There was more talking but she pressed the end button to silence the rambling. Smith approached her slowly, easing the phone out of her hand. “You should have just given me the phone, C.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re -”
“I said I’m fine!” She cut him off and took a deep, slow breath. Barry. It was Barry, and he was just another job. Soon she’d have a location, a place to go. Then she could pull the trigger like she had with Clinton.
One more down, and then one to go.
She shook off the shock at having his name sprung on her and lifted her eyes to Smith’s. “Your friend says he thinks he found him. Told me you need to text him our location. Oh, and you owe him money.”
“His name is Lacroix,” Smith took a step closer to her and she was tempted to step away, but when he rested his hand on the back of her neck it felt good to have him with her. It felt even better when he started to massage at the base of her skull, his thumb rubbing in circles until the tension she hadn’t even been aware of started to fade.
“He seems nice.”
“He’s not nice, C. He’s a shark of a PI, and he only delivers if you pay him. Like most people – but he’s reliable as long as the cash is flowing.” His thumb continued to rub delirious little circles. “You know that I don’t expect you not to react when we find one of them. It’s okay to feel -”
“That’s not it.” She brushed his touch away and stepped forward to look down at the street. “I just wish they were gone already. Dead. It’s like I can’t start my life until it’s fucking done. Over.”
“Want me to just put contracts out on the last two? I can do that.” Smith stayed where he was, not pressuring her, not invading her space, and she was grateful. It gave her room to breathe, to think.
Is that what I want?
Her mind flashed images, bitter memories, but they didn’t hold the same stomach turning power they had before. Before Smith had told her she was stronger than them. Before he’d made her face the nightmares in a burst of physical violence, and proved she could overcome them. Before he had shown her she wasn’t really tainted by what they’d done to her when he’d kissed her.
Still, she wanted to watch them die. In person.
“No, I still want to do it. I want to pull the trigger.”
“I don’t know how long that will take, C. It could be months, years.”
She shrugged and turned to face him, leaning back on the glass. “Then it does. I can wait.”
“Wait for your life to start?”
“I’ve still got more to learn, right?” A smile lifted the edge of her mouth, and even though it was somewhat forced she saw a little of the tension leave him.
Learning to read you is just one of the things I need to do, Smith.
“Alright then. I’ll text Lacroix, get him to send over what he has. When he finds a location, we’ll go and kill him.” There wasn’t even a hint of doubt in his voice as he started tapping away at the phone, and it made her smile a little more honest.
“It’s still fucking weird that you have all those numbers memorized.”
Smith lifted the phone up in his hand, pausing mid-text. “If I had to leave this behind somewhere I’d be perfectly fine. I could walk out of this room with nothing but the clothes on my back, and I’d be fine. When you can say the same, you’ll be ready to do this solo if you need to.”
“Are you being morbid again?”
“No, I’m being realistic.” Smith sighed and pulled her with him as he dropped onto the couch. “Everything I’ve taught you, everything I’ve done, is to make it so you’re strong enough to do this on your own if you ever have to.”
“I don’t want to though, I like working with you.” The words stuck in her throat when she tried to continue, when she tried to voice how she felt about being around him. Too many lines had been crossed in the last day for them to cross more, and it was too fucking messy anyway.
Just keep your fucking mouth shut for once, Camille.
“Well, I don’t plan on going anywhere.” Tucking her against his side he finished tapping out the text to Lacroix. Just an address and a room number, and then he locked the phone. “So, first test, what’s his number?”
“Lacroix’s?
“Yes.”
“Two, oh, three… seven -” With a grumble she tried to remember the way the phone had looked when it had been ringing, the number broadcast across the screen, but she came up blank. “Shit.”
“It’s alright, you’ll get better.” Smith chuckled softly, his fingers tracing patterns on her arm. “There hasn’t been a thing yet you haven’t been able to master.”
“Yeah, two years with you and I realize I don’t even know who to call if I get into a mess.”
“…ghostbusters?” There was a moment where he tried to stifle the laugh but soon she felt him shaking next to her and when she turned towards him he let it go, and the laughter only grew stronger until she caught it too. His laughter was loud and free, and it lifted all of the darkness from her like the sun breaking through clouds. She shoved him, trying to halt her laughter, but then strong arms lifted her and she straddled his hips, still laughing even when he kissed her, hugging her tight against his hard chest.
“You are such an asshole,” she muttered.
“Hey, that’s a good movie.” Smith pressed another light kiss to her lips. “What do you think? Forget the fancy dinner I had planned and do room service and a movie?”
“I don’t think they have Ghostbusters on pay-per-view anymore.”
“I’ll pay the concierge to go find us a copy.” He tugged her closer to him. “And a DVD player.”
“Throwing around money like it’s no big deal, now?” Despite her best efforts to scowl, her smile bled through and he grinned right back at her.
“For you, C? Anything.”
Chapter Seventeen
Three Months Later
Camille slammed her knee into the side of the heavy bag, and then returned to her punches. Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut. Elbow. Duck, low punch. Other elbow. Repeat.
