Touching Evil (27 page)

She hesitated for a moment, torn.  Then dropped the phone back into her purse.  It was better this way.  Better that he learn to accept what she could offer him.  

And what she couldn’t.

But the abrupt silencing of the phone as it went to voice mail had the muscles in her stomach tightening.  It was easier to be irritated with the man than it was to grapple with her a trickle of unfamiliar remorse.  What was his problem, anyway?  They’d met exactly twice—both times this month.  Hardly the basis of a fairy tale romance.  Better that he realize now.  Lucy Benally didn’t do fairy tales.  At least not the romantic ones.  Based on her experience it was far easier to believe in the monsters that populated the somewhat gruesome children’s stories.

She stepped inside her kitchen, flicking on the light and set her purse on the table. Turning back toward the door a sound caught her attention.  She stopped.  Listened.  A floorboard somewhere in the recesses of the house creaked.

Lucy strained but heard nothing further.  She’d traded the constant city noises for the relative silence of the country, but that meant that random sounds could be startling.  The creaks and groans of an older home settling.  Crickets chirping from some as of yet undetermined location in the cellar.  The sound of a mouse that had had the misfortune to come inside looking for food, and had instead met its end.

Directly above the kitchen were the bathroom and the attic stairs.  And it was a little ridiculous to think that a burglar had entered her locked home and then snuggled in for a bubble bath.

The idea lightened a little of her tension.  But just in case, she headed for the front hallway closet to get the baseball bat she kept there.  She’d feel better with it in her hand while she did a room-to-room search.  It was the only hope she had of relaxing enough to sleep tonight.  Her cell rang again behind her, and she was reminded she hadn’t locked the door.  Damn Connerly.  Her brain was mush after their hours together.  She wasn’t thinking clearly.  

He appeared from nowhere.  Just rose from the shadows to block her way.  She stifled a yelp of shock, one hand flying to her chest.  The light spilling into the room behind her afforded enough illumination to make out his features.  Scruffy bearded face, a shapeless cardigan sweater several sizes too large for him.   A wrinkled skirt, from which legs encased on orthopedic hose and shoes extended.  But despite the bizarre overall effect, she recognized the man immediately.  His sketch had been all over the news.

In the next instant she turned to run.  Not for the back door but for the stairway that would take her upstairs.  To the gun she kept there.

“You don’t want to do that.”  A single shot punctuated his words, the bullet embedding in the wall next to her.  It was close enough for Lucy to feel the sprinkle of dislodged plaster.  She froze, her whole body quivering, caught in suspended animation between survival and flight.  She had a single moment to regret ever leaving Gavin’s bed before the man spoke again.  “I’ve been waiting for you, Lucy.”

*  *  *  *

It was the absence of Cam’s warmth that woke her.  Sophia opened her eyes.  Found herself alone in the bed.  The adjoining bath was dark.  Without considering, she rolled out of bed, hesitated for a moment when she remembered she was naked.  The last time she’d seen her robe it had been a wet crumpled pile on the bathroom floor.

She went to Cam’s closet and took a shirt off the hanger, buttoning it as she crossed to the door and rolled up the too long sleeves.  If she found him working, she’d simply bully him back to bed.  He was already sleep-deprived.  He needed more than an hour of rest to replenish him.    

There was also the possibility that he’d suffered another flashback from his time on that inter-agency drug task force.  He’d known exactly what she was going through last night when he’d come into her room.  Cam still occasionally suffered trauma-induced reactions himself.

There were no lights on in the condo.  But as she padded through the living room she could hear the low murmur of his voice.  And gave an inner sigh.  She flipped on the light switch.  “Seriously, you have to give the case a rest.”  He looked at her, clearly startled, his cell pressed to his ear.  He hadn’t paused for clothes.  He was completely and gloriously nude.

She felt herself blush, a completely ridiculous response given the last few hours but the involuntary reaction had long been the bane of her existence.  The look he raked her with had tendrils of heat igniting beneath her skin.

“Yeah.  Thanks for the update.  I’ll keep you posted.”  Unceremoniously, he ended the call.  Sent her a long slow smile.  “I think that just became my favorite shirt.”  He stalked deliberately toward her.  “In fact, I think I want it back.  Immediately.”

She rounded the desk to put it between them.  “Was that call about the case?”

