The folder in Nora’s hands suddenly felt heavier. One America Plaza was the tallest building in San Diego, but it wasn’t tall by base jumping standards. Anyone who took that chance was no stunt hobbyist.
“Take a look at the file,” Alvarez continued. “Let me know what you think. We need to move fast. They used to make a hit every six months or so. It’s been more often lately. Something’s accelerating their timeline.”
Nora stood. “Will we have a team?”
“I don’t know yet,” Alvarez said. “I’m inclined to keep this one close to the vest for awhile, see where it leads. We can leave it open for discussion once you’ve reviewed everything.”
“Will do,” Mike said, standing and heading for the door.
Alvarez’s voice caught her as she was leaving. “Murphy.”
She turned around. “Yeah?”
“Let me know if you run into any problems on this one,” Alvarez said.
“Sure.”
She closed the door behind her, stepped out into the noisy bullpen where Mike was waiting.
“Not what I expected,” she said as they made their way around the desks.
“Ditto,” Mike said. “They sound like a bunch of assholes.”
Nora laughed. “Because they’re criminals? Or because they’re showy about it?”
“Both.” Mike stopped at her desk. “Want to work through lunch? Share the file?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Cool. El Tapatio?”
It was foolish, but she didn’t want to share Mexican food with Mike. She was still bathing in the glow of her night at Rosa’s with Braden. The glow of everything that had happened afterward.
“Can we do Mario’s instead?” Italian sounded good anyway.
“You got it,” Mike said. “Your usual?”
Her usual was Fettuccini Alfredo. It was good. A little bland, but comforting in its sameness.
But she suddenly didn’t want sameness. Things were changing, the ground shifting under her feet like the notoriously temperamental tectonic plates under California. The change was every bit as scary as she’d imagined change would be, but what she hadn’t counted on was the euphoria that accompanied it. The feeling of possibility that had opened up inside her when Braden’s lips touched hers.
Maybe change was underrated.
She looked up at Mike. “You know what? Surprise me. I’m in the mood for something different.”
He raised an eyebrow, a grin lighting his face. “Different is good. I’ll order now.”
“Great,” she said. “I’ll see you in the conference room. I’m going to pull a map and start marking the locations in San Diego County that have been hit.”
11
Braden rolled down the window and headed south, letting the mild air drift through the interior of the Saab. He should have been thinking about the meeting he was about to attend, but instead he was thinking about her.
Nora.
The night before had taken on a surreal quality in the hours since he’d left her at her door, making good on his promise to be a gentleman even if their goodnight kiss had been hot enough to send him straight home to a cold shower. He’d spent years staying on the other side of the wall he’d constructed between them, worshipping her from afar like a schoolboy, imagining all the things he wanted to do to her naked body if he ever got the chance.
Believing he would never get the chance.
In the end it had been the most natural thing in the world to touch her, to take her hand, to feel her mouth open under his. Almost like she had been waiting, too.
And all it had taken was the total destruction of his FBI career.
He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. If he’d had any close friends, he would have asked them if they wanted to grab a beer, would have happily listened to them give him shit over his decision to walk out on the career he’d been building most of his adult life.
He had the sudden urge to call Nico again, now head of the criminal empire he’d once helped destroy. Nico knew what it was like to give up everything for a woman, and even though Braden had other reasons for leaving the Bureau, Nora had been a hell of a bonus.
It was strange to realize Nico was no longer the enemy, might even be considered an ally if things went well in La Jolla today. But Nico was in New York, and Braden still had things to put in place.
First things first.
An hour-and-a-half later he pulled through the gates at the bottom of a hill in La Jolla. He’d been buzzed through without comment, and he marked the security cameras along the way, his training instinctual after all these years.
He continued up a long driveway, the Pacific glimmering like a blanket of diamonds in the distance. The drive rose sharply, winding up a hill lined with drought-resistant trees, the California desert threatening to encroach beyond the treeline.
The house came into view as he emerged at the top of the hill. It was Spanish in style, the white stucco standing in contrast to the traditional red tile roof. A private cove was tucked into the cliff below, and he could just make out the tail end of a sloping pathway that seemed to run from the property on the hill down to the beach.
He parked the car next to a red Lamborghini — which was parked next to a Humvee — then stepped out and looked around.
The property was well-positioned, high above La Jolla with unobstructed views of the water to the west. The views in every other direction were cut off by strategic landscaping and the sheer height of the property. No accident, Braden assumed. The man he was meeting valued privacy above everything but loyalty.
He made his way up a wide brick porch to a massive wood door that looked like it had been hand carved off a giant Redwood and nailed to the frame. More than likely its construction was a lot more complicated, probably involving a steel core lined with bulletproof polymers.
But the effect was nice.
He was raising his hand to knock when the door opened. The shirtless man standing in its frame was about Braden’s height with the kind of lean, defined muscle of a professional athlete and a tiny Buddha pendant hanging by a length of hemp around his neck. A line of multi-colored rope marched its way up one of his forearms.
