Meeting Danger (Danger #1)

by Allyson Simonian

  A fire. Camden pulls back onto the road as his partner radios in a description of the car and requests firefighters and an ambulance. When they pull up to the structure engulfed in flames, the address matches the one provided on the tip line.

  Camden jumps out of the car and when he reaches the cabin’s front door, he twists the knob and curses when it won’t open. Fisting his hand inside the sleeve of his coat, he punches in the glass sidelight. Shards rip into his sleeve as he reaches inside to turn the lock.

  With his heart hammering in his chest, he runs inside. Is Caleb in here?

  Choking from the smoke, he pulls the neck of his T-shirt over his nose, dropping to a crouch to find fresher air. “Federal agents! I’m going to help you, Caleb!”

  It’s dangerous to stay much longer, but if the boy is inside, he needs to hear some reassurance. Camden shouts again, but the roar of the fire is deafening, drowning out his words.

  As he pushes toward the back of the house, a beam cracks overhead. His gaze shoots up to the ceiling . . .

  • • •

  Camden’s back was drenched with sweat as his eyes snapped open. He sat up and swung his feet onto the floor, lowering his head as he gulped for air.

  He tried to calm the insane beating of his heart as he stared into the darkness. Above him, bedsprings squeaked as his cell mate turned over.

  Guessing there was at least another hour until dawn, Camden forced himself to lie back down. But sleep didn’t come again. The minutes ticked by as his thoughts centered on Caleb.

  What kind of terror had the boy experienced in his last minutes before he was shot? Was he still alive when the fire started? Did he know he was going to die?

  The kidnappers had been caught, had been put on trial and found guilty of not only kidnapping, but also murder. But justice came with little comfort. There was no way to bring Caleb back, to ease his mother’s grief and Camden’s guilt.

  The only thing he could do was make this assignment a success. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to the task at hand.

  When the cell block’s lights buzzed and switched on an hour later, Brian jumped down from the top bunk. “What the hell happened to you last night?”

  Weary, Camden sat up, rubbing his face. “Nightmare.”

  Brian turned the faucet on and looked over his shoulder. “Some nightmare.”

  “Yeah.”

  The bell went off while Brian finished at the sink. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head as the door of their cell clanged open.

  He glanced back at Camden. “Later.”

  “Later.”

  Camden rose from his bunk. Soon he too was dressed and heading out of the cell for his first prison breakfast. The guard standing in front of the dining hall gave him a subtle nod.

  As he moved down the cafeteria line, inmates working the serving line filled Camden’s tray with limp bacon, watery-looking eggs, and toast. He grabbed a carton of juice from an ice chest before walking into the seating area and surveying the rows of long tables, feeling oddly like he was back in high school again. The first day in a new assignment was always a bitch.

  He couldn’t see Phillips anywhere, but he did spot Brian sitting alone. He walked over.

  “Okay if I join you?”

  Brian shrugged. “Why not?”

  Camden took a seat on the bench across from his cell mate. “You always eat alone?”

  “What do you care?” Brian said before downing a bite of cereal.

  “Just wondering.”

  Brian returned his gaze to his bowl and resumed eating. “You should think about your own situation instead.”

  Camden forked up some eggs. “Right.”

  They ate in silence until Brian finally offered, “I used to sit with Noah.” He jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating a table off to the side. “Then Noah’s friend Declan got mad at me. Which means Noah is pissed by default. They’re worse than a bunch of girls.”

  Camden studied the men sitting at the other table. Each looked like they outweighed their fellow inmates by a hundred pounds. “Beefy guys.”

  Brian fingered a fairly fresh cut in the center of his forehead. “Yeah.”

  “Did you get that because of them?” When he didn’t answer, Camden studied him. “What happened?”

  “I took their lunch money and they got mad.”

  Camden arched an eyebrow and Brian sighed.

  “Noah and I had a disagreement about whether I’d be helping Declan smuggle things into the prison. I decided I didn’t want to, and it pissed them both off.”

