by Avery Flynn
He covered the small of Drea’s back with his palm and guided her toward her bedroom so she could pack a bag. “We’ve gotta get out of here. Fast. Take only what you need for a weekend.”
“Where are we going?” There was no mistaking the nervous tremor in her voice.
“Somewhere else. Somewhere safe. At least until we figure out what the hell is going on and what it has to do with you.” He smiled. “You didn’t think we were going to follow orders from a psychopath and run scared, did you?” He paused beside that God-awful torture device posing as an ugly green couch, then turned and looked down into her face, noting the fear lurking behind the bravado. The bastards had done that to her too often lately. They’d pay. He stroked his thumb across her full bottom lip, so ripe for kissing. “Nobody fucks with my girl.”
Life snapped back into her mahogany-colored eyes. “I’m not your girl.”
“But you will be.” He winked and gave her his best cocky grin. “Now grab whatever you need. We’ve gotta go.”
Chapter Six
“Happiness is the best makeup.” - Drew Barrymore
Dark, small, and mildewy, The Salty Dog sat across the harbor in working class Waterburg and wasn’t a place where everyone knew your name. It was a bar for people who didn’t want anyone to know them. Patrons kept their eyes on their glasses of cheap beer and hard liquor. Inquiring chit chat wasn’t just frowned upon, it could get you a trip to the ER and a spot at the front of the triage line.
Cam loved the place. It was the perfect location to hideout for a few hours and try something totally new—putting a plan together. Together they needed to figure out how to find the real killer who carried out the hit, clear Dea’s name, and shove Diamond Tommy back into the shadows.
He pushed open the tinted doors and took stock of the crowd. A couple of lonely souls sat on stools on each end of the bar. A game at the single pool table had drawn the attention of a handful of others. He led Drea toward a booth in the back against the wall where they could watch the door without worry of anyone sneaking up from behind.
Her eyes were huge as she slid across the ripped brown vinyl seat. “Are we going to get killed?”
Cam scoped out the dingy room. No doubt there was at least one shotgun behind the bar and a few armed patrons, but no one struck him as particularly dangerous. “Not likely.”
She kept her palm on the table and covertly pointed to a guy in a biker jacket with a large skull smoking a blunt. “But possible?”
He shrugged. “It is Friday night.”
“I hate you right now.” She laughed, low and easy.
It reminded him of the BBQ when he’d followed the impulse to kiss her. The memory relaxed him, right before he remembered how Alex had swooped in to remind Cam that losers like him didn’t end up with girls like Drea—and the asshole was probably right. He couldn’t help but chase her, but damn if part of him hoped she’d stay just out of reach but still in his bed. He needed that emotional distance between them and he worried that for once he couldn’t provide it. That was a new one for him. Really, another new one. Par for the course with Drea. She wasn’t like all of the other girls who called him after one night and hounded him for a relationship.
He and Drea were in this for the same thing: hot, unbridled sex. Or at least they had been. Until he’d fucked up at the BBQ.
That had turned out to be a lucky break. There was more at stake now than just getting Drea into his bed again. If he couldn’t keep his head straight, she could end up dead. He needed to be the stone cold mercenary he’d been in the jungles. He’d just concentrate on making sure she got out of this alive. Then he’d back off. It was the right move to make. As much as it twisted his nuts to admit it, the puke stain, Alex, was right. Drea deserved better.
The bartender across the room tossed a dirty towel across his shoulder and stared hard at Cam. There wasn’t much you could do to get kicked out of The Salty Dog that didn’t involve the cops, but not ordering was one of them.
He glanced down at Drea. “What do you want to drink?”
She twisted her lips up and sent a searching look toward the bar. “What kind of wine do they have?”
“The boxed kind.” He took a step toward the bar. “I’ll get you a beer, and then we can figure this out.”
“Make it a Jack and diet Coke.”
“You got it.”
