Rogue Love (Kings of Corruption Book 1)

by Michelle St. James

  Nora watched the city pass by on the other side of the glass. They’d made their way out of Tacoma toward downtown Seattle in silence. She’d tried to lighten up a little, Braden’s answers to her initial questions ringing through her mind.

  He wasn’t dirty. He wasn’t undercover.

  But he hadn’t denied doing something illegal.

  It didn’t mean he was engaged in illegal activity, but it wasn’t a good sign. She thought about the possibilities, wondered what she’d do if and when he confessed something that stood in opposition to everything she believed.

  Everything she’d always believed.

  That it was even a question was alarming. Of course she wouldn’t stand for him doing something illegal. Of course she would turn him in.

  Wouldn’t she?

  She pushed the quandary aside and focused on the water gleaming around the city, the Space Needle rising into a blue sky in the distance. Seattle had a reputation for rain, but the air was dry, the temperature mild as Braden drove with the sunroof open. She wished they were in the city for a different reason. That they could make love in the morning, walk along the water, have breakfast and strong coffee while planning the rest of their day.

  The thought made her feel traitorous. Like she was some kind of simpering female who cared more about a vacation with her boyfriend than the fact that he might be up to something illegal only three days after he’d left the FBI. But it was okay to want something for herself, wasn’t it? As long as she didn’t claim it at the expense of her integrity? As long as it was only a fantasy?

  Braden’s phone rang, and she looked over as he checked the display and answered.

  “We’re about twenty minutes away,” he said into the phone.

  There was a long pause while he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. When he spoke again it was with a tired sigh.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll see you soon.”

  He turned off the phone without a glance in her direction.

  Nora stared at him. “We’re going to visit your mother?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s unavoidable.”

  “Unavoidable?” Anxiety and annoyance were warring inside her. “You couldn’t have told me before we left L.A.?”

  “What would have been the point?” he asked, looking over at her.

  She bit back the words on the tip of her tongue. I could have packed something nicer to wear. I could have freshened up on the plane. I could have been more prepared.

  Was she really worried about impressing Braden’s mother after everything that had happened? She leaned back in her seat, overwhelmed with emotions she didn’t know how to process. So this was how it happened. This was how you lost yourself to someone.

  You let go of everything you believed, not little by little, but all at once.

  You didn’t even put up a fight.

  “You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  About an hour after they left Tacoma they wound their way into a leafy neighborhood near the water. The streets were lined with grand, old homes, and she watched with surprise as they made their way up a series of hills to what felt like the top of the world. The other houses fell away as the properties got larger and more spread out, nothing but trees all around and the sky overhead.

  Finally they stopped at the bottom of yet another hill, an ominous black gate barring their way. Braden reached through the open window and pressed some of the buttons on a keypad mounted below a security camera.

  The gate swung open and he drove through. She watched in the side mirror as the gate closed behind them. Then her attention was stolen by the view as they played hide and seek with the city, glimpses of it visible at various points along the winding drive.

  She almost gasped aloud when they finally emerged at the top of the hill, a massive home rising three stories into the sky. The architecture was old but strangely modern, like a classic Boston brownstone magnified by a hundred.

  Braden pulled the car up a curved driveway and she caught a glimpse of multiple terraces on the second floor and greenery on the roof that could only mean a rooftop garden.

  He killed the engine and turned to look at her. “I should warn you that my mother is… old-fashioned.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She was almost glad to be talking about his mother. It made it harder to think about the show of wealth that made it clear Braden wasn’t the blue-collar boy who’d made good she had imagined.

  “It means she has a tiny dog that’s going to bark constantly when we first walk into the house, she’ll be completely made-up and dressed in spite of the early hour, and she’ll probably grill you about your family.”

  Wonderful.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  He chuckled a little, and she realized it had been hours since she’d heard him laugh, seen him smile. She hated to admit — even to herself — that she had missed it.

  He reached for her hand. “She’s harmless, I promise. And I told her we could only stay for a quick breakfast.”

  “Where are we going after that?” Nora asked.

  “Someplace more private.”

  The words carried a hint of promise that she shouldn’t have heard. Shouldn’t have wanted to hear. He was still holding her hand, his big palm enfolding hers, making her feel safe when she was anything but. She was like a junkie, craving his touch even when she already had the deeply unsettling feeling that it wasn’t good for her.

  It was that analogy that made it possible to pull her hand away, and she reached for the handle on the door and stepped out into the early morning. It felt scrubbed clean, the slight scent of salt on the breeze familiar and comforting.

  Braden opened the trunk and removed their bags.

  “You said we were only staying for breakfast,” she said.

  “I thought you might want to clean up while we’re here. We had a long night.”

  She nodded, trying not to be impressed by his thoughtfulness. Then they were heading for the door, their steps taking her one step closer to an attachment to Braden that she didn’t need.

  That she couldn’t afford.