  “How exactly did they expect you to smuggle things in?”

  “I work in the kitchen, accepting deliveries.”

  “I see.”

  A middle-aged inmate with silver hair approached them. “Still want it?” the man asked Brian.

  He set his spoon down. “Yeah.”

  “You’ve got the stamps?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The older inmate glanced toward where a guard stood. “Come by this afternoon.”

  “What was that about?” Camden asked as he walked away.

  “He does tattoos.”

  Camden watched as the man set his empty tray onto a conveyor belt. “You’re going to let him tattoo you with a needle?”

  “He uses a paper clip.”

  Turning back to Brian, Camden gave a snort. “Yeah, that just makes it so much better.”

  Brian’s jaw clenched.

  “The fact that it might be dirty doesn’t matter to you?” Camden asked.

  “No.”

  “How about the fact that he’s got no license?”

  “I’m in prison for the rest of my life for something I didn’t do. Think I give a shit that he doesn’t have a license?”

  He’s got a point. I’d go crazy if I had to spend the rest of my life in here.

  Camden pushed the thought aside. “What are you going to get?”

  “For the tattoo? A spider’s web.”

  At Camden’s frown, Brian explained. “Because I’m trapped.”

  “You’re paying him in stamps?” He’d heard it was the currency of choice inside the prison. Apparently his info was correct.

  “Yeah.”

  “How many books will it take?”

  “A lot, but I’ve got no problem paying it.” Brian raised his brow. “You interested in some ink too?”

  “Nope.”

  The bell rang a little while later, signaling the end of breakfast. Camden and Brian stood and carried their trays toward the trash cans.

  “Know where you’re going?” Brian asked as they left the dining hall.

  “Yeah, I’m assigned to work in the gym. It’s this way, right?” He pointed down the hall.

  “Right.” Brian walked a few more feet before opening a door marked RECEIVING. “Later.”

  When Camden walked inside the gym, Colton Phillips was nowhere to be seen. Camden had committed his booking photo to memory, but saw no one who looked remotely like him.

  An inmate who seemed to be in charge of the gym stepped forward and introduced himself as Gavin before explaining what Camden was supposed to do. The man moved to a weight bench and squirted disinfectant from the spray bottle he held.

  “Use this much.” He proceeded to wipe down the bench with a rag. The smell of bleach hung heavy in the air after he finished.

  Camden wrinkled his nose. “Powerful stuff.”

  “The guys aren’t happy about it either, believe me, but it’s gotta be done.”

  Camden accepted the rag and spray bottle and started on the next bench, wondering where Phillips might be. Had there been a mistake? Maybe Phillips didn’t work here after all. Wondering if he was wasting his time, he settled into a rhythm and decided to wait until the end of the day before alerting anyone.

  An hour later, he’d finished wiping down the gym’s equipment. After that, Gavin had him folding up towels and stacking them neatly on a shelf. It was only when Camden walked outsi
de for yard time that he finally spotted Colton Phillips standing against a wall.

  A roar sounded in the distance, the distinctive rumble of a Harley as a guard came into work. Several inmates stopped to watch the bike roll past the fence surrounding the yard.

  Camden smiled to himself. He couldn’t have asked for a better lead-in. Rubbing his arms briskly, he tried to warm himself in the chilly air as he walked over to Phillips and leaned against the wall.

  “I miss my bike,” he said as the noise of the motorcycle cut off.

  “You ride?”

  “A Dyna.”

  “Me too.”

  “Got a restored Knucklehead too.”

  Phillips shot him an interested glance. “Did you restore it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long did that take?”

  “A couple of years.” Which was true. As a teen, he’d helped his father restore one.

  “Where’s it now?”

  “Had to leave it with a friend.”

  “You with a club?”

  Bingo.

  Camden shook his head. “No. Are you?”

  “I am.” The big man sighed. “When I’m not here, that is.”

  “I’m Cameron. Cam.”

