One Wrong Move Read Online Free Page B

the job at Vin Doux. The team’s motto was still written on the dry erase board in the command room: i nfiltrate, identify, and imprison. That was the goal of their operation, and he felt like they were finally moving to the second phase. They had identified their new goal: bust Dare’s annual event. But he’d gotten fired, and they didn’t have time to set up new agents.
    “Did your plan work?” Moore asked.
    Camden bit down a strong aftertaste from his protein shake and placed his glass on the counter, mentally preparing himself for his next task. He hadn’t slept last night. He’d been too busy wondering how to make things right with Dare, worried there was nothing he could do.
    Stressed over how the hell he would tell Moore.
    “No.”
    “What do you mean no?”
    Shawn had to be found. With Shawn’s testimony, they might lock Darrell up. For a few months.
    “I was fired.”
    “What?” Moore jumped from his perch on the table and let out the expletives that had run through Camden’s head all night long. The box of Captain Crunch flipped over, dumped what was left, and his bowl of cereal and milk jumped to the floor along with it.
    His expletives were no longer addressed solely to Camden. He bent over and picked up the cereal box, slamming it on the counter.
    Camden didn’t want to listen. Yes, this operation was important, but it was hard to get into Darrell’s good graces. A man as successful as he for so long wouldn’t take a chance on anyone. He was closer than any agent had ever been, besides Fletcher, and he’d thrown it all away in one incident. He needed to beg, borrow, or steal to get back into those graces.
    “I couldn’t let Shawn go out there and do something stupid,” Camden said.
    “You could have steered him out the back door.”
    “I tried.”
    “You didn’t try too hard if he was already out of the kitchen when you got to him.”
    “Dammit, Moore, you weren’t there!” He knocked over the box, let it fall to the floor again in a resounding crash. His skin buzzed with white-hot anger. Moore always criticized him, had criticized Fletcher before he was killed.
    Moore didn’t reply because Lacey flitted in, which was an understatement. When she entered a room, all five-foot-four of her, a storm blew in with her. She changed her hairstyle as often as people should change the oil on their car, and now sported a short, spiky cut with an orange-red color and blond on the tips. One good thing Camden could say about her was she didn’t even remotely resemble a DEA agent or, for that matter, any officer of the law.
    Her skull and crossbones tattoo was the first turn-off. Wearing a short, tiered, red-and-black plaid skirt, a short-sleeved black T-shirt with a longer white one underneath, and large silver hoop earrings, she looked as if she’d just graduated high school, yet she was older than Camden by two years.
    “What’s for breakfast?” Lacey asked, eying his shake in disgust. Moore was busy cleaning cereal off the floor. She helped by picking up the box and shaking it to see if any was left. Finding none, she tossed it to the table.
    Camden’s gut churned, but he tamped down his lingering rage. This was no time to tell off his supervisory agent. He had a job to do, and he’d do it. “Whatever you want,” he barked at Lacey. She either had no idea she’d interrupted a heated conversation, or she didn’t care. He bet on the latter.
    She rolled her eyes and opened the refrigerator. “What do I look like?”
    “What do I look like?” Camden countered. “I’m not your personal chef.”             
    “I’m tired of cereal.”
    “Then go to the grocery store. That’s part of your job.”
    They’d lived together in the safe house for the whole of the operation. They were all suffering burnout, and they were getting tired of each other’s company.
    Especially when they’d never liked each other in the first place.
    “What am I doing here?” Lacey closed the