  23

  “You said we’d plan a visit,” his mother said. “Emphasis on the word ‘plan’.”

  “I know. I’m sorry it was last-minute,” he said.

  They were sitting on the terrace, Nora sipping coffee to his right. He wanted her to like his mother despite the fact that it was a trivial concern in the face of all the other obstacles in front of them.

  “I’m happy to see you,” his mother said. “But I would have had Emily put together a bigger breakfast if I’d had more notice."

  Braden eyed the food — easily enough to feed twice as many people — on the table between them. “There’s plenty of food, Mother.”

  He took in her appearance, wondered if it was his imagination that she looked older since he’d last seen her, the wrinkles around her eyes slightly deeper, her face more gaunt. She wouldn’t like him to notice such things. Dorothy Kane was old-school. She had her makeup on every morning before she came downstairs, was always fully dressed, shoes and all, even in the house.

  He watched her study Nora across the table, her eyes shrewd but not unkind. Nora looked small under his mother’s gaze, and remorse flooded his body. Nora was right; he should have warned her, given her time to prepare. He hadn’t been thinking clearly. Had only wanted to get her out of L.A. before someone else came for him.

  Now he wanted to wrap her in his arms, protect her from his mother’s all-seeing gaze. He would make this up to her. He would make it all up to her.

  “We’re probably boring you with our talk of old family friends,” his mother said to Nora. “Please do tell me about yourself. What do you do for work?”

  Nora straightened a little, set down her coffee cup. “I work at the Bureau actually, with Braden.” Her eyes slid nervously to his and he knew she’d forgotten that they didn’t, in fact, work to
gether anymore. “I’m a Special Agent there.”

  His mother tipped her head. “How fascinating. And did you always want to be in law enforcement?”

  “Mother, please…”

  “It’s all right,” Nora said. “More or less. My father was in law enforcement — and his father — but I didn’t decide for sure until after I graduated from Boston College.”

  “Boston?”

  Nora nodded. “That’s where I grew up.”

  “I see,” his mother said, filling her cup from the pot on the table. “Boston is beautiful. Whereabouts in Boston are you from?”

  Braden had to suppress the urge to intervene. He knew what she was doing: trying to gather clues about Nora’s background, her family.

  “The North Shore,” Nora said. “My father’s the District Attorney in Suffolk County.”

  “How lovely.” His mother looked almost impressed. A District Attorney in the family meant ambition at the very least, and possibly old money. Not that his mother cared about that; the Kane’s had plenty of old money. It was about his mother’s fear that a woman might attach herself to him for their wealth. Little did she know Braden had been living on his salary from the Bureau since the beginning, and on his military salary before that. Someone would have to do some sleuthing to discover his family’s money.

  Nora smiled. “It sounds more impressive than it is. He’s a typical Irishman, was a member of the Boston P.D. while he put himself through law school.”

  Braden wanted to hug her. She wasn’t looking to impress his mother. On the contrary, she seemed anxious to make his mother believe that she was nothing special.

  Something Braden would never believe. Had never believed.

  “Work ethic is what has defined this country.” There was approval in his mother’s voice, and he knew she meant it. “My husband’s great-great-grandfather made his money during the gold rush. I don’t think the man owned anything except a knapsack and a pickax. It’s the American dream.”

  Nora opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. He knew what she wanted to say; that the American dream wasn’t alive and well anymore. That too many people worked hard and couldn’t get ahead. That the dream seemed accessible to a smaller segment of the population now.

  They were all things Nora believed. All things they’d talked about while steering clear of their feelings for each other over the years. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to fight that particular battle after all she’d been through since last night.

  Braden pushed back from the table. “This has been nice, Mother, but I’m afraid we have to be going.”

  “Already? But you just got here…”

  He was surprised by the note of regret in her voice. She was always so distant on the phone, so ambivalent about his next visit. He wondered how much of it was a ruse, part of her need to seem in control, independent.

  “I know. I’m sorry. We have to be back in L.A. Monday and I wanted to take Nora up north.”

  His mother nodded. “Of course.”

  “Braden mentioned it might be possible for me to clean up a bit,” Nora said. “Would it be all right if we imposed for another hour or so?”

  He looked at her, a rush of affection flooding his chest. She didn’t care about cleaning up; she was doing it for his mother, delaying their departure so Braden would have another hour to spend alone with her.

  “Of course,” his mother said. “Braden, show her to one of the guest rooms and see that she has everything she needs. I’ll have Emily brew another pot of coffee.”

  He held out his hand without thinking, was surprised when Nora took it, although it was probably just for appearances. He led her into the large dining room off the terrace and around to the foyer where she picked up her bag. Then they made their way to the staircase leading to the third floor.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said as they climbed the stairs.

  “She misses you,” Nora said. “And I would like to clean up.”

  She hesitated on the landing, stopped in front of the big portrait hanging on the wall. The man portrayed there was serious and solid, wearing a dark blue suit and a red power tie, his eyes distant.