He kept his body angled so he could watch Drea, the door, and the bar’s patrons at the same time. He placed the order before checking his phone for messages. The text from Reggie contained only one word: Call. His gut skittered sideways, but he dialed Reggie’s personal cell instead of his official department cell without his fingers stumbling.
Reggie answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”
He loved Reggie like a brother, but he wasn’t about to give him that info. If Reggie let it slip to the wrong person on the force that Drea was still local, Diamond Tommy would find out. The consequences would be deadly. Sometimes the dirtiest cops looked the cleanest and he wasn’t going to put the burden on Reggie to decide who played for the wrong team. “Why do you need to know?”
“Expedited tox screen came through.”
“What the hell? Those usually take weeks, if not longer.” Twenty-four hours was unheard of. The pressure to put this case to bed must be gold bullion heavy.
“You know the story, money talks—and now I need to talk to Drea. She’s not responding to her phone or answering her front door.”
Cam glanced over to where Drea sat wearing hot pink skinny jeans and a black and white polka dotted tank—an outfit that made it a miracle she couldn’t be spotted from space. “She’s with me.”
“Put her on.”
“Can’t do that.” Wouldn’t do that came closer to the truth.
“That’s impeding an investigation,” Reggie sounded more tired than pissed. No doubt the detective was working off of a few hours of sleep, too much caffeine, and the stress of the brass riding his ass.
“Yep.” Wasn’t the first time he’d helped someone avoid the law.
Reggie cursed under his breath. “You’re going to push it too far one of these days.”
“Probably.”
The bartender put a glass of amber-colored beer and a Jack and Coke down in front of Cam. Drea’s drink had a lemon yellow umbrella in it. Looked like the bartender either had a sense of humor or a strange way of flirting.
“Bring her down to headquarters tomorrow,” Reggie said.
Cam shook his head. “Not unless you tell me what this is about.”
“I shouldn’t be telling you a damn thing. The only reason I’m even talking to you is because we’ve known each other forever. You need to realize what kind of dangerous black widow type you’re messing with.”
He tried to imagine Drea as a black widow, indiscriminately killing her lovers and anyone else who got in her way. The absurdity of it made his beer go down the wrong pipe. After he coughed a lung up, he said, “And?”
“Natasha Orton died after absorbing Tetrodotoxin through her skin. We found trace amounts in the lipstick your girl used when applying the vic’s makeup.”
“What the hell is tetro-whatever?” At least he didn’t have to spell it.
“Tetrodotoxin, brainiac. You can order it online. It’s extracted from pufferfish livers and is virtually undetectable by the victim until it’s too late—then it’s lethal.” Reggie recited the details like he was reading off a list of shit-you-don’t-want-to-fuck-with. “You need to bring her in.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Have you gone total moron?” Reggie practically groaned the question.
Time for a little quid pro quo. “If you get inside her apartment, you’ll find what’s left of a coffee mug on the floor and coffee spilled everywhere, compliments of Diamond Tommy Houston.”
“He came by for a cup?” Reggie asked.
Wouldn’t that have been cozy? Nothing like death threats delivered via piping hot coffee. If
Diamond Tommy ever got the idea, he’d love it.
“Sniper on a nearby rooftop.” Cam took another swig of beer. “He told her she had two options: get the hell out of Dodge or die. If she comes in, Tommy will know she hasn’t split town and come after her with lethal force.”
“I can keep her safe,” Reggie said.
“For how long? We both know Tommy has cops on his payroll. And he wants her—bad. I can’t bring her in until we figure out why. It’s the only way to make sure she stays safe.”
“What’s Diamond Tommy’s issue with Drea Sanford?”
Wasn’t that the key question? “If I knew, I’d tell you.”
Reggie muttered something that sounded a lot like fuck me. “Are you saying he’s the one behind the murder?”
“I doubt it. He’s not the kind of guy who’d hesitate to take credit. But I don’t doubt he’s connected to it.”
“The case just keeps getting worse,” Reggie said.
