Buried Beneath

by Debbie Baldwin

  Cam followed Nathan through the house and closed the office door behind him. Nathan booted up his laptop, donned a pair of reading glasses, and inserted the flash drive. Cam pulled a chair around, and the two men sat side by side as the video played.

  “There.” Cam pointed to the screen. On the upper deck, a topless blonde was sunning on a lounger, a floppy hat covering her face, a crew member standing at the ready.

  “That's Gemini March. Can you zoom in?”

  Nathan manipulated the trackpad, and Cam leaned closer. “She has an earbud in one ear. How much do you want to bet she's not listening to music?”

  “She's away from the crowd, listening to the meeting.” Nathan caught on.

  “Gemini March is The Conductor.”

  Both men sat, stunned.

  “She travels all over the world. She can be anywhere for a modeling shoot, a party, a humanitarian mission, a vacation. She has all her father's shipping and trade connections.” Cam turned to his boss. “She followed me to Ibiza. She either wanted to see who I was meeting or find out what I knew. If I hadn’t snuck out of that hotel room, I’d probably be dead.”

  Nathan stepped to the bar and poured them each a scotch.

  Cam took a fortifying sip and continued, “She didn’t bring me to Mallorca for a romantic getaway. She broke Raymond Greene in Crimea. She knew I was CIA, and she brought me so she could steal the journal and the flash drive without The Conductor ever getting involved.”

  Nathan interjected, “As an added bonus, she puts you in a position to bring down Atlas March. Gemini March wants him dead because she suspects he arranged her father's murder. The Conductor wants him dead for shipping heroin without paying the piper. She planted you in his drug operation better than any government agency ever could. Clever girl.”

  “Where is Gemini March?” Cam asked.

  Nathan tossed the glasses on his desk. “I imagine she's on a modeling shoot on a beach somewhere. While all of this adds up,” Nathan's gesture encompassed Cam and the laptop. “It's certainly not evidence of a crime. And I imagine she's well-staffed with attorneys to prevent anyone spreading baseless accusations.”

  “So, what? She just continues on? We do nothing?” Cam balled his fists.

  “We regroup. We reassess.” Nathan sat back in his chair and drummed the side of his thumb on the armrest. “Let me make a call. Sometimes these things work out in unexpected ways.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Outside Beaufort, South Carolina

  December 22

  C

  am sat in the passenger seat as Chat drove up the interstate to the Charleston Airport. They listened to the news story detailing the arrest of Senator Harlan Musgrave.

  Cam pointed to the radio. “Musgrave is claiming there's a cadre of corrupt Senators, judges, and cabinet members who have set him up. He's asserting that he was trying to infiltrate and expose the group, and these accusations are their way of shutting him down. His conspiracy theory is getting all kinds of traction on social media.”

  “Of course it is.” Chat shook his head.

  “I’d hate to be the U.S. Attorney prosecuting this clusterfuck.”

  “And we thought catching the bad guys was the hard part.” Chat shook his head.

  “Any word from Finn?” Cam asked. “I’d like to thank him.”

  “Not a word. He knows how to disappear. I just hope he's getting the help he needs to get his head straight. We all remember this easygoing, positive guy. He may never be that man again, but there has to be something better than what he's become.”

  Cam nodded sadly. “All right.”

  “Another story broke this morning. An archaeological team in Mallorca discovered the world's largest yellow diamond.”

  “You know,” Cam looked over at his friend, “when we first found it, I thought it was a weight to keep the box it was in from getting swept away by the tides. I threw it into a puddle.”

  Chat's eyes grew laughably large. “You tossed away the world's largest yellow diamond?”

  Cam lifted his hands in a what-are-you-going-to-do gesture. “I didn’t know what it was.”

  “Seems like you’ve done that more than once of late. Tossed away something of great value.”

  Cam didn’t pretend not to understand. “I can’t stop thinking about her. You’re right; she is that diamond, but you know that op messed me up. I want her so much it hurts, but I need to get right. She deserves that.”

  Chat continued, “How’d the first therapy session go?”