  Phillips bumped his fist. “Colton. But the guys call me Slider.”

  “What are you in for?”

  “DUI,” Colton said.

  There was more to it than that, Camden knew. The man had killed a pedestrian while driving under the influence.

  “How about you?”

  “I got transferred here from Fayette. Overcrowding.”

  “What got you in in the first place?”

  “Drugs.”

  “Dealing?”

  When Camden shrugged, the other man snorted. “Hey, I get it. I mean, we’re all innocent, right? How long you got left on your sentence?”

  “Eighteen months, but I’ll be up for parole soon. You?”

  “Still got three years to serve.” The man stepped away from the wall with a sigh. “What job they got you doing?”

  “I’m in the gym.”

  “Yeah? I’m working there too.”

  “Didn’t see you there this morning.”

  Colton raised a hand to his cheek, wincing as he pressed it slightly. “Had a dentist appointment. The man’s a quack.”

  The conversation continued even as yard time ended.

  CHAPTER 6

  Newburgh, New York

  Autumn sat on the sofa, watching the TV chef ricing potatoes as he demonstrated how to make gnocchi. Everything she knew about cooking she’d learned from this channel. It was the one station Butch never commented on her watching; most likely because he got something out of it.

  While she wasn’t able to write down the instructions for recipes, she had done drawings to remind herself of ingredients needed. Crude markings signified how many cups or spoonsful went into each dish.

  But she didn’t bother writing anything down for the gnocchi. The recipe looked complicated, and it wasn’t something Butch would appreciate anyway.

  With a sigh, she switched off the television and walked into the kitchen. It never failed to embarrass her that she couldn’t read, and it didn’t help that Butch constantly used that fact to imply that she was stupid—just like the other day with the shelf. He might not actually say the word, but it was clear enough what he thought.

  And in a way he was right; she was twenty-two. No matter her background or circumstances, she should have found a way to learn to read and write by now.

  Autumn’s mother had taught her at home rather than sending her to school. Even though she’d only been six at the time, Autumn could still remember the lessons clearly. But then her mother had gotten sick. For weeks her mother had stayed in bed, gradually losing her strength until she’d finally passed away.

  Autumn shook her head, forcing aside the dull ache that always came from thinking about her mother. Wondering about how different her life might have been had her mother lived never did any good; she’d learned that much.

  Determined to make the best of things, she took in a deep breath, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a package of ground beef.

  An hour later, Butch strode through the door, sniffing at the aroma of garlic and spices that hung in the air.

  “What’s that?” he asked. “Spaghetti?”

  Autumn nodded, giving the sauce she’d made a stir.

  Butch grunted before heading into the bedroom. Minutes later, having changed into a clean pair of jeans, he was back. He took a seat at the table, and Autumn set a plate of spaghetti in front of him.

  As he picked up his fork, he said, “We’re going down to the bar tonight.”

  Surprised, she froze. “You and me?”

  “Do you see anyone else here?” he said with a snort while swirling the pasta around his fork.

  Autumn glanced at him as she sat down. Nights out with Butch were rare. Usually he went out with the “brothers”—the members of his club—or with other women. She wasn’t naive; that happened often.

  Maybe Butch’s friend Hale had asked about her; Autumn had become friends with his wife, Kristen.

  She picked up her fork. “Will Kristen be there?”

  Butch shrugged as he reached for a piece of garlic toast. “Not a clue.”

  • • •

  Autumn followed Butch inside the bar. As he strode over to join Viking and Deck, who’d racked up a game of pool, she took a seat at the table they’d claimed.

  Denise, one of the bar’s waitresses, wore her usual scowl as she stepped up to Butch. “What can I get you?”

  Without bothering to look up as he lined up a shot, he said, “Get us a pitcher of beer, will you?”

  Her face hardened at the dismissal in his tone. She shot a sharp glance at Autumn before turning and heading back to the bar.

