by Kylie Brant
Perspiration beaded his high forehead, highlighting flecks of dandruff clinging to the thinning hair there. “Ah…let me think. Maybe…” He swallowed hard. “Come to think of it, I do keep Micotil on hand to treat bovine respiratory disease.”
“I thought you would.” She followed him to a connecting hallway that led to a small surgical suite. The small hall had floor to ceiling shelving on both sides and he turned to one, dug through the boxes and supplies, muttering. Then he stopped, withdrew a box and a plastic wrapped syringe.
“Here.” He shoved both at her, but Vickie made no move to take them.
“Back in the office. You can fill it up for me.” Her smile was thin as he preceded her to the back room where she’d found him.
He swallowed hard. “Administer a single subcutaneous dose of one point five to three milliliters of Micotil per hundred pounds of body weight. This is way more than you need.” He removed the protective cap from the amber bottle and carefully stuck the one and a half inch steel needle into the rubber center of the top, expelling the air from the syringe before filling it.
She reached past him as he was tapping the syringe to rid it of air bubbles, to click on the mouse, bringing up the screen full of images again. “There.” She snatched the syringe from him, recapped the needle. “I’ll let you get back to your kiddie porn.” When he just looked at the floor, she swiveled his chair to face the screen. “Look at it! How many boys just like my Sonny did you rape like that?”
He started weeping in earnest. “You told me to! You said it was what you wanted…”
Vickie slammed the weapon against his head, knocking him to the floor. “It’s your fault he turned out like he did, crazy like he was at the end. Your fault he’s dead.” He curled up on the floor, sobbing like a three year old having a meltdown and she looked at him with disgust. At least Curt put up a fight. Davis wasn’t even making this satisfying. Sniveling little prick.
Pressing a knee to his back, she pressed the gun against his temple. “Don’t move a muscle.” He stilled obediently, except for the involuntary quivering of his body. You’re getting off easy. I’d like to shoot your balls off and shove them down your throat.”
He tried to buck beneath her, in belated realization of what she was about to do, but she’d already flicked the cap off the needle and jabbed it deep into his ass. Pressed the plunger.
“No!” He came alive at the first prick of the needle, trying to roll away one hand frantically fighting hers as he wrestled for the syringe. Then he began bucking beneath her, wild jerky movements. He managed to knock her off balance, and she landed hard on the floor. His fingers closed around the syringe still sticking from his bony left cheek.
And then he stilled. Davis’s breathing was already labored. His eyes were open, but glazed. Vickie was impressed. “One drug that lives up to its billing.” She got up to empty the contents of the syringe into him, before drawing it out carefully.
This stuff just might come in handy later. She grabbed the rest of the bottle and dropped it in her purse. Searched for the needle’s cap on the floor. Found it beneath Davis’s shoe. “Thanks for the help, Greg. I’ll just be taking this stuff with me. No use making it easy for them. Let them have to work to figure out what you got injected with.”
Rising, she put the gun back into her purse and swung it over her shoulder. The syringe she’d place in the glove compartment. With her luck she’d jab herself searching for her cell phone.
“You know what’s best about this whole thing, Greg?” Was he still breathing? She couldn’t tell. Didn’t care enough to check. “The first thing someone will notice when they find you, other than your corpse, of course, is what’s on your computer screen. Everyone’s going to know what a pervert you always were. Maybe they’ll even agree that you got exactly what you had coming to you.”
Chapter 8
“Is it just me or is this beginning to feel like déjà vu?” Sophie’s words were spoken around a yawn. It was after nine, and they were just now heading home.
“It’s getting better. This motel actually produced the registration information without a warrant.” Cam was at the point where he appreciated any time saved. “With any luck we’ll have the credit card information tomorrow morning.” He’d been tempted to swing in to a fast food place on his way home. Had he been alone he would have. But the woman sitting in the seat beside him had caused him to reconsider.
It was late, but there was something to be said for fixing something simple at home. Putting their feet up. Maybe grabbing a beer. And just taking some time to forget about this case long enough to enjoy being alone together.
Warmth curled through his belly at the thought. Every minute they could steal from the investigation was golden. He was going to make sure they counted.
“Rose Macomber.” Sophie stretched her hands over her head. Arched her back. “Do you think the third identity Baxter used will turn out to be a visitor to Iowa who got her purse stolen, too?”
“No. Given the law of averages, I’d say the real Rose Macomber is likely from the area.”
“And who do you think was responsible? Sonny Baxter, Vance or Vickie?”