“Pretty much.”
“You run, it’ll just make her look more guilty. We’ll have no choice but to come after her.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. But Tommy was pretty clear. That was exactly what he wanted and I’m going to lull him into thinking that’s exactly what he got. We get out, or he takes her out.”
“So bring her in, we’ll keep her safe until we figure it all out. You can’t always do everything by yourself you know.”
There was only one person Cam trusted with that task, and that was himself. “Are you nuts? How many times has the force tried and failed to nail Diamond Tommy? He’s got spies everywhere and plenty of paid muscle that carries the same badge you do.”
The words came out harsher than Cam had intended. Of course Reggie knew there were dirty cops in his department. Hell, it was one of the reasons he refused to leave the force. The public needed at least one cop they could trust.
Reggie said, “You think you’ll do better after we slap an aiding and abetting charge on you?”
The threat rolled off Cam like water off a duck’s back. “I’ll take my chances.”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
“So I’ve been told.” But he’d learned a long time ago to follow his gut, even when everyone and their mother urged him to go the other way.
Reggie let loose a long, gusty sigh. “I’ll stall for as long as I can, but the charges are coming. When they do, you have to make sure she comes in. Don’t screw up your life for just another piece of ass.”
Heat blasted up from the soles of his feet, turning any good will to ash. Nobody talked about Drea like that. “She’s not.”
“What?”
“Another piece of ass.” Maybe she had been at one point. A challenge. A hot girl to add to his list. A soft escape. Someone to sink himself into until he couldn’t think about or feel anything but her. But that had changed over the past year since he’d met her at the hospital where Sylvie was recovering from an attack by her nut job stalker. Knowing Drea, the person and not just her body, had changed that. “She’s more.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Reggie said, then let loose a wry laugh. “I can give you twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight. After that, I can’t make any promises. This case is going to give me a stroke.”
Equilibrium restored, Cam relaxed. “Don’t die until we’re in the clear.”
“I’ll hang on just to see how you pull magic out of your ass.”
“Do that.” He hung up and tossed a twenty on the bar, then grabbed the drinks and headed back to the booth where Drea waited, unaware that the ticking clock had just upgraded to sonic speed mode.
Chapter Seven
“On a bad day, there is always lipstick.” - Style Has No Size
This was the skeaviest bar Drea had ever been in. Cam needed to get off his damn phone so they could figure out how in the hell to fix this mess and get out of this place before Mr. Stoner Biker Dude took a real dislike to them.
Plus she really needed a stiff drink right about now and they were sitting on the bar in front of him. The Salty Dog may be a dive bar, but it didn’t look like the kind of place that watered down its drinks—thank God for small favors.
Finally, Cam pocketed his phone, grabbed the drinks, and crossed the bar to their booth. He slid in on the same side where she sat, effectively blocking both her escape and any chance of someone getting to her without going through him first.
A good two inches of air filled the space between her body and his, but it didn’t seem to matter. The heat from his body brushed against her skin, as tangible as a real touch. She hadn’t even taken her first sip of her Jack and Coke, but it didn’t matter. Whenever she was around him, she felt a little buzzed, no alcohol necessary. At least if she’d been drunk she could blame the booze for the direction of her thoughts.
He settled back into the booth, from all appearances totally clueless about the electricity jolting between them.
Determined to drown the attraction, she shot back a gulp of her drink. It burned down her throat and set her stomach whirling. She hadn’t been wrong. This bar was definitely not in the business of watering down its drinks. She blinked away the tears the drink caused and spied Cam’s phone on the table—now that brought her back to reality.
“Was that a good phone call or a bad phone call?” she asked, her voice more strained than normal.
One side of Cam’s mouth curled at the corner. “A little of both.”
“Rip off the bandage. Bad first.” Her muscles tensed as if to prepare herself for a physical blow.
He sighed and took a sip of his beer, conspicuously keeping his gaze pointed away from her. “They did a warp speed testing for cause of death. Turns out Natasha Orton was poisoned using the lipstick you applied.”
