Whatever the end result, it was better to know the truth. He knew that now. He would see about getting Locke’s plane to pick them up at the small island airport instead of Sea-Tac. That would get them back to L.A. more quickly.
He sat down at the computer, the blue light leaking into the dark room, and started the process of logging into the secure portal to which Locke had given him access. The scavenger hunt began with an old article from Time Magazine about the most famous disappearances of all time. From there Braden clicked on the right eye of an artist’s rendering of the man known as D.B. Cooper, the man who had famously disappeared after hijacking a plane, extorting $200,000 in ransom, demanding a series of parachutes, then jumping out somewhere over Nevada, never to be seen again. Five planes had been following the hijacked plane when Cooper jumped. Not a single person had witnessed it.
Braden was still figuring out the metaphor of a man like Locke using Cooper as a portal to his most secure communications, but he couldn’t deny the poetry of it. If ever Locke was going to disappear, it probably wouldn’t be quietly.
A series of access sites and log-ins meant it took him awhile to make his way to the final screen, but when he got there he was rewarded with a message from Locke. He clicked on it and started reading.
SUBJECT: CLASSIFIED MIKE SHIELDS COMMS
ACQUIRED ACCESS TO SHIELDS’ PRIVATE COMM DEVICES. TRANSCRIPTS ATTACHED. SUGGEST REVIEW FOR POSSIBLE CONNECTION TO AGENTS INSIDE BUREAU OR CONTACTS OUTSIDE.
Braden clicked on the attachment and watched as the file opened, pages of conversation unfurling across the screen. It was a potential goldmine: conversations between Mike and his brother, Mike and various women, and yes, Mike and colleagues at the Bureau, plus other people whose names Braden didn’t recognize. It was something he never would have had access to at the Bureau — not without a lot of investigation and paperwork and authorizations and limitations.
But here it was; records of Mike’s emails and phone conversations dating back two years. He couldn’t deny feeling seedy looking at it. It was a violation of Mike’s privacy. A violation of the Bureau’s code. Then he remembered the man who had shot at him.
At Nora.
He remembered Cletis describing Mike. Which meant Mike had put Nora in danger, was involved in the Kalashnik fuck-up somehow. Was probably a traitor to the Bureau.
He didn’t like that it had to be this way, but the transcripts were exactly why he’d gone to Locke. It was a chance to solve a problem without the specter of technicality, and if he was right about Mike, the violation of his privacy was a small price to pay for Nora’s safety. For the safety of others at the Bureau that Mike was selling out by playing mole.
He leaned forward, started scrolling. They were both traitors now.
34
Braden wasn’t in the room when she woke up. She took advantage of the time alone to shower and dress. He’d brought her bag into the room in the middle of the night, and she went through her things, making sure she had everything for the trip back to L.A. Everything was there, including the case file for the crimes in San Diego County.
For the crimes committed by people that were now Braden’s colleagues.
She wondered if Braden would tell them about the FBI investigation, then scolded herself for being foolish. Of course, he would tell them. He was nothing if not a loyal partner, and they were his partners now. His loyalty was to them, the same way her loyalty was to the Bureau, to people like Shields who’d had her back for the last five years. Which is why she would have to tell Alvarez about Braden’s new line of work.
The thought sent a stab of pain through her chest. It was impossible to imagine betraying Braden that way. She could still feel his lips on her skin, his hands on her body. She could still feel him moving inside her, could still feel his breath mingling with hers when they kissed.
She started shoving everything into her bag. She was too close to him, that’s all. They’d been more or less alone for almost two days. Had traveled from the bastion of reality that was L.A. to the grand house in Seattle. Had continued to the fairy tale island that made it possible to imagine that nothing mattered but him.
Them.
His proximity loosened her grip on everything that mattered, everything that gave her life meaning and shape, the work that had given her purpose since Erin’s death.
She just needed space, room to breathe without the intoxicating presence that overshadowed everything she’d always believed about herself. She would demand it when they got back to L.A. Would take a couple days to regroup and get her bearings before going to Alvarez. Distance from Braden would strengthen her resolve, make it easier to connect the dots.
She wandered to the big glass doors leading to the deck. The wood was wet from last night’s rain, the waves rolling gently onto the beach below. The storm had blown over, but the clouds remained, blocking out the sun, casting everything in gray light.
Once she went to Alvarez her relationship with Braden would be truly over. There would be no future for them, no chance to play out the destiny that had brought them together. She’d lived with him as nothing but a friend for all those years, but she hadn’t realized the possibility of becoming more had been a sustaining force. In the back of her mind, she’d always thought they might get a chance. Had believed it was a chance worth waiting for.
Now she saw the future without him — without the possibility of him — and was rocked to her core by the bleakness of it.
She shook her head, turned away from the window. It didn’t matter how much it hurt. Sometimes doing the right thing did hurt — that didn’t make it the wrong thing. In fact, it was the ability to do the right thing in the face of personal suffering that separated those who talked the talk with those who walked the walk.
And she had never been a talker.