  With no one to talk to, Autumn watched the pool game. Deck, an older man in his fifties with slicked-back dark hair and both arms covered with tattoo sleeves, was running the table. Butch stood to the side, gripping his pool cue tightly as he glared at Deck, who was leaning over the table to make a bank shot.

  Butch’s second-in-command, Viking, was a big guy, well over six feet tall, with carrot-red hair and big, bushy beard. Of all the brothers in Butch’s chapter, he was probably the nicest, from what Autumn could tell, but Butch insisted they give Autumn a wide berth. She was off-limits, and Butch made sure they all knew it.

  Her gaze moved across the room, and her excitement rose when she saw Hale Lewis walk in. With his towering height and imposing build, he filled the doorway. She sat up straighter, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kristen, but his wife wasn’t with him.

  Disappointed, Autumn slumped back into her chair. Kristen was the closest thing she had to a friend, and she’d been hoping the two of them could talk.

  She stood as Hale approached. “Kristen’s not with you?”

  “Nah. Maya’s sick, so Kristen didn’t want to get a babysitter. She stayed home with her.”

  Worry replaced disappointment. “Is Maya all right?”

  Hale nodded. “It’s the flu, but she’s getting better. Just needs a couple more days of rest.”

  He turned around, bumping fists with Butch and the brothers before picking up a pool cue.

  As he waited for his turn, Autumn said, “I hope she feels better.”

  “How are you doing, Autumn?”

  “I’m fine,” she said automatically.

  Hale studied her. “Are you really?”

  She gave him a quizzical look before nodding.

  As Butch took his next shot, Hale leaned in and lowered his voice. “I know how he is. You just tell me if you ever need me to talk to him.”

  Twisting her hands, Autumn moved her gaze back to Butch, still involved in his shot. He’d be pissed off if he heard any of this, and she’d pay the price. Hale had to know that.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered.

  Hale glanced at Butch again an
d then gave her a nod. “All right.”

  Autumn had been excited when Hale moved his wife and three-year-old daughter to New York from Alaska several months ago. Although he wasn’t a member of the Wicked Disciples, Hale was a longtime friend of Butch’s and hung out with him quite a bit. They had grown up together, but thankfully Hale wasn’t nearly as intimidating. He’d always been pretty decent to her, and for that she was grateful. And since Butch trusted him, Hale felt comfortable enough to chat with Autumn from time to time, something none of the brothers dared to do.

  When the pitcher of beer was delivered, the men took a break from their game. A few minutes later, Autumn walked into the bathroom.

  Denise stood reapplying her lipstick at the mirror by the sink. She shot Autumn a knowing look.

  “He’s going to put you out to pasture one day too, you know.”

  Ignoring the snide remark, Autumn ducked her head and slipped into a stall without answering.

  Denise was bitter, but her anger was misplaced. Her sister, Hope, had been Butch’s last girlfriend, and had moved out days before Autumn moved in. From what Autumn could piece together, Butch had grown tired of her. She’d been in her mid-thirties at the time, hardly old.

  Butch never talked about Hope, and Autumn knew better than to ask. But she’d overheard one of the brothers say that Hope was working at a strip club down in Florida.

  Will it be the same for me in a few years? Will I end up in a job like that once Butch gets tired of me and kicks me out?

  While it would be a relief to just be out of his house, she had no skills, no way of getting a good job. And not being able to read or write didn’t help. It was something she tried not to think about because each time she did, she got overwhelmed.

  Denise was fiddling with her hair when Autumn walked over to the sink. Giving her a last dirty look, Denise headed for the door. It slammed shut behind her.

  By the time Autumn made it back to her table, Hale was putting on his jacket.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell Kristen I hope Maya feels better.”

  “Will do.”

  Autumn took her seat after he left. The next hour and a half passed with her nursing a beer as she watched the men play pool. Butch won another game and then announced they were leaving.

  In the pickup truck on the drive home, he said, “I’m going to Philadelphia with Deck and Hale.”