And there he was.
He held her eyes before getting to his feet, slowly closing the distance between them. He stopped next to her chair, held out his hand. She drew in a breath, bracing herself for his touch, for the onslaught of feeling that would only further cloud her judgement.
He pulled her to her feet, tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m hoping it’s the latter,” he said, “because I’m in love with you, too, Nora Murphy. Have been since you first beat me on that obstacle course at Quantico.”
She shouldn’t have been thrilled by his words. Shouldn’t have wanted him to take her to bed as badly as she did.
He lowered his head, touched his lips gently to hers, stroked her mouth open with his tongue. Then she was unfolding all over again, the last two weeks falling away like a bad dream as he held her chin, opened her mouth wider for him.
Her body was alight, flames tripping along the surface of her skin, only hinting at the fire already smoldering at her center. When he finally pulled away she could hardly breathe.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice rough and full of anguish. “Tell me what you want from me.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body to his. “I want you to take me to bed.”
He swept her into his arms, carried her through the apartment toward a fate she no longer had the will to fight.
39
Braden was putting the last of the gear in the duffel bag when he felt her standing behind him. He zipped the duffel and turned to meet her eyes, wondering what he would see there.
“Got everything?” she asked.
He nodded. “You have your vest?”
“I have it.”
“Good.” He opened his arms and she walked into them like she’d been waiting for the invitation. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure,” she said into his chest.
He only wished he was as certain. They’d spent the last five days holed up in his apartment, isolated from the rest of the world except for a few trips to the grocery store or the occasional takeout run. Nora had called in sick, and they’d passed the time making love and talking long into the night. He’d finally learned about her mother’s cancer, about Erin and the man who had led her down the road that had ultimately meant her death. Nora had cried when she told him, wouldn’t let him hold her when he tried, as if she was birthing the story from the deepest part of herself, needed to be left alone to bring it into the light.
It had broken him, had taken all his discipline to stay away from her while she talked. When she was done, he’d held her close, kissed her hair, told her nothing would ever hurt her like that again.
And he’d talked, too. Told her about his father and the deep wounds of their estrangement. About his mother’s distant warmth, almost close enough to touch, always just out of reach.
They’d avoided the other stuff — her brothers and their questionable enterprise, the future beyond July 20th, Braden’s work with Locke, which wasn’t a sure thing now anyway.
It had been difficult to explain Nora to Locke. Difficult to get him to trust her. In the end Braden had had to pull rank with an ultimatum — it was his baggage, his operation. He didn’t love the idea of Nora coming along, but she’d made her case and made it well; Shields was her partner at the Bureau, was responsible for her safety and the safety of the other agents she worked with. If he was dirty, she had to know. Had to see it to have any credibility reporting it to Alvarez.
Braden was going to bring Shields — and whoever he was meeting — down at the Comic Con meet-up. It was personal, and while he didn’t expect Locke to sign on, whether or not the other man came along had no bearing on Braden’s actions.
He’d been surprised when Locke had reluctantly agreed to bring in two of his men. Locke was still suspicious of Nora, but he figured if she was going to rat him out, it wouldn’t be while he was helping bring down a dirty Fed. Braden had a feeling any credibility won by Nico’s backing was wearing thin, but right now he couldn’t see further than the Shields sting anyway. Everything in his world hung on its outcome.
And by everything he meant the woman in his arms.
He tightened his hold on her. “I wish you’d stay here.”
“You know I can’t,” she said.
He did. And while part of him wanted to lock her in a tower where she would always be safe, he knew one of the many things he loved about her was her strength, her will, her courage in the face of fear.
They hadn’t talked about what would happen after today, but his future was in her hands in more ways than one. He pulled back to look at her, saw the conflict in her deep-sea eyes, wondered how many more opportunities he’d have to look into them, wake up to them, search them for the only truth that mattered.
But he wouldn’t find answers to his questions here, and neither would Nora. There was only one way to the other side of the gulf that lay between them, and that was through it.
He bent his head to kiss her, then took her hand. “Let’s do this.”
40
Nora looked out the window, watching the suburban sprawl pass by on the other side of the glass. She’d been thinking about what was to come for five days, wondering what it would be like to confront Shields — if it came to that — about betraying the Bureau.
The time she’d spent with Braden had been as close to bliss as she was likely to find in her lifetime — hour upon hour feeling his body move against hers, saying all the things they’d been afraid to say, putting off the moment when they would have to reconcile the truth of their differences.
Now she just wanted it to be over.
She wasn’t nervous about the actual confrontation. She didn’t ask where Braden had gotten the weapons and tactical gear loaded in the trunk, but there was plenty of it. Both of them had had more than their share of armed confrontations, and she assumed the men Braden was working with were equally prepared. They had, after all, evaded apprehension despite their years of illegal activity.
She tried to picture them, to imagine what a gang of do-gooder thieves would look like. She couldn’t, and Braden had been no help on that front, insisting on keeping their identities a secret. They were as much a mystery to her now as they were when they’d been nothing but a case file, and she had a feeling it would still be that way after today, regardless of the outcome.
They would use no names during their operation today, and Nora had agreed to leave her cell phone behind. She wouldn’t have betrayed Braden’s trust by trying to snap a picture of them anyway, but she didn’t blame them for being careful.