She would get back to L.A., keep her distance from Braden for a couple days while she got her head on straight. Then she would go to Alvarez and tell him everything she knew. That alone would give Braden time to extricate himself from the San Diego ring if he chose. And if he didn’t… well, that wasn’t her problem. It felt wrong to think it, but that’s just because she was brainwashed by her feelings for him.
She would say it to herself as many times as necessary to make it true.
She picked up her bag, headed for the hall, made her way down the stairs. The house was quiet, and when she reached the living room she found Braden sitting at the computer off the kitchen. He was shirtless and wearing jeans, his feet bare.
She’d never wanted someone so badly.
She cleared her throat, waited until he looked up, his face a puzzle she couldn’t read.
“I’m ready to go home now.”
35
“I think I have something.”
Locke looked up from his computer. “What is it?”
Braden let his eyes scan the transcripts he’d been reviewing. “Last March. The cell phone conversation beginning at 0600.”
He waited while Locke found it, his mind drifting to Nora. It had been two weeks since their trip to Washington and he hadn’t heard a word from her. They’d been picked up by Locke’s plane on Orcas Island and had flown back to L.A. in relative silence. She hadn’t been cold, but he’d sensed her trying to put distance between them. He didn’t love it, but he didn’t blame her. Their goals were diametrically opposed now. The space was necessary for both of them.
The logic of it didn’t change the other part of him, the part that missed her every day. That dreamt of her at night. That ached to pull her into his arms, smell her hair, touch her skin and occupy her body. Remind them both that she was his.
Whatever happened now, she was his.
He had no idea if she’d gone to Alvarez, if she still planned to go to him. But Locke had seemed unconcerned, insisting his tracks were well covered, and the two men had turned their attention to the investigation of Shields and the Kalashnik operation at the Bureau. Braden’s gut still told him something
was wrong, and the thought of Shields working next to Nora, possibly putting her in danger, was enough to make him want to punch something every minute of every day.
He’d thrown himself into the investigation instead, crashing at Locke’s, afraid to go back to the South Bay where Nora’s presence would be everywhere. When being away from her got to be too much, he took advantage of the on-site shooting range on the ground floor of Locke’s house, swam in the surf below until his muscles ached.
It didn’t keep him from missing her. From wanting her.
But it was all he could do.
“I see it,” Locke said.
Braden looked up. “What do you make of it?”
“Hold on.” Locke tapped the keyboard.
They were on the third floor of the house in La Jolla in the space Locke called his War Room. It was outfitted with enough hi-tech equipment to compete with the Bureau’s Central Command, and Braden had lost track of the hours he’d spent scrolling through Mike Shield’s phone conversations, emails, and texts.
It was mind-numbingly boring except for the few times they got a lead on something suspicious — that and the occasional mention of Nora kept him awake.
He hated hearing the bastard talk about Nora. Hated hearing her referred to as “a piece” to friends on Mike’s phone. He thought he’d become immune to hearing that kind of bullshit. Four years in the military and five more in the Bureau would do that to a guy.
But he was definitely not immune.
He had to scroll past those parts quickly, try to disconnect the words on the page from the woman he knew. The woman he loved.
“They’re talking about a meeting,” Locke said, interrupting Braden’s thoughts.
“That’s what I thought,” Braden said. “But we still don’t know who the contact is.”
The conversation had taken place on the phone, but Shields had never referred to the other person by name, and Locke hadn’t been able to trace the other number to anything but a throwaway phone card.
Braden looked across the desk at him. “Sounds high-level though, right?”
Locke rubbed his chin. “It’s hard to be sure without more context, but it could be. Does the part about the application ring any bells?”
Braden reread it just to be sure.
SHIELDS: The applications are already being pushed upline.
UNKNOWN: What about our friend in charge?
SHIELDS: He’s got more eyes on his back than any of us, especially now.
UNKNOWN: More eyes and more power.
SHIELDS: He does more good to you undiscovered.
UNKNOWN: Perhaps [unintelligable]… How many are there?
SHIELDS: Twenty-eight.
UKNOWN: I will need those names and locations.
SHIELDS: I’m not transferring anything online. It’s even more risky than bringing you copies. Cyber is all over everybody’s shit these days.
UNKNOWN: Bayside Corridor on the 20th. Six p.m.
SHIELDS: I’ll be there.
“It sounds like they’re talking about warrant applications,” Braden said. “A lot of them.”
“He’s asking Shields to intervene,” Locke said. “Or more specifically, to get someone more powerful to intervene.”
“Exactly. Someone higher on the food chain than Shields, which means he’s not working alone.”
The discovery brought Braden no satisfaction. It was validation of everything he’d believed — everything that had made him leave the Bureau in the first place. Not only was Shields a traitor, he was working with at least one other person inside the Bureau.
“Whoever it is must be high-profile,” Locke said. “Sounds like Shields is trying to keep him or her out of it.”
He’s got more eyes on his back than any of us, especially now.
More eyes and more power.