  “Really well. The doc you recommended is great. I get so balled up about shit; sometimes I just need someone to shake out my brain.”

  “I know what you mean, man. Shit, I’ve never gone under, but we all have a dark side. It's like that Cherokee fable,” Chat said.

  “Which one?” Cam asked.

  Chat looked out at the road, his hand dangling casually over the wheel. “A grandfather tells his grandson that two wolves are fighting inside of us. One is evil and darkness, one is goodness and light. The grandson asks him which wolf wins the fight. The grandfather answers, whichever one you feed.”

  Cam blew out a heavy breath. Of course, he hadn’t conjured Miguel Ramirez out of thin air. The dark desires and prurient impulses Miguel acted on were there. Inside Cam. Cam had just never been put in a situation where his two identities had come face-to-face. On Mallorca, had he been a darker version of Cam? A better incarnation of Miguel?

  Chat helped him realize something that Evan seemed to know instinctively. Evan, that gorgeous, shy, damaged woman, had understood all along that he was simply one flawed man. All the qualities that his alternate persona possessed were within him, and that was okay with her. When he ceased to play the role of Miguel Ramirez, he boxed up those darker urges, but he had to accept that all of them—violence, greed, and certainly lust—were there within Camilo Canto. He simply chose not to feed that wolf.

  “You feed the right wolf, Cam,” Chat said, echoing his thoughts.

  Suddenly, Cam was overcome with an urgency so powerful, he opened the door before the car had come to a stop at the curb.

  Chat grabbed his shoulder. “You okay, man?”

  Cam turned back to his friend. “Not yet, but for the first time in a long time, I can honestly say I think I’m going to be.”

  Chat grinned. “Have a good flight.”

  Cam hopped out, grabbed his duffle from the back seat, and waved as the car pulled away. He had the strangest feeling Chat knew he wasn’t heading to Miami. Not yet.

  Entering the terminal, Cam went straight to the counter with his phone to his ear. Twitch answered while he stood in line.

  “Yes, I can track her phone,” she said without greeting.

  Cam chuckled. “What can I say? I’m slow on the uptake.”

  “Nah, you’re just a mess like the rest of us.” He could hear the sound of her fingers moving across the keyboard. “She's in Palo Alto. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Thanks, Twitch.”

  “Go get her, tiger.”

  Evan left her suitcase by the front door. Everything in it needed to go straight to the laundry.

  In five days, she had been from Palma to Algiers to Cairo to Madrid and finally back to Palo Alto. The sheer madness of the diamond discovery, the travel, and the press had taken every minute of her time. Almost every minute. She would have thought the hectic schedule would have been enough to distract her from thoughts of Cam. It was not. Everywhere she looked, there was some reminder—an Almond Joy in an airport gift shop, a question from the media about the discovery, the smell of the ocean. Even now, the yellow flame of the jasmine-scented candle burning by her bed had Evan imagining Cam's hungry eyes.

  On the flight from London to Cairo, she had downloaded an article on undercover operatives from a medical journal. She’d read about how immersive and taxing the process was for deep cover agents, and she’d felt awful. Calling Cam “Miguel” was an honest, understandable mistake,
but she had profoundly underestimated the impact doing so would have. Evan didn’t care about his name, but for him, the name mattered. Miguel Ramirez was not a role he relished; Miguel was not the man Cam was. When she had expressed her feelings, her love, and called him Miguel…

  She passed through her cozy living area, grabbed a bottled water from the kitchen fridge, and headed straight into the bedroom.

  She set the water on the end table next to the stack of classic novels she and her father had committed to reading. She ran her hand along the spines: Jane Eyre, Nicholas Nickleby, The Scarlet Pimpernel, her fingers stopping on her father's choice, Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She winced. She didn’t think of Cam's cover identity as Mr. Hyde, but she imagined that's how Cam felt.