She was pouring sweat, and more than once the men in the little gym had glanced over at her as she grunted and cursed under her breath – but she didn’t give a shit that she was intruding on their sanctum of manly men.
Front kick. Roundhouse. Side kick. Knee. Other knee.
The rattle of the chain as she knocked the bag around was satisfying, but it wasn’t making her feel any better for the moment. Smith had said he’d be gone one day, and that was almost two days ago. He had texted her back, he was alive, but he wouldn’t fucking tell her what he was doing.
Sonuvabitch is probably doing a solo job.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut. Elbow. Elbow. Elbow. That fucker. Duck, front kick.
The heavy bag bounced away from her and she caught it on the return swing, her breathing labored from how much time she’d spent standing on this spot beating the shit out of imaginary opponents.
“I think it’s down for the count.” Manny strolled over and patted the other side of the bag, a towel draped over his shoulder.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Pulling back she planted her feet and then delivered a hard roundhouse, but he held the bag still, his eyebrows lifting a little.
“You’ve got a strong kick. Maybe I’ll toss you in the ring with one of these guys, teach them they’re not hot shit like they think they are.” He smiled, and she let herself laugh a little at the idea of knocking one of these steroid-pumping assholes on their ass in front of their friends.
“Anytime, Manny. Just keep letting me swing by when I’m in the area.”
“Are you kidding? You’re good for business. I just tell them I trained you and they’re signing up for one-on-one lessons. Cash in my pocket, kid.”
“My friend might disagree if you’re spouting that shit.” Twisting at the hips she landed a jab and a cross, followed fast by an uppercut – all a little easier with Manny holding the bag steady.
Camille shook her hands out, bouncing on her toes as she smiled to herself. If only Manny knew how tough Smith was when he trained her, it made Manny’s program look like a daycare center for toddlers. In the last couple of months she’d been stopping in she hadn’t seen a single guy get thrown, or kicked while he was down, or spontaneously had to disarm his opponent because they drew a knife or a loaded gun. But these idiots were learning to box, not kill. Pussies. “That won’t happen. Ever. He doesn’t do the public thing.”
“So he does fight?”
“You might say that.” She flashed him a smile before she slammed a hard front kick that had him bracing his shoulder against the bag.
“Little blonde powerhouse. You know, Caroline, if you wanted to fight, there’s some women’s stuff I could -”
“No thanks, Manny.” Leaning down she grabbed her towel and her water bottle, taking a long drink while he sighed and let the bag go.
“You could make a little money.”
She smiled slowly, wiping the towel down her face. “Money isn’t an issue.”
“Right. Your boyfriend is probably rich on top of being some fucking model in the city?”
“You sound jealous.”
“Fuck that, I am jealous. He’s one lucky fucker.” Manny chuckled, flashing her a charming smile that might have interested her if she didn’t have Smith. Handsome, fit, Puerto Rican – and a filthy sense of humor? If she were in a different situation he’d be worth a night of fun.
Smith will probably be back today, and then you can let out all of your frustrations on him.
“I’ll tell him you said he’s lucky. It’ll be worth the laugh.” Tossing the towel on her shoulder she stretched, and she had to grin when Manny groaned like he was in pain as his eyes roamed over her. “Well, as always, thanks for letting me use your gym.”
“Anytime, Caroline. Seriously, anytime.”
“You know you can call me C, right?” She wandered over to her bag against the wall, and he followed.
“I think Caroline is pretty. Nice name for a nice girl.” Manny was flirting with her, and she thought about correcting him – because of all things Camille was not a nice girl, or a Caroline for that matter, but it wasn’t worth the trouble. The guy let her use his gym without signing in, and while she’d handed him a twenty on her first day, he had refused the money every day since.
“You’re a good guy, Manny. I’ll be back.”
“You better. Attendance has been up since you started working out here.” He winked and waved as he headed towards his office. “Seriously, the sooner the better!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Camille smiled to herself as she tugged out her hoodie and pulled it over her head, prepping for the chilling temps of late November. Nudging her ponytail down she pulled a beanie over her hair and then zipped her bag shut and threw it over her shoulder. She didn’t even have to look around to know that people had stopped to watch her leave. The consistent sounds of sparring and speed bags and heavy bags had slowed – poor Manny was probably right, when she finally had to leave this place it was not going to be good for business.
Perched on the end of the bed, the television playing some cooking show that was useless because she hadn’t been near a kitchen in years, Camille was repainting her toes. It was dumb, and way too girly, since she’d mess it up in a day or so of running or kickboxing at Manny’s gym, but it was something to do.
Better than literally waiting by the phone for Smith.
“Now, add the cooked pasta into the pan and remove it from the heat. Let it sit for a minute or two while you slice the chicken breast. Trust me,” the woman on the screen smiled brightly at the camera, “this is delicious.”
“I bet it is,” Camille muttered, blowing on her toes to encourage the indigo paint to dry. Her stomach growled and she rolled her eyes, because while the chicken piccata and pasta sounded like heaven on a fucking plate – she would probably be eating a protein bar for dinner.
