasy fries and cold beer that brought out the fact she hadn’t eaten since morning, she looked forward to tonight. She walked to the counter and slid onto a stool.
An older woman, hair teased out at least six inches on all sides, wearing a vibrant purple spandex yoga jacket lined with faux diamonds down the sleeve and making a wide swoop across the front, displaying a lot of cleavage, approached her. “I’m Charlene, hon. What can I get you?”
Unprepared for the night, she looked inside her purse and blew out her breath at seeing what Darrell had left her. Somehow, he’d loaded her with money, so she’d be able to eat and put a few dollars down on a game of pool if necessary. “A burger, everything but onions, fries, and a beer…lite.”
The booming laughter coming from a woman who was no bigger than five feet five inches surprised her. She glanced behind her own shoulder, looking around the bar. She wasn’t here to make friends, and the less she talked with the friendly woman, the better.
She found pool table three vacant, and turned back around. “Are there any rules on reserving one of the pool tables?”
“Nope.” Charlene stuck the pen she’d used for writing the order in her hair. “If you play the game, you’re responsible for the results.”
“Ah, gotcha,” she said. “I’ll grab a table in the back.”
“I’ll bring your order out when it’s up.” Charlene paused. “Are you here alone, hon?”
She nodded. “Yes, I’m just passing through on my way down the coastline to California.”
Charlene grinned, shaking her head in amusement. “I’ll bet ten dollars that you won’t be alone for long. You girls nowadays, I don’t know why you force yourselves to be so independent. A good man by your side is a life perk.”
She slid off the stool and watched Charlene walk away. Any other day, when she wasn’t working for a notorious drug lord, she would’ve loved to sit down and strike up a conversation with the flashy woman. She bet Charlene was a kick, just her type of friend.
Remembering what she came for, she pivoted and headed toward the rear of the room. The third pool table remained empty, and she wondered how Darrell had known she’d be able to claim the table. Knowing him, he’d paid to have the area cleared and waiting for her.
Granted it was a Thursday evening, and in her experience most bars only brought in the crowds on Friday and Saturday. She moved one of the stray balls and sent it rolling to the other side. If there were more people in the bar, it’d be easier to find an abandoned phone lying around.
With no idea who the men were who would show up, or if they’d approach her, she picked out a cue stick from the stand on the wall. She’d played pool exactly twice before.
One time at her friend Gigi’s house when she was a sophomore in high school, she learned a few things about the game of pool. She totally sucked, but had fun. Then she played it again at Cale Brown’s retirement party from the sheriff’s department. She sucked then too.
She rounded up all the balls and set them at the end of the table. She knew the basic rules. You hit the white ball into other balls, not letting it go in a hole. You called solids or stripes, and tried to beat your opponent by sinking all your balls in the corner and side pockets. On the player’s last turn, you hit the black ball, winning the game.
She knew enough about pool to bluff her way through a game or two. Her stomach flip-flopped. She ignored the fact that the men she’d spend time with tonight were somehow connected to Darrell. She hoped they were innocent hits and her safety wasn’t at risk. If they were business associates, she could be in more danger than if she was with Darrell back at the Crystal Palace.
A shrill scream penetrated the bar. She whirled, afraid a fight broke out. Away from Darrell, she’d have to rely on herself for protection. Anyone witnessing the precise movements of the way she fought would know she’d spent months training in physical combat.
Instead of danger, she watched a group of men stroll into the bar. Charlene hurried around the counter, heading straight toward them. Rocki leaned her hip against the table, struck by the jaw-dropping beautiful scene. The men were hot.
Three males, all different in looks but gorgeous just the same. The one leading the pack, dressed all in black with the coolest goatee trimmed close to the skin, yet dark and prominent, smiled. Her brows rose before she could stop herself. He knew the effect he had on women, she was sure of it.
The next guy to approach Charlene had warm brown hair, almost ginger in color, but not quite. He held his arms out wide and laughed heartily when Charlene smacked him on the chest and pushed him out of the way. She peered closer, wondering what had grabbed Charlene’s attention, and spotted a woman tucked against the side of one of the men. Of course, she couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she had to-die-for waves in her blonde hair that Rocki would give anything to have in her straight black hair.
Dressed in jeans, suede boots, and a purple T-shirt with the words Get Jacked on the front, the woman left the man’s side to allow Charlene to wrap her in a hug. The two women’s mutual delight in seeing one another spoke of a close relationship, and their reactions fascinated her. She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. She wouldn’t call herself jealous.
She didn’t know these people. Yet she envied what they appeared to have: a normalcy in their lives, a connection with others. Four long months of working undercover, without any contact with the real world, was apparently getting to her. She’d give anything to have five minutes on the phone with her mom to bolster her confidence. Even last week, she realized how much the guys at work helped her keep her head when working on a case, and that fact surprised her. She gazed away to check out the others.
Another man, more sexy than the others, with badass attitude, swaggered through the door and stopped behind the group. His expression warmed as he surveyed the people in front of him. He slapped the woman’s gorgeous man on the shoulder, spoke to him, and then headed across the room. Aware of her staring, Rocki turned around and fiddled with the racked balls on the table. The last thing she needed to do was become distracted by a handsome face.
But she couldn’t help it. The guy had it all.
Longish blond hair of multiple shades and tanned skin, as if he spent a lot of time outside. The size of his body gave him a toughness that belied his golden good looks. She couldn’t help noticing the tight fit of his leather jacket, black Metallica T-shirt stretched across
a broad chest, and jeans that—if she guessed right—had rubbed up against a few car engines in their lifetime. She’d always had a weakness for men who worked with their hands and weren’t afraid to get dirty.
She lifted the triangle thingy, eyed the balls, and deemed the set up perfect. She stepped away from the table to set the racker back on the hanger and bumped into the man who’d grabbed her attention. The blond one. The tough one. The one who appeared a lot scarier up close than she would’ve suspected. Moreover, the intense way he looked at her didn’t help set her at ease.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, backing away.
His eyes softened. “You set the balls wrong.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“You need to rack them so the solids and stripes are beside each other, and put them behind this line.” He slipped the triangle out of her hand. “Let me show you.”
“Uh…okay.” She gripped the pool stick with both hands and held on for dear life.
She had to get rid of him. At any moment she expected her targets to show up and challenge her to a game of pool. She glanced down at the man’s boots and held her breath. Men who Darrell dealt with didn’t look like caramel that’d melt in her mouth. Not this guy, who had too much sexy going on.
“Jumping the gun, bro,” a male voice spoke behind her.
She looked over her shoulder and stepped a few feet away.
The other three men who’d come in, and the woman with them, stood nearby taking an interest in table three. Her gaze returned to the blond guy. No way. No fricking way.
“Just setting the table for the lady. It looks like we’re out of luck tonight. She has dibs on the table.” The man winked at her. “Name’s Tony Weston. Yours?”
“Rocki Ba…just Rocki.” She shuffled closer, shocked to discover these were the men Darrell wanted her to investigate, and fearful she wasn’t up to the job. “You all can play, if you want. I don’t mind.”