He had to admit he’d never given it much thought. But his answer was certain. “You can buy identities off the Internet. People steal the cards, try to max them out before they get cancelled, and then sell them to others who are doing identity theft.”
“That’s a possibility.” Sophie’s voice was pensive as they pulled into the drive at his condo, paused for the moment it took for the automatic garage door to rise, then drove into the garage. “But I think Vickie is capable of it. Look how easily she stole the car she used to kidnap Traer. It makes me wonder if she made a living by theft before she started killing. We know she manipulated men into stealing for her when she was still in high school.”
He shut off the ignition of the car and pressed the button so the overhead door would descend. “We’re going in the house now. And we’re not going to think about this case.”
Something in his voice must have alerted her. He heard the smile in her voice as she answered. “Oh? What are we going to think about?”
“This.” He leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. Settled in to increase the pressure. His hand slipped behind her head to cup her nape, and he let himself just sink into the softness that was Sophie.
Each time was familiar, but different. The taste of her. The scent. It was never exactly the same. And maybe that was why he couldn’t get enough. His tongue pressed her lips open, went in search of hers. And that first sweet tangle of lips and teeth and tongue swept his mind clean.
It couldn’t be hotter each time. The craving deeper. But the reality defied logic. She made a mockery of all he’d thought he’d known, what had always been. Previous experience didn’t matter because with Sophie everything was unique. It was all uncharted territory with her. And he no longer let that alarm him.
Her arms twined around his neck and she turned more fully into him. He tore his mouth away to string a necklace of kisses along her jaw, and she gave a little sigh. “You know, I think this is a first.”
He nuzzled the soft spot beneath her ear, pleased when she shivered. “There’s something wrong with your memory, baby. This is definitely not our first time.”
“No, I…” She arched her throat when he went in search of all the places there he could find her pulse beating beneath skin. “I mean…I don’t think I’ve ever necked in a car before.”
That had him raising his head. “You’ve got to be kidding. Never?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“How is that even possible? No making out in the back seat? No hot and heavy petting while your parents flicked the porch lights on and off?”
She gave his chest a little shove. “Now that sounds like the voice of experience.”
Cam grinned. There had been damn few good memories in his formative years, but those experiences numbered within them. “Let me guess. Pre-ar
ranged dates by your parents, with a boy walking you to your door, giving you a chaste kiss on the forehead under the watchful eye of your father.” She’d told him enough about the rigid confines of her childhood that he could be pretty sure he was correct. Although come to think of it, if he’d had a daughter that looked like Sophie, he’d have been overprotective, too.
“That’s it exactly.” She nibbled at his chin, rubbing her lips over the growth of whiskers there. “If I hadn’t gone away to college, I would never have gotten laid.”
That surprised a laugh from him. She could still do that. Take him unaware. The phrase, so at odds with her usual precise speech, had him hopelessly, helplessly enchanted. “Sweetheart, looking like you do, the only wonder is that you made it to college before that particular experience.”
“So.” She rubbed her lips over his. “Are you going to remedy that egregious void in my experience and show me how you came by your disgracefully vast experience with girls in the backseat?”
He was tempted for a moment. More than tempted. Then he gave her a last hard kiss and set her firmly away. “Actually car sex is overrated. I do my best work inside.”
“Is that right?”
“It is.” They got out of the car and headed for the entrance to the house. “I’ll be glad to exhibit my skills to you as soon as you feed me.”
“Once again, showing exactly where I stand,” she teased. He found the key, fitted it into the door lock and pushed it open. “There’s bacon. Pancakes. Various other food items. Then me. No wait, I forgot about the Cubs. And the Hawkeyes. It’s a long list. I’m not sure where I fit in.”
He caught her fingers, drew her toward him. Then closed his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. “At the top, Soph.” And his voice was no longer teasing. “When it comes to my priorities, you’re at the top.”
This time their kiss was flavored with unspoken promise. He threaded his fingers in her long hair and earlier plans were forgotten. He touched her and everything else spun away. She was a dangerous distraction, but there was a limit to his professional focus. This time, this moment, he wanted to immerse everything he was into her.
Her fingers were nimble on his shirt, pulling it from the waist of his pants. Unbuttoning it. Her purse hit the floor when he pushed her jacket down her slender arms and buried his lips at the smooth skin of her shoulder. Muscle whispered beneath flesh, calling to something primitive in him. Something he was determined to unleash until they were both satiated.
He cupped her face in both his hands, brushed his thumbs across the smooth skin, awash in a welter of feeling that should have scared the hell out of him. But not this time. Not with this woman.
His mouth was lowering to hers again when the ring of the doorbell split the darkness.