They were back in their normal rotation of mid-range hotels around the greater New York area. The last fancy place they had stayed had been for her birthday three weeks before. Smith had taken her out to an incredible seafood restaurant with white linen tablecloths, and waiters wearing nice clothes. He’d snagged her another dress that fit like a second skin, and taken great joy in peeling it off her afterwards – but, to be fair, she’d enjoyed the fuck out of that too.
Speaking of which, where the ever-loving-fuck was Smith?
Growling she put the cap back on the nail polish and dropped it on the bed next to her. The bitch on the television was just annoying now, and Camille lay back on the bed wondering if it was too late in the afternoon to go wandering. Find a bar, use her perfectly crafted fake ID to get a drink – but if Smith showed up he’d be irritated. And considering how much she wanted him under her so she could ride until she fainted in ecstasy… that would be foolish. Having him irritated would only result in her being frustrated for another night. That is, if he actually came back today.
Just as she was about to get up and make herself go for a run to burn off the energy, a chipper little ringtone went off on her phone. Grabbing it she had it answered before it was even at her ear – it was Smith’s number. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Now, that is not the way to answer the phone,” he chided, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Smith…”
“I’m going to be in front of the hotel in ten to fifteen, ready for a little road trip?”
“Where?”
“That ruins the surprise. Get dressed. Bring your gun, and anything else you’d like to play with.” Smith was definitely smiling.
“What are we doing? Did you track down a job on your bullshit little secret trip?” She was being a bitch, but she was already on her feet kicking off the yoga pants to put on some more substantial jeans.
“I’m not telling you anything, C. Be downstairs in ten.” The line clicked off and she wanted to be angry, but she was too excited to manage it. Smith was back, and with something that required weapons. All of her boredom was about to evaporate – and post-job sex was always the best.
Something about all that adrenaline.
In a rush she got dressed in the dark clothes she wore on jobs, checked her gun, snagged an extra magazine, and as a last thought grabbed a knife. She flipped off the television and was out front just shy of the ten-minute mark according to her phone, but then she just had to wait. And wait. Finally, through the bright, afternoon sun she saw Smith’s car ease out of the steady flow of traffic.
“Alright, what the fuck are we doing? Do we have a target?” Her energy was through the roof as she slammed the door, and he smiled slowly at her from the driver’s seat. Smith was in dark clothes too, a long-sleeved dark shirt that clung to his hard torso, and black pants.
“Let me make this clear, we have a bit of a drive ahead of us, but it’s worth it. Will you trust me enough not to drive me insane on the way there asking questions?”
“Do I get to shoot someone?”
His smile turned into a low, dark laugh. “Yes, C, you will absolutely get to shoot someone.”
“Good. Then I won’t drive you insane. Where are we headed?”
“Allentown, Pennsylvania. Now, will you stop asking questions? You’ll ruin the surprise.” Smith was smiling as he pulled back into traffic, and it only made her smile harder.
Finally, after over a month of no action, they were back to it.
“As long as I get to pull a trigger tonight instead of hitting a fucking bag, I’m happy.”
“Went back to that gym?” he asked, and she caught the shift in his tone.
“Yeah.” Her eyes flicked towards him, noting the slight twitch in the muscle of his jaw.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm�
�” Smith made a noise in his throat as the light streamed through the car window, leaving his profile a red-gold outline when she tried to check his facial expression.
“Does that bother you?”
“Was Manny there?”
“Of course.” She smiled a little, but he couldn’t see as he monitored the traffic to navigate them towards the highway.
“Then, yes, it bothers me.”
“Why?”
“He wants you, C.”
She shrugged in her seat, feeling a surge of warmth at his apparent jealousy. “I know.”
“It makes me want to hurt him,” Smith growled.
Camille tried not to laugh, and managed to keep most of it out of her voice. “Well, today he said you’re one lucky fucker because I’m with you, and therefore unavailable.”
Smith sat up a little straighter and glanced over at her, a smile lifting the edge of his mouth. “That’s right.”
“Men and their pissing contests…” Camille rolled her eyes, smiling to herself, and then she jumped, pointing out the windshield at a car that cut them off with a rapid lane change. “Shit! You need to worry less about Manny and watch the fucking road so we don’t kill someone we don’t actually want to kill today.”
The car jerked when he braked, and then he growled under his breath. “I feel the same way.” Glancing at the clock on the radio he shifted his grip on the steering wheel. “It took me longer to get back than I thought, so we definitely need to hurry.”
“Why?”
“No more questions, it’s a surprise. Remember?” There was something about the smile on his face that sent a delicious thrill down her spine. He was in cold work-mode, but he was excited too.
What the fuck do you have planned, Smith?
Chapter Eighteen
A little over two hours later Smith pulled into the parking lot of a large metal building in the warehouse district of Allentown. He had been antsy for the last twenty minutes, his gaze twitching towards the clock more frequently, but Camille had kept her mouth shut. The last time she’d asked him a question, he’d groaned and told her that he’d cancel her surprise if she asked one more question.
Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 19
