Trusting Danger: Romantic Suspense (Book Two of the Danger Series) Read online

  Forcing a smile she didn’t quite feel, she said, “We’ll just have to make the best of it, right?”

  Chapter Seven

  On the drive back to DC from Pennsylvania Saturday morning, Grayson half-listened to the radio as the interstate spooled out before him. His ringing phone interrupted the radio, and a robotic voice came through the car speakers.

  “Call from . . . Camden Taylor.”

  Grayson pressed a button on the steering wheel to answer the call. “Back from your honeymoon already?” he asked his former partner.

  “Yeah, we got back a few days ago. It was amazing. You wouldn’t believe how relaxing the Caribbean is.”

  “You had good weather?”

  “We did. The only rain we had was just as we got to Saint Lucia, but it was beautiful the rest of the week.”

  “How’s Autumn?”

  Camden’s tone softened. “She’s amazing. Just got her GED and is taking cooking courses at the community college—excuse me, pastry arts courses.” He chuckled. “She found Gran’s cookbook and has been going crazy trying all the recipes. She wanted to bake the cake for our wedding, but that got nixed when we decided to get married in the Caribbean.”

  “I’m sorry I missed the wedding.”

  The line went silent a moment before Camden said, “It’s all right, Gray. You’ve got a lot going on.”

  Grayson stared out at the road in front of him. He did have a lot going on, but that wasn’t a good enough excuse to have missed his best friend’s wedding. Yet another person I’ve let down.

  “We’ve got a video,” Camden said. “At some point, I’m going to make you sit through it.”

  Grayson chuckled. “Name the date. I’d love to see it. How are you two liking Bonnersville?”

  “Moving to Virginia was the smart decision, really. Living in a small town has its charms, but it’s a big change from DC. Autumn likes it, though.” His tone turned serious. “It’s nowhere near any of the Wicked Disciples chapters or the other motorcycle clubs they were associated with, so I feel better about that. Running into any of Butch’s buddies . . .”

  “Wouldn’t be a good thing,” Grayson finished for him. A chill passed through him at the memory of his last case with Camden before he resigned from the task force.

  Silence filled the line until Camden asked, “How’s your mom?”

  “Not so great.” Grayson explained what had happened with his mother over the past few days. “I went up to spend a day with her but she’s not doing well, so I spent another night. I’m on my way back to DC now.”

  “Will she be okay by herself?”

  “My aunt’s staying with her.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel, the thought of his mother no longer being self-sufficient making a lump rise in his throat.

  “How’s the case going?” Camden asked.

  Grayson shifted his thoughts to work. Although Camden had left the task force back in May, Grayson was still trying to adjust to his absence, not only as his teammate but also as his roommate since Camden had gotten married and moved from DC. He was a great sounding board, though, and since his security clearance was still in good standing, Grayson had the green light from Eli to read Camden in on his current cases.

  “Remember Paxton?”

  “The drug dealer that Butch Cobb was rumored to have murdered?”

  “Yep. Turns out he was working with someone called the Iceman.” Grayson spent a moment relating the general facts of the drug-ring case and what little he and Aiden had learned so far.

  “What’s your cover?” Camden asked.

  “Single dad named Greg Paulson,” Grayson said. “Got out of jail not too long ago for dealing drugs. Broke and willing to do anything to make money. Did some time in the Army, and sold drugs there too. I’m supposed to have moved from California this past summer to be close to my toddler son.”

  “A dad. That’s definitely a new role for you.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not getting any younger. The kid makes sense. I have to say, though, I never thought I’d be a dad before you.”

  Camden let out a low chuckle. “Take good care of that kid now.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And take the time you need to spend with your mother. Eli will understand.”

  The levity of the moment faded, as did Grayson’s smile. “I will.”

  He ended the call and did his best to shrug off his guilty thoughts. They wouldn’t do him any good. Despite it being a Saturday, he had a meeting scheduled with Eli in less than an hour. That’s where his focus needed to be.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re still working?”

  Claire glanced up with a smile as Gabe walked into the suite. “I have to.”

  She hit the Save button before setting aside her laptop. Since she arrived yesterday afternoon, she’d spent every free minute working on not only Chris’s case, but the rest of her law school coursework. Thankfully, she’d made a bit of headway.

  Gabe frowned. “You seem stressed.”

  “I am,” she said, gesturing toward her laptop. “This project is a big deal.”

  “Well, you need to get unstressed.” He waved a dismissive hand. “The weather is fantastic, and we need to take advantage.”

  Claire blinked up at him in amazement. Gabe owned a company that managed holdings that boggled the mind. How was it that he never seemed worried?

  She, on the other hand . . . when wasn’t she worried about something?

  “You skipped breakfast,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her from the sofa. “Let’s go get lunch.”

  She and Gabe were soon seated inside the resort’s five-star restaurant at a table that overlooked a pond. Water shot up from a decorative feature in the center, its splashing providing a soothing backdrop. As they waited for their server, Gabe gave her a rundown of what was planned for that evening.

