“I need to make sure the front door—”
“I’ll do it. I can lock a damn door, yanno?” Payton poked him in his hard ass.
He jump-skipped a few feet, one hand shielding his posterior while he glared at her.
Damn.
Someone was hitting the weights. And yeah, that’d been a limp.
“Goodnight.” She wiggled her fingers at him and stepped back into the kitchen.
“Night.”
Payton held her breath and listened to his uneven steps. He wasn’t trying to hide the limp now that she wasn’t watching.
What had happened?
Why hadn’t he told her?
Not knowing shouldn’t hurt this bad, but it did.
She tidied up the kitchen a bit, locked the front door and flipped off the TV. Normal things she missed.
The day Dad had driven her up to the front of the house and told her this was their new home...she’d thought he’d been crazy. It’d taken six months before she finally realized this wasn’t an elaborate con. No, he and Martha never really tied the knot, they just had a fake marriage certificate to go along with Payton and her father’s new names. But this had become their life.
Payton could only speculate about why her father had done what he did. Between his case files, his handler’s reports and what she’d seen firsthand, she had some idea, but she didn’t really know.
She picked up her bug out bag and hauled it down the hall.
Her bedroom door was still the plain, white solid wood thing it’d been when she moved in. There were deep gouges marked where she’d driven a knife into the wood after getting caught sneaking out. She ran her fingers along the dozens of holes that thumbtacks had left.
Whenever she’d gotten pissed, she’d make a sign, and Chaz would rip it down. So, she’d make more. Eventually their parents had given up on keeping her door nice and just let her have her way with it. But not Chaz. So, then she’d done it just to get on his nerves.
She pushed it open, holding her breath.
Payton blinked. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh of air.
He hadn’t changed anything.
She stepped over the threshold.
Okay, the bedspread was new, but it was still her trademark black and silver. That was her bed frame, the one she’d picked out at a garage sale because she didn’t like anything in the furniture stores. Martha had shown her how to sand it down, and with Chaz’s help they’d turned it into something...hers. The dresser had a couple boxes of her old keepsakes in the top drawers. Odds and ends she’d stashed once a while back when Martha wanted to let a friend stay with them.
Payton had never had a bed to call her own before coming here.
She closed the door and sat on the edge of the mattress.
Chaz hadn’t erased her from his life.
The nervous knot lodged between her shoulder blades unraveled. She’d wondered, hoped that there was still a place for her in his life, selfish though it were. And here she was. In her room, just down the hall from him. The one constant in her life.
Payton blew out a breath.
She’d wallow in the knowledge that Chaz still had a place for her here later. Right now, she had work to do.
She pulled out her cell phone and stared at the screen.
The sting would have happened over an hour ago.
Had they captured Alice?
She’d gone to oversee the shipment.
Screw it.
Payton hit dial and pressed the phone to her ear. She had to know.
“Webb.”
“Jon?” Payton swallowed. “Did you finish?”
“What are you doing calling me? You’re supposed to be off the grid, Harris.”
“Someone was supposed to call and brief me.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Fucking—she’s in the wind.”
“What?” All the air left her lungs.
“Stay where you are. I’m sending agents to sit on you.”
“No. No, I can’t stay here.” Payton pushed to her feet. “I’m at my brother’s house. He doesn’t know. I can’t stay here.”
“He’s family. That’s great. Stay there, Agent Harris. That’s an order.”
The line cut off.
Payton’s knees gave out and she sat on the window seat, staring out into the suburban Dallas night.
She was a damn good agent, but she couldn’t do this. If Alice Douglas was out there, it wouldn’t take long for her to figure out that it was Payton who’d double-crossed her, or that her cell phone was gone, in Payton’s hands. And that painted a big ol’ target on her back.
She couldn’t risk Chaz. He and Martha were all she had left.
2.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Alice held her breath and closed her eyes.
The dumpster lurched.
This was going to be...tricky.
At least she was in jeans and boots.
The metal bin tipped. Gravity shifted. Alice twisted, putting her feet down. Bags and bits of loose garbage slid by her. The dumpster upended and she scooted from one stinky prison to the next. She hit the pile of garbage and covered her head. Something sharp and pointy prodded her in the ass. A bag of something truly vile smacked her in the chest, partially landing on her head. After this, she would need a bleach bath and a couple tetanus shots, but she was getting out of here. No one was going to double-cross her and get away with it.
She hadn’t built up the name of Mr. Smoke to go down like this.
Alice twisted, pulling a garbage bag up over her and laid down.
She hadn’t gotten to the top of the designer drug trade without losing her fear of getting dirty; she just hadn’t expected to be quite so literal about it.
The garbage truck stopped beeping and rolled on, the lumbering giant making its trek out of the international airstrip. The DEA had thinned out. She’d listened to their comings and goings enough to discern their number.
The frustration crackling in the air was satisfying at least.
They wouldn’t get her today, not ever, if she had her way.
Alice crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, breathing through her mouth.
Just a few more minutes...