“Yeah.”  The answer was immediate.  And so was her recognition of the lie.  That easily, the inner warmth was doused with a cold reminder of the other time he’d lied to her.  And how that fact had weighed heavily on her decision to break off their relationship.

“New rules, Cam.”  Her voice was steady.  Her hands weren’t, so she wrapped her arms around her waist.   “If there’s something you don’t want to talk about, tell me.  Something you can’t discuss, just let me know.  But do me the courtesy of not lying to me.  I haven’t earned your distrust.  And that’s what you’re telling me right now.  You don’t trust me enough not to lie.”

The corner of his mouth curled up wryly.  “Out of all the women to fall for, I had to pick a shrink.”

Sophia didn’t return the smile.  She couldn’t.  His words echoed and reverberated inside her.  
…of all the women to fall for…
Her knees went abruptly unsteady.

He propped his palms on the desk.  Leaned toward her slightly.  “No.”  His voice was quiet.  His gaze direct.  “That wasn’t about the case.  At least not this one.  It was federal agent Del Harlow.  My FBI contact during my time on the inter-agency task force.”

Confused, she said, “That was a year ago, wasn’t it?  And what’s the matter with the man?  Doesn’t he know how to tell time?”

His expression went grim.  “What’s wrong with him?  Other than being a lying sonofabitch, nothing that I know of.  In his defense, he’s heading for LAX from southern California.  Couple hours earlier there.”

The information had her mind working.  “You were in southern Cal on that task force,” she said slowly.  “What did he lie to you about?  And why is he still in contact?  I thought that case ended in a big bust of that Mexican cartel.”  Another thought occurred.  “Does this have anything to do with the picture I found in your desk drawer a few weeks ago?  Of you with that other man you said was your cousin?”

His look was arrested.  “Jesus, that mind of yours…why would you even ask that?”

“Because that was the last time you lied to me,” she said simply.  Still cold, her arms tightened around her waist.  “You didn’t want to answer questions about him.”

“You’re something.”  His expression was caught somewhere between chagrin and amusement.  “Prior to being sent down to infiltrate the Sinaloa Cartel, I spent a week at Quantico where I learned, among other things, how to beat a lie detector, which was intriguing, and how to withstand the effects of physical interrogation, which was less so.  And you…you just look at me and know when I’m not being honest.  How’s that work?”

“I see you differently than anyone else does.”  The words, while true, revealed too much for her to be comfortable with.  No longer able to meet his gaze, she paced to the corner of the room.  Pretended great interest in the canvas print of a fan-filled Kinnick stadium at night, the crowd outfitted in alternating sections of black and gold.  It was paired with a large sepia toned historic shot of Wrigley. “It’s all right.  I don’t need to know the rest.”

“Well you deserve to.”  When she looked at him over her shoulder, a mask of weariness had slipped over his expression.  “God knows you’re all wrapped up in this now.”

“In what?”

“My place is under twenty-four hour surveillance by the FBI,” he answered starkly.  “Physical and digital, although the cameras are all on the outside, at my insistence.”

Her eyes widened in shock.  “Why?  I thought that task force was long over with.”

“It was,” he agreed grimly.  “Until a packet arrived slipped in the folds of  the Sunday newspaper one day.  It was the morning you wanted to go to the Art Festival.  I begged off because I had to call Harlow.  Tell him someone from the cartel had traced me back to Des Moines.  There were pictures included in the envelope of DCI Headquarters.  The license plate on my car.  The address number on my house.  A picture of me…”

“And a copy of the one of you and the man who isn’t your cousin.”  She turned more completely to face him.  “Is he threatening you in some way?”

Cam rose to jam a hand through his hair.  “We don’t know.  The man…his name is Matthew Baldwin.  We got close while we were down there.”  Something must have shown on her face, because he added, “He wasn’t a total scumbag.  He was just a guy.  Got tangled up with the cartel because his wife is the niece of Pablo Moreno, its head.  And when the Sinaloa Cartel decides you’re going to work for them, people have two choices…do it or die.  So Matt did it.  Gabriela, his wife didn’t realize what her uncle did for a living.”

“But the bust you orchestrated down there was said to have gutted the cartel.  To cripple it.”

He gave a jerk of his shoulder.  “It helped.  But it was like chopping off the snake’s tail while leaving the head.  The cartel is rebuilding.  And Moreno is vicious.  Anyone left standing was bound to get looked at hard for being the traitor.”