That bit of bad news extinguished any small sliver of hope that it had been a freak accident. The Jack and Coke sloshed around in her empty stomach, obviously working on a scorched earth policy.
He took a long drink from his beer, setting the glass down with a clink, and then continued. “It’s some kind of animal-based toxin you can order off the internet.”
He had to be calculating the odds. Hell, she would be.
A nervous twitch started in her thumb, jiggling the digit at triple speed. Caught between hopeless and totally pissed off, the negative energy pulsing through her had to escape somehow. But that didn’t mean she had to show it. Growing up different among the blue bloods of the Eastern Seaboard had taught her how to keep things buried way below the surface.
She grasped the pointed yellow umbrella in her drink tighter than needed and clinked the ice against the glass. “So are you going to ask me?”
“Ask you what?”
Okay, if he was going to play Captain Oblivious, then she’d put it right out there to shine in the sun. “If I’ve been online shopping for the latest poisons.”
He snorted. “No.”
“Don’t you want to know?” Not knowing would be a smart move for him, she couldn’t deny it. If he didn’t ask, he wouldn’t have to hide her secret—if she’d done it.
“I already know.” Cam shrugged his wide shoulders. “You’re not the killing type.”
After her father had been arrested, the people who’d she’d known since pre-K had abandoned her in droves, figuring she was forever tainted. Her own mother, figuring their family was all cursed, had jumped off a bridge and left her only child alone.
Yet, here was Cam—a man she’d blown off for the past year as little more than a gigaho—quietly accepting her innocence without a fuss. It made the floor fall out from beneath her.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“No biggie.” He traced a line of condensation sliding down his beer glass. “Of course, now the cops want to talk to you even more than they did before. The only way out of this is to figure out who killed Natasha, what Diamond Tommy has to do with the murder, and how we can prove it.” Cam scrunched up his face and rubbed the back of his head as if he could push the answers out of his st
ubborn brain. “He wants you out of the picture, that’s for sure, but what motive would he have to be involved with killing a rich trophy wife?”
“Do psychopaths need a reason?” she asked, only half joking.
“Yeah, they do. And if we can figure out the why, we can figure out the who and clear your name. But to do that we need to stay under the radar.” He jerked his chin toward her purse on the table. “Let me have your phone.”
Playing with her phone was like playing with her emotions. She didn’t give access to either willingly. “Why?”
He narrowed his clear blue eyes at her.
Rolling the dice on this all-business side of him, she dug through her mint green Dooney & Burke nylon drawstring bag and pulled out her phone.
He took it from her hand and dropped it into his half full beer. A surprised squeal escaped from her slack jawed mouth.
Her life was on that phone.
“You need to get off the grid,” he said. “Diamond Tommy has spies everywhere. If he finds out you’re making calls or gets a GPS location on you from anywhere but in the middle of nowhere, we’ll lose what little edge we have.”
The evolved part of her brain saw his logic, but it was hard to heed it when the rest of her was screaming to snatch her phone out of the beer and put the phone into a bag of rice until it dried out. She nearly had to sit on her hands, but she managed to calm her freak out.
“When this is over, you’re buying me a new phone,” she said.
“You got it, partner.” He dropped his own cell into the beer. “Until then, you’re stuck with me.”
She couldn’t lie to herself. The schadenfreude of seeing his phone sink down in the amber liquid helped. “Paranoid much?”
“It’s kept me alive in real and concrete jungles for almost thirty years. I’m going with it.” He delivered the declaration in a tone drained of any emotion.
He could have been commenting on the weather, but she knew an emotional cover up when she heard one. Maybe there was more to him than the kind of fast-talking charm that could make a woman forget the consequences of trusting someone she shouldn’t. And damn it, she was starting to trust him—at least when it came to staying alive. If they kept their heads in the game and their hands to themselves, maybe she would make it out of this mess after all.