She hadn’t been able to get Payton on the burner phone before the battery had died, but that’s what came from giving her Christmas off. She deserved it, for all the shit she did for Alice on top of being Mr. Smoke’s face. Brent would have to do. If the plan held...
What if the traitor was Brent?
That made zero sense.
She’d headhunted Brent specifically for this program. During her days as a pharmaceutical rep, she’d met a lot of people. Brent was one of those enterprising individuals she’d kept tabs on because she knew his type. He was a man after the money.
No, Brent would lose more than he stood to gain if she were arrested.
The garbage truck bumped along for what felt like ages. Seagulls squawked overhead. Cars passed. Waves crashed against the shore.
The garbage was perhaps more palpable than the smell of the Gulf of Mexico waters.
Her chariot slowed and turned. The stop was a bit abrupt, jostling her forward.
Alice grunted and muttered curses. When she got out of here...
“Mr. Smoke?”
“Brent, about damn time.” Alice heaved a sigh of relief, then wished she hadn’t.
That smell.
Gag.
Hands hauled the garbage off her.
The gray morning sky spread overhead.
Brent leaned over her. His expression might be called a frown, if it weren’t for all the Botox.
“You’re a wreck,” he said.
“Help me out.”
“Ug. No.” Brent turned. “Another fifty if you get her out of there.”
“Sure thing, man.”
Alice gritted her teeth.
A uniformed garbage truck driver leaned over, looking over her head, and wrapped his hands around
her wrist.
How much had Brent paid for this job?
Knowing him, not as much as she expected.
Between the garbage man and her determination, Alice crawled out from the back of the truck no worse for wear than she already was. She picked bits of trash off her clothes, but the reality was that everything she was wearing would have to be burned. No question about it.
“Where are we at?” Alice asked.
“This is—”
“Not the street,” she snapped. Now was not the time for Brent’s sense of humor. She’d just lost several million dollars worth of product. It was not the time to fuck with her.
“They got Roy and Wayne. I haven’t been able to get Payton on the phone.”
“It was Wayne. All of this.” Alice stalked toward the idling SUV. The garbage truck rolled out of the parking lot.
“I don’t...Mr. Smoke? Alice?” Brent jogged after her. “I don’t think it was Wayne.”
“Then Roy? Really?”
“I think Payton set us up.” Brent glanced around. “We need to get you out of sight.”
“Really?” Alice rolled her eyes. Her brain simply could not accept the idea of Payton as a traitor. The woman was as crooked as Alice, if not more so. Besides, Payton was the face of Mr. Smoke, what with that silver hair. There was hardly anyone outside of her inner circle who could name Alice as the real boss.
He opened the door and Alice slid into the back seat. They had to be more careful now. Roy and Wayne were a loss, but they could be replaced. Brent and Payton, she could rebuild with them.
“Alice, please listen to me.” Brent twisted in the driver’s seat to stare back at her. “Think about it. Who knew where we were going to be? Who had the timetable? The codes? The flight numbers? I didn’t know the location until you texted me. Roy and Wayne had no idea the delivery was tonight. Payton is the only person with all the pieces.”
“Payton couldn’t betray me. Give me your phone. Drive. I need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“I’ll say,” Brent muttered and handed his phone back to Alice.
She stared at his phone, tapping at the dark screen.
Bluffing was her secret weapon.
Stall, until she had answers.
Sigh, roll her eyes, put people off, all while her gears were working.
Piece by piece, she evaluated what Brent said.
Wayne knew where the delivery place would be. As did Payton. Brent knew the timetable, because Payton kept him up to date. Roy and Payton had collaborated on the codes. Wayne and Payton had chartered the flight.
Fuck.
He was right.
The only person with a finger in every pie...was Payton.
She’d kept Brent, Roy and Wayne in the dark about one thing or another. All they’d known was that it was coming this week and they needed to be ready. After that...Payton. It was all Payton.
And she had Alice’s phone... Her black book of everything.
Shit.
Alice had given the phone to Payton because her mother wouldn’t stop bugging her about coming home. What was going on with Alice’s lousy ex-husband.
Fuck.
Alice sucked in a deep breath.
It was Payton...
God damn it.
Her right-hand girl.
The face of her organization.
She’d turned on Alice.
The whore.
Brent was right.
Payton had the phone. Oh, God. Without that, Alice was no one. She wasn’t Mr. Smoke. She wasn’t even a dealer. She had no contacts, no customers, no product—nothing.
The only comfort she had was that no one except Alice could open the phone. It required a thumbprint and a password only she knew.
Deep breath.
Buck up, girl.
She’d avoided syncing her phone with anything. The only instance of her email, her contacts, the drug formula, was on that phone. If someone tried to decrypt it, or break the code, it would trigger one of three security devices inside the bulky phone. She’d had it designed that way, for exactly this purpose.
Breathe.
Without that phone, it was Payton’s word against Alice’s in a court of law, now that Alice could not be connected to the scene. And Payton was a first-rate con artist and dirty slut. Alice, on the other hand, was an upstanding citizen with a perfect record, besides a few speeding tickets. Every girl had her vice, and Alice liked fast cars.