  She flopped onto the bed, her frustration welling. She wanted, no, she needed to see Cam, to explain that she had always seen the real man beneath his cover. He may not want Evan the way she wanted him—his absence was a painful ache—but she needed to tell him how she felt. Evan thought back to the night in the cave when she had explained the meaning of an introvert. She processed emotions rather than expressing them. Well, that ended today. She loved this man. Cam. She loved him. And that was too important to bury under layers of shyness and inexperience.

  First, she needed sleep— weeks of non-stop work had taken their toll. Evan staggered to the shower and quickly rinsed the day of travel from her body. Slipping into a weathered Stanford T-shirt she had had since freshman year, she crawled back into bed and let sleep claim her. Tomorrow she was going after her man.

  Evan awoke before her alarm, filled with purpose. In the predawn darkness, she changed into yoga pants, a purple tank top, and running shoes to grab coffee and a muffin from the bakery she had missed like an old friend. In the hall of her small apartment building, she saw an actual old friend. Mara, her neighbor, a med student she had known since junior year, was just returning from a run.

  “You’re back,” Mara greeted with a smile.

  “Finally.” Evan puffed out a breath.

  Mara placed her hands on the wall and stretched her calves. “And rumor has it, you’re a celebrity.”

  “Hardly, but it was pretty awesome.”

  “I need the whole story. Every detail,” Mara insisted.

  Shooting a thumb over her shoulder, Evan said, “I’ll grab your chai and a muffin and tell you all about it.” She leaned closer. “There's a man involved.”

  “That might be bigger news than finding a diamond where you’re concerned.” Mara assessed her friend then checked her watch. “Shoot, I’m due at the hospital in half an hour. Come by tonight. We can get into the wine.”

  “Perfect. I still have a few bottles from the case of Pinot my dad sent,” Evan replied.

  “I knew having a friend who grew up on a vineyard would pay off. See you tonight.” Mara smiled and disappeared into her apartment.

  The sun was just peeking over the buildings to the east when Evan rounded the corner with her coffee and cranberry muffin set in the cup holders of the cardboard tray.

  She stopped. An imposing, shadowed form sat on her stoop. A man—a man she had seen in dim light enough to recognize immediately.

  Cam. He was here.

  Evan halted, frozen in place. Cam scanned the street. When his eyes found her, he stood and stepped down to the sidewalk, facing her. Wearing military green pants, combat boots, and a gray T-shirt, he stood calm and ready. Evan could see those incredible irises even half a block away.

  She dropped the drink carrier and ran. Cam met her halfway and crushed his mouth to hers. They were a tangle of lips and tongues and hands. He lifted her by her backside and pulled her thighs around his waist.

  “Cam,” she breathed out between kisses.

  He kissed her cheek, his lips traveling down to her neck. “Say it again.”

  “Cam. Cam.” She shivered.

  When they broke apart, he helped her stand.

  Then he stood before her and said, “My name is Camilo Canto.”

  She grabbed his T-shirt with her fist. “Camilo Canto,” she repeated. “You’re here.”

  “I came back to find my diamond. Another one I should have never tossed away to begin with.” He touched her cheek in the familiar way she had missed.

  “Cam, I get it. I really do.” Evan made a point of repeating his real name.

  “No, I get it. I think you always did. It just took me a while to get there.”

  “Understandable considering the work you do,” she said.

  “Did,” he corrected. “That part of my job is over. Just Cam from here on out. Miguel Ramirez is in there, as much as I hate to admit it, but he doesn’t define me.”

  “I’m glad you worked through it.” Evan ran her hand down his forearm and entwined their fingers.

  Cam touched his forehead to hers. “I haven’t completely worked through it, but enough to know I’m not letting my zing get away.”

  “You’re zing?” Evan asked.

  “I’ll explain later. Let's take a walk.” He pulled her to his side. “I want to do this right. Take it slow. Get to know you.”

  Evan met that incredible golden gaze and said, “I’d like to get naked.”

  She watched his expression morph from incredulity to hunger. He grabbed her hand and tugged her forward.

  “Your way's good too.”

  Evan unlocked the apartment and hurried inside. The wind through the open window billowed the toile curtains and caused the blinds to tap rhythmically against the glass. Cam was leaning against the door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his fatigues, drawing her eye to the outline of his sizable erection.