  “The chef who runs this restaurant will be preparing the meal. I’m just hoping his food is as impressive as his reputation.”

  “What time is everyone arriving?”

  “The jet arrives at three.”

  Claire blinked in surprise. “You chartered a jet?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  She took in a quick breath, taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. “It’s nothing. I’m just surprised you have that in the budget, that’s all.”

  “What would you suggest I do?” he scoffed. “Have them stay in DC and meet them at a McDonald’s?”

  “Of—of course not,” she stammered.

  How was it that in the past twenty-four hours, she’d managed to offend nearly everyone she’d come in contact with? Gabe was good at what he did and didn’t need her second-guessing him.

  “I’m not sure what I was thinking,” she said quickly. “Please forgive me.”

  Gabe studied her for a moment before his smile returned and he reached for her hand. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Gazing down at their entwined fingers, Claire recalled the night they’d met last year. Her mother had been the first to spot Gabe at a party. She’d gone up to him, introducing herself before calling over Claire.

  “Well?” her mother had asked at the end of the evening.

  “He seems very nice.”

  “Not just nice. He’s perfect for you.”

  Surprised, Claire had shaken her head. “How in the world can you know that? We’ve only just met.”

  “Peter has invested with him. He knows all about his company and says it’s growing exponentially. Your father’s thinking of investing with him too.” Her mother’s face had held a look of glee. “Gabe is someone who can take care of you, Claire.”

  “But I’m not looking for someone to take care of me. It’s not the nineteenth century.” Seeing her mother’s raised eyebrows, Claire had given in, knowing arguing about it was pointless. “Just don’t start planning our wedding.”

  Her mother had given her a smug smile. “All right then. I’ll wait a bit.”
>
  The memory faded as Claire lifted her head to study Gabe. He was so much like her parents. Money and power were just as important to him.

  While she admired his drive and determination—her father’s too, for that matter—she wouldn’t mind a lower-profile life for herself. And a less stressful one.

  As their server approached, Claire slipped her hand out of Gabe’s. There was no more time for introspection. His guests would be here soon, and she had to slip into hostess mode.

  Chapter Nine

  Grayson rapped his knuckles on the open door to Eli’s office. His boss was seated at his desk, the cuffs of his button-down shirt rolled up to reveal dark forearms.

  Looking up from the report he was reading, Eli grinned and motioned him inside, setting aside the folder. “Come on in, Gray. How’s your mother doing?”

  Grayson settled in the visitor’s chair in front of Eli’s desk and gave him an update on Eleanor’s condition, but stuck to the facts as if he were debriefing his boss on a case. How he felt about it all—the worry, the sadness, the guilt—that part he kept to himself as he forced his face to remain impassive.

  Leaning back in his leather desk chair, Eli studied him for a moment, his dark brown eyes measuring. “I can arrange a leave for you.”

  “That’s all right.”

  Eli looked away for a moment as he slid a palm over his shaved head. It was a tell Grayson knew well; the boss wasn’t in agreement.

  “What if something happens, Gray? Won’t you regret not being there?”

  Grayson narrowed his eyes. “Did my aunt call you or something?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered. Either the boss had missed the sarcasm or was choosing to ignore it. Probably the latter.

  Eli’s message was coming across loud and clear. You’re in denial. It was the same thing his aunt thought, but both of them were wrong.

  Grayson wasn’t in denial . . . he was well aware his mother was dying. He just couldn’t handle watching it. The fact that he was an adult made no difference; after losing his father already, the prospect of losing his mother hit him hard.

  This was where he needed to be, here working the case. If he didn’t have something else to focus on, he just might lose his mind.

  Locking eyes with his boss, Grayson said slowly, “I appreciate your concern. I really do.”

  Eli still looked skeptical. For all his macho persona—the imposing physique, the shaved head, the dark eyes that could skewer a man—he was a softie inside and tended to mother his team. Well versed on the statistics relating to divorce and suicide in law enforcement, he regularly lectured Grayson and his teammates about mental health, and kept a close eye on each and every member of the task force. Clearly, he was evaluating Grayson’s mental state right now.

  But Eli didn’t offer another argument. Instead, he let out a huff of resignation. “If you’re sure, Gray.”

  “I’m positive.” Grayson took advantage of the rope Eli was giving him and switched gears, explaining his plans to meet with Darryl that night.

  Eli gave him a nod. “All right. Keep me posted.”

  When he received a text from Darryl that afternoon, Grayson could hardly believe his luck. Darryl had done exactly what Grayson had asked for . . . he’d set up a meeting with his supplier, Rex Gibson.

  At seven p.m., Grayson strode into the Brew, a dive bar on the outskirts of DC. The dimly lit interior was packed with a rough-looking crowd of mostly male patrons, clustered in small groups in booths that lined the cinderblock walls.

  Using the description Darryl had provided—a heavyset white guy with a shaved head and a diamond earring—Grayson spotted Rex Gibson and headed toward the corner booth he was seated in alone, having dinner and a beer.

  The man looked up at Grayson and frowned. “You Greg?”