He wore jeans, his feet bare, his blond hair too long for Braden’s taste. Then again, Locke Montgomery had never been a member of the FBI. Not that Braden knew of anyway. Montgomery’s past was buried so deep, Braden hadn’t been able to find a trace of him in the Bureau’s database.
The man was a lone wolf. He could wear his hair however the fuck he wanted. Could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Until he got caught anyway.
Locke looked him up and down, and Kane unbuttoned his shirt halfway to prove he wasn’t wearing a wire. Locke nodded, then waved him into the foyer.
“I’m afraid I still have to put you through the paces,” Locke said.
“Of course.” Braden held his hands out at his sides and waited as Locke patted him down, removing Braden’s weapon and cell phone. “Come with me.”
Braden followed Locke down a wide hallway lined with heavy tile. The house was large and open, with a view from the front door all the way to the back of the house and the ocean beyond, the horizon splitting the sky in two.
They entered an open-concept great room, a rustic but lavish kitchen visible from the spacious living area. The room would have been walled by glass if the massive doors had been closed, but they were folded back against the walls,making the terrace an extension of the living area.
“Have a seat,” Locke said, entering the kitchen. He opened the microwave and put both Braden’s weapon and his cell phone inside before shutting the door. It was as good a solution as any, but Braden couldn’t help being surprised.
“No bodyguards?” Braden asked.
“I have people,” Locke said. “But I don’t like them in my house if I can avoid it. This is my sanctuary. Beer?”
“Sure.”
Braden looked around while Locke pulled two beers from the fridge.
It was pretty nice as sanctuaries went, and for the first time he questioned his decision not to use the money in his trust fund. Whatever had happened between them, his father had left the money for Braden. He had an image of Nora, padding barefoot in a house like this one, a place where she could lay by the pool and feel the breeze on her face without having to walk down to the Strand. A place where she didn’t have to listen to her upstairs neighbors partying every Saturday night while she tried to sleep. Where he could make love to her with all the doors and windows open to the sea.
Locke came into the room carrying two beers, handed one to Braden, and took a seat in one of the chairs flanking the sofa. He looked at Braden for a minute before laughing and shaking his head.
“Fucking Braden Kane. Who would’ve thought.”
“I’m surprised you agreed to see me,” Braden said.
He shrugged. “Nico vouched for you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Want to tell me what this is about?” Locke asked.
Braden turned the cold beer in his hands. “I’m out,” he said. “Of the Bureau.”
“Define out.”
“Handed in my badge yesterday,” Braden said.
“You could be going deep cover,” Locke said.
“They wouldn’t send me undercover with someone who already knows who I am,” Braden said. “You know that.”
“Could be some reverse Psy-Ops.”
Braden smiled at Locke’s use of the term. Psychological Operations were a big part of the Bureau’s strategy on virtually everything. Psychological profiles made it possible to manipulate witnesses and moles. Sometimes it was easy, a matter of exploiting someone’s history for weakness. Other times it was more complicated.
But not that complicated.
“Too risky, even for Psy-Ops,” Braden said.
Locke leaned back, looking every bit like a bohemian king. Braden knew better. Underestimating Locke Montgomery would be a mistake. The man was militant in his views, borderline insane in his willingness to push the envelope.
Plus Braden was willing to bet he had a weapons arsenal that would rival the Bureau’s stockpile.
It was why he had opted to join Locke rather than go rogue on his own; Locke already had everything in place. He’d been running his game for years, had been through the trial and error that Braden would experience on his own. Why reinvent the wheel when you had the original fucking caveman offering to show you how?
Anyone who met Locke would undoubtedly think he was just another California golden boy who spent his days surfing and his nights smoking weed.
They would be wrong.
Montgomery wasn’t about the show. He was about the journey — both professional and personal — and about the end result. For Locke, the right ends justified any means, and according to Nico, Locke had spent nearly a decade pulling off some of the most brash thefts on the books.
Rumor was he’d made his money young with a tech company IPO that rose like a rocketship, making him a billionaire before he was twenty-five. The money he stole now wasn’t for him, the targets carefully chosen based on the wrongs they’d perpetrated against the innocent.
Locke Montgomery was a fucking Zen Robin Hood with long hair and a surfboard.
And Braden wanted in.
Locke studied him for a long minute. “Okay, Kane. Start talking.”
12
Nora was looking at the San Diego County map, red circles marking the locations of crimes thought to be committed by their reckless perps, when her cell phone buzzed. She picked it up, flipped it over, and fought a smile when she saw that the text was from Kane.
WHAT ARE YOU UP TO, BEAUTIFUL?
She glanced across the table at Mike, engrossed in one of the crime scene reports. They’d spent lunch going over the case files and had passed the rest of the afternoon running down leads and calling sources. They’d reconvened after work at Marty’s, one of the Bureau’s favorite local dive bars. With tall booths that were well-suited to private conversation and plenty of noise for cover, it was the perfect spot for post-work commiseration and a nice change of scenery after long hours in the office.