She frowned.  “As far as they knew you were arrested with the others in the bust.  So how did that lead them to you?”

His smile was terrible.  “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?  The cartel has the money to get their hands on all kinds of information.  Harlow figures they’ve been tracing all the arrestees through the justice system and making sure they really ended up in prison.  Anyone spared would be suspected of turning on the cartel and marked for execution.”

Ice encased her.  “They…they know you’re a cop?”

“Someone does.”  He looked like he was regretting the entire conversation.  “I don’t want you to worry.  I would never have allowed you to be brought here for protective custody if I wasn’t certain it was safe.  I figured it was the most secure place to bring you.  Not only would you have round the clock protection, you’d have the feds watching the place, as well.  I have someone tailing me at all times.”

Sophia mulled the onslaught of information over.  “They’re using you as bait.”  The realization had her stomach doing a slow roll.  “Does Gonzalez know?”  

Again Cam shrugged.  “Couldn’t say.  The decision to enlighten my superiors is made much further up the chain of command.  I’d guess no.  Harlow flew out to California to meet with some informants, so that’s how I know as much as I do.”

“Can you trust him?” Sophia demanded.  Alarm, fueled by concern for him, was making its way through her system.  “You said yourself that he’s a lying sonofabitch.”

“He is that.”  Cam straightened.  Folded his arms across his chest.  “My mom had a heart attack while I was down there.  Harlow was supposed to be my connection to home.  Supposed to communicate messages back and forth between the family.  He never told me about her illness.  Not a word.”  His expression was terrible.  “Told my step-father he wasn’t able to get in touch with me while she was in the hospital, which was total bullshit.  She’d been recovered for six months when I got home and that bastard never mentioned a thing about it.”

Concern for him morphed to indignation on his behalf.  Her fingers balled into fists. “You’re right.  He is a bastard.  Which makes it less comforting to think of you leaving your welfare in his hands.”

He smiled a little at her tone.  “Not his, the agents on surveillance detail.  Otherwise, yeah, I’d be worried.  Harlow’s just the info guy on this.  He got a list of names of those who might have been put on my trail.  I had a cover, of course, but it wouldn’t last long against the cartel’s money.  I have a pretty good idea now who sent those photos.  I guess I always suspected.”

An awful sense of comprehension filled her.  “You mean…the man in the picture with you?”

“Matthew Baldwin.”  He gave a slow nod.  “Which serves me right for ignoring my training, everything I’ve ever been taught and saving the sonofbitch’s life.”

Chapter 13

Cam scrubbed a hand over his face.  Turned half away.  “Long term undercover operations have risks associated with them.  Everyone knows that going in.  But what most don’t realize is the natural human reaction you have when you’re with the same people day in and day out.  Some of the members of the cartel were just lowlife scumbags, especially the enforcers.  They liked the killing, the violence.  They were no better than Vance, in a different way.  They fed off people’s fear.  Others…”  

He rolled a shoulder.  “It’s a job, one that pays well.  The rampant poverty in Mexico makes it easy to get recruits.  But Baldwin…he was a decent guy.  Got tangled up in it by marrying Gabriela.  And then stayed in to protect his family.  Moreno would kill his own niece and great-niece in a heartbeat if Matt betrayed him.”

“You’re saying Baldwin wasn’t arrested in the bust.”

He smiled humorlessly.  “Because I made sure he wouldn’t be.  Sent him off on an errand as a ruse fifteen minutes before the bust went down.  Figured once he heard about it, he’d take advantage of the chaos to get his wife and daughter and leave the country.  Apparently he didn’t.  And the fact that he was spared would have made Moreno mighty suspicious since Matt was supposed to be at that meeting.”

It was the first time he’d admitted aloud what he’d done for Baldwin.  No one knew.  Not his FBI contact.  Not the DEA agent who had infiltrated the cartel a year after him.  It hadn’t been a decision that he’d come to lightly, nor had he borne it in the time since without guilt.

But few could understand deep cover.  Black and white melded into murky shades of gray.  The constant threat of exposure warped perspective.  A scene flashed across his mind of one of Moreno’s intermittent ‘loyalty tests’.  Cam would be dragged to an abandoned building, or to one of the underground tunnels the cartel used as their drug route into the US.  Then the barrel of a gun would be placed at his temple while the enforcer played a perverted game of Russian roulette while questioning everything about his story.  His cover.  His background.