Could Shields have been referring to Alvarez and the SAC’s recent promotion? Braden didn’t want to believe it, but anything was possible. Then again the parameters were so vague they could apply to almost anyone at the Bureau: a new hire, someone newly promoted like Alvarez, an veteran agent on probation for a previous lapse in judgement or protocol. The possibilities were endless.
Braden leaned forward, skimmed the words again, tried to focus on the parts they had a chance at deciphering. “Sounds like he’s going to make a drop on the 20th.”
“Agreed,” Locke said. “And he’s going to do it on the busiest day of Comic Con.”
Braden looked at him. “Comic Con?”
Locke typed for a few seconds, then turned his computer screen so Braden could see it. A long, wide corridor was pictured there, surrounded by glass and topped with a barrel ceiling.
“Bayside Corridor is one of the halls in the San Diego Convention Center,” Locke said. “And Comic Con starts the 19th.”
36
“What about this one at Valentine’s? Not their usual M.O.”
Nora looked up, almost surprised to find that Mike was still sitting across from her in the booth at Marty’s.
“Valentine’s?”
Mike blinked. “The restaurant? They were robbed four months after First National. Think it’s connected?”
Nora returned her eyes to the papers spread in front of her, tried to bring herself back from her thoughts of Braden. It had happened way too often since they’d returned from Washington — two weeks in which she hadn’t seen his face, heard his laugh, felt his touch.
It was an eternity.
“I don’t know,” Nora said, skimming the details of the restaurant robbery, trying to cover up the fact that she hadn’t been thinking about the San Diego thefts at all. “Maybe.”
She was surprised to feel the press of warm flesh on her wrist, and she looked over to find Mike’s hand on hers.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
She forced a smile. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” His eyes were glued to hers. “I’m not trying to pry, Nora. But we are friends, aren’t we?”
She drew in a breath, nodded slowly. “I’m just having some… personal issues. I’d rather not talk about it. Work is the best kind of distraction anyway.”
Mike laughed a little. “It doesn’t seem to be working so well.” He withdrew his hand. “Would this have something to do with Kane?”
She looked up at him and he raised his palms in surrender.
“I’m just offering to listen as a friend,” he said.
Nora didn't even have to think about it. There was no possibility that she would confide in Mike. Not about Braden.
“It’s fine,” Nora said. “I’m figuring it out.”
It was a lie. She was no closer to an answer than she’d been when she left Orcas Island with Braden. When they’d landed in L.A. she’d felt sure time away from him would clarify her position. Would remind her of all the things that mattered to her — truth and justice, and yes, the law.
But the distance between them only made things more confusing. She’d put off saying anything to Alvarez, reasoning that Braden hadn’t done anything illegal, that his plans to do so were still theoretical. Or that’s how it had been when she’d last seen him anyway. Who knows what had happened between then and now.
It was a cop-out, but it was easier to live with than the idea of ratting Braden out to Alvarez. She’d instead focused on the case she was working with Mike, forcing herself not to consider that whoever was involved was now connected to Braden.
“If you say so,” Mike said. “But I’m here for you if you need anything. I hope you know I’ve got your back.”
She smiled. “I do. Thanks.”
There was still a part of her that was holding back from Mike, observing him for signs of traitorous behavior. She’d watched closely when she’d gone back to work after the weekend in Seattle, slowly lowering her guard as Mike continued to be Mike. There was less flirtation, probably owing to the run-in with Braden when he’d made it clear he was seeing Nora, but other than that, everything was exactly
as it had been for as long as she’d known him. He was funny and charming and cocky. But none of those things were against the law or the honor code of the FBI.
“Want to order some food?” Mike asked, glancing at his phone. “It’s getting late.”
“I think I’m going to head home.” She started gathering her files. “I have a long drive, and I’m already beat.”
“You sure?” he asked. “You could crash on my sofa if you don’t want to make the commute, get a couple more hours of work in here.”
The offer caused heat to rise to her cheeks for no good reason. She was not interested in Mike Shields. Had never been interested in him. Just the thought of spending the night at his place — even on the couch — sent a flush of betrayal through her body. Despite everything, she still belonged to Braden. It didn’t make sense, but it’s the way she felt.
“Thanks, but I’m looking forward to my bed.” She hurriedly threw everything into her bag, anxious to get away from Mike, away from Marty’s and the prying eyes of other agents from the Bureau, playing pool and knocking back beers at the bar. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She slid out of the booth and hurried for the door, waving at a couple familiar faces along the way.
It was still light out, the late summer sunset leaving a wash of orange and pink to the west. She hurried back to the Bureau parking lot, her mind on Braden, wondering what he was doing, who he was with. Had he given up on her? Gone underground? Would she even be able to find him if and when the time came?
A familiar emptiness opened up inside her. It had been her constant companion since Braden had dropped her at the apartment after their time on the island. She’d been without him for years, his presence in her life strictly peripheral, work and a few hours every now and then on the weekends when they’d been assigned to the same case. Now it was hard to imagine how she’d lived without him.
Rogue Love (Kings of Corruption Book 1) Page 14