She typed a reply into her phone.
AT MARTY’S WORKING ON A NEW CASE. YOU?
His response came less than ten seconds later.
DYING TO SEE YOU.
Any hope of stifling her smile was lost to the words on the screen, the man behind them.
SAME.
“What are you grinning about, Murphy?” Mike asked.
She turned her phone over on the table and looked at Mike. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
He studied her for a minute. “Agent Murphy, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got the hots for someone.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, returned her gaze to the map in front of her. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I hope so,” he said. “Because I’ve been waiting for a shot myself.”
The words didn’t surprise her; getting Mike Shields in bed would have been as easy as crooking her finger. But it wouldn’t have been because Mike wanted her. Because he knew her. She would just be another conquest for him, albeit a friendly one.
And it wasn’t Mike she wanted. It wasn’t Mike she’d ever wanted.
She’d hoped his attraction to her would remain unspoken, a harmless office flirtation on his part routinely and predictably met with good-natured rejection on hers.
Now they had to talk about it, and that inevitably made things weird.
“You know I like you, Mike. You’re one of my best friends at work.”
He chuckled but his jaw was tight and she knew he was checking his disappointment. “So I’m friend-zoned.”
She pushed down the resentment that was turning to a slow boil under her skin. Friend-zoned: what an asinine term. Why did guys always think it was some sort of syndrome when you weren’t into them? Like there had to be a complex psychological explanation for the fact that you didn’t want to date them when more often than not, the chemistry just wasn’t there?
She forced herself to breathe through her annoyance. Mike was a friend, and he was just looking to save face. She settled on a version of the truth.
“It’s just… you’re right. I am seeing someone.”
“Anyone I know?”
She was weighing her answer when she saw Mike’s gaze pulled upward to the space behind her. When she followed his eyes, she was surprised to see Braden standing at her shoulder. He bent down, kissed her on the cheek, slid into the booth next to her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“There you are.” Braden’s voice was as warm as the sun on her skin. He turned to Mike with a nod. “Shields.”
Her cheeks grew hot, a guilty flush spreading throughout her body even though she had no reason to feel guilty. Braden didn’t even work at the Bureau anymore, and she was a grown woman. She could see whomever she wanted.
She looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”
He draped an arm across the back of the booth. It was a possessive move. A way to mark her as his in front of Shields. The knowledge sent a shiver of excitement through her body even as the reasoned part of her feminist brain called her an idiot.
“I was in the neighborhood.” He looked at the files on the table, their contents spilling onto the scarred wood. “What’s all this?”
She hurriedly stuffed everything back into the folders. Now that he was out of the Bureau, she wouldn’t be able to talk with him about her work.
“Just a new case,” she said.
“Classified,” Shields added, obviously enjoying the opportunity to keep Braden on the outside.
Braden held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Of course.”
Shields narrowed his eyes at Braden, and Nora watched as his face transformed from the easygoing flirt into something harder and meaner. The moment went on too long for her comfort, the two men staring each other down like Desperad
os facing off over some kind of damsel in distress.
She was no damsel, but she also knew better than to get in the middle of their pissing contest. These kinds of competitions were never resolved through negotiation by an outside party.
They had to play themselves out.
Finally, Shields finished his beer and gathered up the files. “I’m heading out. See you tomorrow, Nora.”
“Bright and early.” She hated herself for sounding so cheerful, so desperate to keep things on an even keel. She waited for him to clear the booth before she turned to Braden. “Was that really necessary?”
“Just making something clear,” he said.
“And what is that?”
He pulled her closer, his fingers stroking the bare skin of her upper arm where the sleeve of her T-shirt ended. Then he turned his face to look at her, his lips only inches from hers as he stared down at her.
“That I’m going to make you mine, of course.”
“You are?”
There was a touch of the devil in his smile. “Unless you plan to object.”
His fingers stoked a fire under her skin, the embers spreading from her bare arm to her chest, down to her belly, his gaze lighting a fire at her core.
“I don’t,” she said.
He touched his mouth to hers, parting her lips gently with his tongue, exploring her mouth slowly. His free hand came up to her cheek, stroking it softly while his kisses grew more urgent, his tongue more demanding. She lost all sense of time and place. There was no bar full of people. No possibility of being seen by coworkers from the Bureau.
There was only Braden and his fingers and body and mouth.
By the time he pulled away, they were both breathing hard, and she was practically on his lap in the booth.
“Come on,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’m taking you home.”
13
They left Nora’s car in the Bureau lot and headed for the beach. He was relieved by her silence as he drove. It was one of the things he enjoyed most about being with her. She had no compulsion to fill the vacuums in their conversation, and they’d spent hours working side by side, each lost in their own thoughts as they dug through data, listened to audio surveillance, formulated theories and plans.
Rogue Love (Kings of Corruption Book 1) Page 5