She needed to find Payton and get her property back. Or just kill Payton. That would be satisfying.
“Where is Payton?” Alice asked.
“We don’t know yet. Give me a day.”
“You have twelve hours. As long as it’ll take to soak this smell off me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chaz stared at his phone.
What...the hell...was Payton doing in his kitchen?
She’d sent him a text. Simple enough.
Making lunch! See you soon. *muwah*
Oh God...
He could see it now, half the kitchen burned down, everything in the fridge spread across the table and flour everywhere. Her in the kitchen was...disaster.
He’d successfully avoided Payton’s presence for the requisite twenty-four hours of his shift. Not that he was exactly active duty yet. The chief was good about humoring Chaz lately. Besides, they still needed someone to do paperwork, cook meals and wipe down the tables. After so long spent staring at his own ceiling, he appreciated any change of scenery. Especially with her under his roof.
What was he going to do about Payton?
“You’re still here?”
Chaz glanced up at Nate York. He looked...weird.
“Yeah, they haven’t kicked me out yet.” More like, Chaz was avoiding going home to Payton. What the devil was he going to do about her? What kind of trouble was she in?
“You active yet?” Nate poured a cup of coffee from the half-full pot on the burner.
“Light duty.” He gestured to the cleaning supplies.
Nate grunted his reply.
Chaz appreciated the companionable silence. Some of the new guys liked to talk just to hear themselves, and couldn’t string two sentences together without liberal profanity. Nate was like him. They spoke when they had to and did their job right the first time.
“What are you grinning about?” Chaz peered at Nate’s face. It was...different. He was...smiling. Or something.
“Nothing.” Nate wiped the expression off his face and pocketed his phone.
Chaz snorted.
If that’s what Nate wanted to call it, okay. He had to be on the Allison train again. Boy, howdy, that was something Chaz didn’t want to stick his nose into. He wasn’t one to pry. It wasn’t any of his business what Nate did with his best friend, anyway.
Chaz’s phone buzzed again.
You might want to get some more salt...
What the...?
He had one of those big containers with the spout. Lord have mercy, what was he going to do with Payton?
“Somethin’ the matter?” Nate drawled.
Chaz opened his mouth.
Nothing was on the tip of his tongue.
But it wasn’t nothing.
He didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do with his houseguest.
“My...Payton came in for a surprise visit. She’s trying to...I think cook and bake at the same time.”
“Let me guess, she’s making a mess?” Nate chuckled.
“She makes a mess everywhere she goes.” Chaz sighed.
“What’s the deal there?” Nate sipped his coffee.
It was an invitation to dump. Chaz knew it.
If he were being honest with himself, Nate was as good of a person to bounce ideas off as anyone. But where to start?
Chaz scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Payton is...a mess. She’s...got something going on, and she’s hiding it by saying she’s here for a surprise visit.”
“She’s your ex-step
sister, right?”
“Yeah. Our parents got hitched when we were sixteen. We didn’t exactly like each other in the beginning, but now we’re good.”
Truth be told, he’d resented Payton’s tendency to flaunt the rules and her body. Whenever they’d been left alone, her clothes had come off and she’d saunter around the house in panties and his T-shirt, because she knew it pissed him off. The stunts she’d pulled just to get attention were...his younger self hadn’t understood. He’d just gotten horny and pissed off.
“So. Payton, huh?”
“Yeah.” Chaz sighed. What was he going to do about her?
“Isn’t that who you talk to every couple of nights?”
“Once a week. Tuesdays. Nine p.m. CST.”
“And she’s your sort-of-sister?”
“I guess so.”
“You sure about that?”
“What?” Chaz stared at Nate.
“Just—your face.” Nate gestured at his. “You get this...look...when you talk about her.”
“I do not.”
“Okay.” Nate shrugged. “I’ll just put this out there; don’t discount something just because it’s been around a while.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
Chaz’s phone buzzed again.
Not to worry you or anything...but you need a new fire extinguisher...Sorry!
Fucking hell. Payton was going to be the death of him.
3.
The silence weighed on Payton. She was suffocating from all the quiet.
Her case agent, Webb, wasn’t answering her calls. She’d seen a car she suspected was DEA make a few drive-bys of the house, but that was it.
Chaz had avoided her the last day and a half of his off-shift.
Was the oven fire that big of a deal?
Maybe she should have gone to a safe house instead. But she’d wanted to be close to her anchor. She needed Chaz’s calming presence to remind her who she was. Except he wouldn’t even talk to her.
She paced out of her bedroom, listening for movement.
Chaz had stayed in bed for longer than usual today.
Avoiding her?
Or did this have anything to do with his limp and the prescription drugs in his medicine cabinet?
A grunt and a bang shook the floor.
“Chaz?”
Payton crossed to his bedroom door and flung it open.
Chaz sat on the rug at the foot of his bed blinking up at her. All he had on were a pair of boxers and...a knee brace.
Up in Smoke (Firehouse Three, #4) Page 2