  “Cam?”

  “I don’t think I can hold back,” he said.

  Evan closed the distance between them. Just like she had done in their cave, she pulled the tank top from her body. “Then don’t.” She toed off her trainers, peeled the yoga pants down her legs, and stepped out of them. In a white lace bra and matching thong, she stood before him. “Don’t hold back, Cam.”

  Slowly, he pulled his hands from his pockets. He reached up and flicked the clasp between her breasts. Evan started to shed the garment when he stayed her movements with a quiet command.

  “I’ll do it.”

  She nodded on a deep inhale. He smelled like the ocean. He smelled like a memory. Cam's big hand occupied the space between them. Extending his index finger, he traced the inside swell of her breasts. He pushed away one lacy cup, then the other. That devilish finger snaked up and under the strap and sent the bra sliding down her arms.

  He had only touched her with one finger, and Evan's skin prickled, her breasts ached. She squeezed her thighs together to ease the tension. He noticed.

  Cam took a step forward, and she mirrored the action. He ran the back of his hand down her flat stomach and past the elastic of her thong. Then, still fully clothed, he followed the panties to the floor, kneeling before her. He placed a kiss at the bare apex of her thighs and slid his hand through the seam of her wet flesh.

  Then, he stood and said, “Bedroom.”

  With a confidence born of desire, Evan turned and walked the length of the room. Cam stalked her at a distance.

  At the foot of the bed, Evan faced him. She could feel the down comforter brushing her calves, the carpet under her curled toes. She watched as Cam reached behind his head and pulled the gray T-shirt from his body. From his rounded pecs to the ladder of abdominal muscles to the cradle of his hips, Cam's bare torso was battle-worn and beautiful. He knelt to unlace his boots.

  “I’ll do it.” Repeating his words, Evan stepped in front of him and sank to her knees. Once the boots were off, she lifted a hand to his waistband.

  “Can I?” she asked.

  “I’m all yours.”

  Evan removed Cam's pants and boxer briefs in one slide, lifting her head to his impressive erection. Holding the base in her fist, she traced her tongue around the head. Evan tasted him, teased him, sensing hi
s breath catch and his body tense. She had never done this before, but instinct guided her. That, and Cam's muttered Spanish when she took him in her mouth.

  Still sensing his restraint, Evan repeated her plea, “Don’t hold back.” With a growl, Cam's strong hands came under her arms. He lifted Evan and threw her on the bed.

  “My turn,” he said.

  Cam snagged a condom from his pants pocket and followed. Holding her hips, he pulled her to the edge of the bed. Evan supported herself on her elbows as he lifted one leg at a time and draped them over his shoulders. The look he gave her had her squirming. This wasn’t about him or her; it was about the space between them, the short distance that seemed to vibrate with their colliding attraction. His head disappeared between her legs.

  Evan stared down in amazement. The combination of skill and unadulterated pleasure was mesmerizing. More than that, though, Cam seemed to understand her desire on a molecular level—what she needed, what felt just right as if her body, her need, were his own. Sensation consumed her, and she fell back onto the bed. Her legs dangled over his shoulders, her heels digging into his back. Cam was a beast of fierce precision, working her with fingers and tongue until she exploded, her body ignited and dazed, like fireworks on a hazy night.

  Cam stood at the foot of the bed, sheathed and erect. She inched back to the headboard, and Cam prowled over her, his hips spreading her thighs. She looked into his beautiful face, and he ran reassuring fingers across her cheek.

  Then he drove into her. Evan gasped and shouted, gripped by the sheer intensity. Like an ocean wave, it crashed, retreated, and crashed anew. She held onto his shoulders. She could tell he was checking without asking directly. He read her face, her body. When he was satisfied with what he sensed and saw, and she tipped her hips to encourage him, he continued the onslaught. He braced himself above her with one thick arm. His other hand was everywhere, pinching her nipples, caressing her thighs, squeezing her ass. He fucked her with relentless determination, plunging into her again and again like he couldn’t get close enough.