  “Yeah.”

  Gesturing with a nacho chip in his hand, Gibson said, “Have a seat.”

  Grayson gingerly lowered himself onto the bench seat opposite the drug dealer. Although strips of silver duct tape were crisscrossed across the vinyl, the bench still had holes where stained foam was sticking out.

  A half-eaten plate of nachos sat in front of Gibson. He crunched into a chip and studied Grayson while he chewed, then swallowed and took a swig of his beer. “Darryl says you’re new to town. Where you from?”

  “California.”

  “You’re far from home.”

  “My kid lives here now with his mother. I moved to be near him.”

  Gibson pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped his hands. “So you served time?”

  Grayson nodded. “Spent a year courtesy of the state of California. Possession with intent.”

  “Not too long a sentence.”

  Grayson tilted his head at the subtext. “Quantity was on the low end. I didn’t give anyone up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Gibson’s gaze narrowed. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

  “There was a raid on my place. Someone gave me up. I’d never do that.”

  Gibson sat back in his seat and studied Grayson.

  What was it going to take to convince the man? It was time to push past Gibson’s reluctance and sell himself.

  “Darryl told me you don’t have anyone to handle the upscale club scene. I can cater to the spoiled rich kids, help them spend their money,” Grayson added with a smirk.

  “Can’t let you have the clubs.”

  “What can you let me have?”

  Gibson took another sip of his beer and plunked the bottle down. “I got a job you can handle, but it ain’t drug-related.”

  “What is it?”

  “Got a customer who needs someone kidnapped. Ever done anything like that?”

  Surprised, Grayson tried to ignore the spike in his pulse rate and schooled his features. “No.”

  “Interested?”

  “I don’t get it. Did someone cross you?”

  “It’s a separate operation I got.”

  “Kidnapping people?”

  Gibson scowled at him. “If it ain’t your thing, just say so.”

  When the man moved to slide out of the booth, Grayson held up a hand. “Wait a second. I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.”

  Gibson sank back onto the bench and raised an eyebrow.

  “Who is it that you want kidnapped?”

  “Someone’s daughter.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Don’t know exactly. Not a kid, though.”

  “Is there a place to hold her?”

  “Yeah, that’s all set up.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Not important.”

  Grayson’s mind raced with questions. How many could he ask without looking suspicious? “When do you need this done?”

  “The next few days.”

  “Ransom?”

  Gibson nodded. “But someone else is taking care of that part. You’ll just hold her for a couple days.”

  “Then what? We kill her?”

  That comment earned him a frown. “Not part of the plan. You want the job or not?”

  “I need more information. Need to know who it is.”

  “Can’t tell you that.”

  “Is it someone high profile?”

  Gibson’s mouth twisted, his patience clearly coming to an end.

  “I need to know how much I’m risking by getting involved.”

  “It’s some senator’s daughter. That’s all I know.”

  Oh hell. Grayson sat back against the booth, willing himself to stay calm. The impending kidnapping of a politician’s daughter clearly trumped tracking down a drug dealer for the moment.

  “They’ll pay well,” Gibson said.

  “How much?”

  “Ten thousand. I get half.”

  Grayson snorted. “I do all the dirty work, but you get half?”

  “You want the job or not?”

  “Yeah, I want it.” I need her identity. He tamped d
own his frustration. “You got a picture?”

  “Not yet but soon, maybe tomorrow. They want this done quick. I’ll be in touch once I do. Darryl gave me your number.”

  Grayson pulled his phone from his pocket. “But I don’t have yours. I need to make arrangements for my kid, and if I have a problem, I’ll need to call you.”

  Gibson snatched Grayson’s phone and added his number, then tossed it back across the table. “Be ready. I’ll be calling.” Then he stood and left the bar.

  Grayson waited several minutes before doing the same. On his way home, he called Eli and explained what had just happened.

  “Jesus,” Eli said. “When’s the next meeting?”

  “Maybe tomorrow. Gibson said they want it done fast.”

  “Right. We’ll get you wired up for whenever it takes place. In the meantime, I’ll get a warrant for a wiretap on Gibson’s phone. With a kidnap plot in the works, we shouldn’t have a problem getting it.”

  Chapter Ten

  “How do you think it went?” Gabe asked as Claire came out of the bathroom later that evening.

  Awful, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t exactly true. She slipped under the covers into the king-sized bed, choosing her words carefully.

  The prospective clients’ wives had been polite, but they were at least twenty years older than Claire. Their lives centered around their social calendar, interspersed with charity events they attended or sometimes organized, much like Claire’s mother, Eva. And like Eva, they were self-absorbed and entitled, only concerned about themselves. By the end of the evening, Claire found herself incredibly sad.

  Why can’t people of means use their wealth and position to effect real change in the world? Do something more hands-on than organize a stuffy gala for a cause they barely understand and probably don’t care about?

  “Claire?”

  She looked up at Gabe as he stared at her, still waiting for her response.

  Pasting on a smile, she said, “It went well. From what I could gather, their husbands are leaning toward investing.”