She jerked a bit in his arms, startled, and for a brief instinctive minute his arms closed reflexively around her. Then logic returned. Followed by temper. Whoever was at the door, Cam thought grimly as he released Sophie and stalked toward it, better be wearing a cup.
He turned on the porch light and took a look through the Judas hole. Then, mouth flattening, he flicked the light off again and disengaged the alarm. Pulled the door open to look at the man he would have just as soon never have seen again.
“Harlow.”
“Cam.” FBI agent Del Harlow put his hand out. Allowed it to drop to his side when Cam ignored it. “We need to talk.” He tilted his head to look beyond Cam. “Ms. Channing probably needs to hear this, too.” The man’s booming voice echoed a bit in the small foyer.
“It’s Dr. Channing.” Cam didn’t make a move to open the door wider. “And I can’t think of one good reason to involve her in this.”
“Well, since I’m here, I’m involved.” Sophie took the decision out of his hands by walking to the door. Subtly elbowing him aside. “Agent Harlow. Come in.” Grudgingly Cam moved away to let the man enter. Looked through the door outside in both directions. “Where’s your car?”
“Another agent dropped me off.”
Sophie turned on the lamps in the living room. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“I wouldn’t say no to coffee if you have decaf.”
Cam didn’t move. Didn’t offer the man a chair. And didn’t give a damn that he was acting like a dick. “You could have come to DCI offices,” he told him. “Better yet, called and made an appointment.”
Harlow slipped his hands in his pockets and considered him. The man was dark haired, tall, with a swarthy complexion. He’d probably considered himself hot shit with women at one time, but a fondness for steak and Jameson had thickened his girth. Softened his jawline. Cam had it on good authority by people who should know that Harlow was considered a damn fine agent.
It was just too bad that the man was also an unprincipled prick.
“Way I hear it, you’re in the middle of a hot case. The Cornbelt Killers, right? You pick off the last of the lot fairly quickly and your reputation is golden.” The man wandered past him, dropped down in Cam’s favorite leather recliner. “How’s the case going anyway?”
“It’s going.”
“You’re a talkative guy.” Harlow accepted the mug Sophie brought him and included her in his comment. “He always this chatty?”
“It’s been a long day.” She sank down on the couch, putting two mugs on the table in front of it. After a moment, Cam went to join her. Sat down next to her.
“You got news?”
“The arrangements for the operation in Southern California are nearly complete.” As if he’d had a trying day himself, Harlow used the lever on the side of the chair to prop his feet up. Sighed a little. “Moreno is planning a takeover of a rival cartel. He’s rebuilt some in the time since your task force gutted his operation. But he’s really overextending himself to pull off this takeover. He’ll replenish what he lost from the raid if he’s successful. If he isn’t…” The agent’s smile was thin. “The Ramos cartel will have accomplished our job for us.”
“Only if they manage to take out Moreno for us.” Cam reached for the coffee he didn’t want and drank. Christ, that multi-agency task force he’d worked on for nearly two years refused to die. He’d been approached for it because of his earlier work for DNE, the narcotics division that paralleled DCI. A contact he’d made during that time would ease his infiltration into the Sinaloa cartel, which was one of the most powerful drug trafficking syndicates in the world.
But what was supposed to be an assignment lasting months had stretched nearly two years. And his FBI contact, Del Harlow was the lone link he’d had to his other life. He’d relied on the man to share strategy and Intel, as well as messages to and from his mother. Harlow had declined to share the news about Cam’s mom’s heart attack. Cam hadn’t heard about it until he was back in the States, while he was being debriefed. His mother had survived, thankfully.
But any trust that had once existed between him and Harlow had been shattered. Every time he looked at the man he had an overwhelming urge to put a fist in his face.
Harlow raised his mug to his lips, watching Cam carefully over its rim. “You and Baldwin in contact?”
Here, at last, was the reason for the agent’s visit. Cam cradled his own mug, returned the agent’s stare. “Why would we be?”
Matthew Baldwin epitomized the reason Cam had gotten out of undercover work in the first place. Too long in deep cover had black and white blurring into a muddy shade of gray.
The result was Matt Baldwin.
“He contacted you a few weeks ago. Not the feds, you.”
“And I brought in the feds.” Sophie was sitting very still beside him. He’d told her most of the story when Baldwin first made contact. Her mind would be busy right now, reading nuances, dissecting every tone and inflection. She knew about the friendship that had sprung up between Matt and him. Knew that when the whole bust was about to go down, Cam had made sure Matt was elsewhere.