  “Is this your father?” she asked.

  “It is.”

  “What was he like?”

  Braden’s throat threatened to close around all the things he wanted to say. All the things he didn’t want to say.

  “He was a complicated man.” He felt Nora’s eyes on his face, avoided meeting them.

  They continued to the third floor, down the long marble hall to a closed door. The room was as he remembered it, papered in deep violet, with an iron canopy bed at its center, the city and Puget Sound stretched out in the distance.

  “There’s a private bath,” he said, indicating a closed door on the left. “And there should be clean towels.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll wait downstairs. Text me if you need anything.”

  He was almost to the door when she spoke his name.

  “Braden?”

  He stopped, turned in time to see her walking toward him. He was surprised when she stepped close, put her hands on his face, stood on her tip-toes to kiss him softly on the mouth. It took all his discipline not to take her in his arms, kiss her with all the pent-up emotion he’d been corralling since that junkie tried to kill him.

  “What's that for?” he asked.

  Something undefinable passed in front of her eyes. She shook her head, stepped away. “I can’t just turn it off,” she said. “I wish I could.”

  She turned and crossed the room to the bathroom. He was still staring after her when she closed the door.

  24

  She ran the hot water and stripped off her clothes, her heart heavy in her chest. She hadn’t known Braden was wealthy, but that wasn’t the part that hit her the hardest.

  It was the sadness in the house that threatened to knock her over, the atmosphere still and quiet, no sign of life other than the little dog named Monty that seemed to be Dorothy Kane’s only company. It was nothing like the big, rambling house on the North Shore where she grew up.

  Of course, most people would think she was rich too. In some ways they wouldn’t even be wrong. But her wealth was most evident in other ways: in the way her father had roughhoused with them when they were young, their mother laughingly begging him to stop before he broke a lamp or a vase or a window. In the way she and Erin and the boys had ran up and down the winding staircase like a herd of elephants (according to their mother) and the way they’d piled on top of each other on the sofa in the living room to watch movies.

  Braden’s childhood seemed sterile in contrast.

  Cold.

  Of course, they’d never really talked about their respective childhoods. Nora had steered clear of the subject, not wanting it to lead to questions about her brothers, her mother’s death, what had happened to Erin. Maybe Braden had been happy. Maybe he’d enjoyed being the only child of a wealthy, serious couple in a mansion above the Emerald City.

  But somehow Nora didn’t think so.

  She stood under the hot water, letting it soak the kinks out of her body from all the hours they’d spent on the road and in the air. She couldn’t afford to feel feel sorry for Braden, and he wouldn’t want her pity anyway. Would loathe knowing she felt sorry for him.

  Still, it was hard not to see a lonely little boy hiding beneath the big, closed-off man she was only now really getting to know. And that stuff mattered, didn’t it? The reasons people became the way they were? The things that shaped them? That factored into their decisions? She had to believe it was true. If it wasn’t, it meant there was no rhyme or reason to any of it. It meant her brothers started their business in the aftermath of Erin’s death because they had always been violent men. Because they’d never cared about the law like their father. If it was true it meant N
ora hadn’t joined the Bureau to make sense of what happened to her sister or to honor her father’s commitment to the law but because she’d always been that person.

  Because she’d never had anything else.

  She soaped her body with a thick bar of artisan soap, breathing in the scent of olive oil and verbena. Had Braden’s mother put the soap here to make the bathroom nice for guests that never came? Or was it a detail handled by the older woman named Emily who seemed to take care of things around the house?

  She thought of the portrait hanging over the stairs, the stern-looking man in a suit, his eyes the same color as his son’s but without the depth and warmth Nora saw when she looked at Braden. What had happened between them to cast the shadow over Braden’s eyes when he’d looked up at his father’s portrait?

  She rinsed off and stepped from the shower, dried her body on one of the thick white towels stacked nearby. One thing was becoming more and more clear: she still had a lot to learn about Braden Kane.

  25

  Braden put their bags in the trunk and walked over to where his mother stood, clutching a sweater around her thin shoulders.

  “Thank you for having me.” Nora leaned in to give his mother a hug, and Braden hoped Nora didn’t catch the flinch on his mother’s face. Hugging wasn’t really a thing in their family. “It was very nice to meet you.”

  “And you as well, Nora. I hope I’ll see you again.”

  Braden was surprised by the sincerity in his mother’s voice, although he shouldn’t have been. Nora had that way about her: a way of winning everyone over without even trying.

  “I hope so too.” She looked at Braden. “I’m going to check my email while you say goodbye.”

  She slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, locking him outside with his mother.

  “She’s a lovely young woman,” his mother said.

  Braden’s nod was slow. “She is.”

  She pulled the sweater tighter around her body, as if it were a form of armor. He only wished he knew why she felt she needed protection from him.