She tried not to think about the relief she’d felt leaving her phone at Braden’s apartment by the beach. Tried not to consider the possibility that she was falling further under Braden’s spell, sliding into the kind of apathy about the rules that would eventually lead her to turn her back on them entirely.
She told herself it wasn’t about that. She’d called in sick all week, had been dodging texts from Mike with generic symptoms of illness and apologies for leaving him hanging on the San Diego case. It was natural to be relieved, to leave it behind and think only about the task at hand.
The focus required to participate in a raid was something she’d always enjoyed about her work at the Bureau. It left no room for second thoughts, no room for doubt or memory or philosophical pondering.
There was only the mission and the lives of those around you.
Today was no different. She would stay focused on the goal of intercepting Mike when he met with his contact, on discovering the identity of the person he was meeting. Maybe it would even result in a break on the Kalashnik case, something that would reinvigorate it without the weeks or months it would take to surveil the contacts under warrant.
“Almost there,” Braden said from the driver’s seat.
She looked out the windshield, saw the convention center looming ahead. It was after four p.m., nearing the end of the conference day, and the streets surrounding the center were packed with
cars exiting nearby lots, people streaming down the sidewalks on their way from the center, some of them dressed in costumes, most of them carrying bags overflowing with promotional junk they’d picked up along the way.
Braden navigated past them, following the signs marked “Loading” to a gate with a short line of delivery vehicles. She wasn’t surprised when he pulled up to the gate and produced an ID that got them through. She didn’t know how much pull his new friends had, but she assumed getting into the convention center was small time compared to some of the stuff they’d pulled.
They made their way around the facility to a loading dock marked with a giant “H”. Braden slowed, searched the lot until his eyes came to rest on a white Humvee, a serene Buddha hanging from the rearview mirror.
She thought about the bank manager in Chula Vista, his description of the perp he called the leader.
It had a buddha pendant hanging from it, but not the fat kind.
Jesus.
Braden parked next to the Humvee and they removed the duffel from the back of the car. He threw her a jacket, and she turned it over in her hand before looking at him.
“Are you serious?” FBI was spelled out in big letters on the dark blue nylon.
“What?” he said. “It’s not a lie for you.”
“And what about you?” she asked.
He shrugged. “No one told me to turn in my jacket.”
She sighed, slipped on the jacket. It was the least of her problems, and she knew the cover it would provide, the ease with which they would be able to move around in a crowd.
They made their way into the building, through a series of concrete hallways to a large holding room lined with boxes. Braden gave three quick knocks, and a moment later the door opened a sliver.
She caught sight of a brown eye and a lock of blonde hair before the door swung open. The man standing on the other side wore jeans and a white T-shirt, impressive biceps emerging from the sleeves. He also had a jacket identical to the ones worn by Braden and Nora, something that made her cringe inwardly. Right now she was off-duty, and while she could make a case for wearing her Bureau-issued jacket, could even make a case for Braden wearing one, it would be hard to sell working with a group of people who had no business in hell wearing them.
He waved them in and she stepped into the room.
He shut the door behind them, and she took in the other two men strapping weapons to their sides. One of them was tall and slender, his dark hair shaved so close she could see his scalp. The other had skin the color of black coffee, his shoulders as wide as Braden’s, his eyes like twin lasers focused on her as she came into the room. All of them were noticeably muscular — even the skinny one had the kind of build that promised wiry strength.
The man who opened the door turned to face her, and she caught a glimpse of the rope hanging around his neck, the Buddha nestled in the hollow of his tan throat.
“Sorry to do this,” he said to her, “but I have to check you for a wire.”
She lifted her shirt, glad Braden had warned her so she could wear a cami under her T-shirt. The man patted her down quickly and efficiently.
“Thanks,” he said.
She nodded, and they moved farther into the room.
“Just a reminder that we’re not using names on this one,” said the man who opened the door. He was obviously the leader, and the other men nodded, slipped on matching FBI jackets as he continued. “We all know who we’re looking for. The object of today’s game is to bring down a dirty Fed, and hopefully the asshole he’s communicating with outside the Bureau.”
The guys nodded, and Nora assumed they’d gotten the same pictures — one of Mike Shields, the other an enhanced version of the photo she’d taken under the overpass — that had been sent to Braden ahead of the mission. According to Braden, they had run deep background on the mystery man in the picture and discovered he was a notorious Ukrainian criminal named Petro Sokolov. It was no surprise; Ukraine had become a hotbed for all kinds of crime, including the sale of illegal weapons. There was no guarantee Shields would be meeting the same guy today, but it was all they had.
“There will be no firing of weapons,” the leader continued. “There are too many civilians. Is that clear?”
Everyone nodded, and he paused, like he wanted to make sure everyone understood. After a few seconds, he reached into a bag shoved under a metal table and withdrew a handful of headsets. He passed them out with standard instructions for their use, then continued.
“This is a voluntary mission. We’re helping out a friend, leveling the score on a dirty cop, that’s it. You can walk now if you’re not on-board.”
Mr. Skinny ducked his head. “Walk away from the chance to bring down a dirty Fed? No way.”
Nora’s confused loyalties swirled around her conscience. She had no love for dirty law enforcement, but she was a member of the Bureau. They were her people, and most of them were good people. At the same time, it’s not like she could find fault with Mr. Skinny’s argument.
“Then let’s do it,” the leader said. “Apprehend the target and bring him below deck. We’ll deal with him off premises.”
She didn’t love the sound of it, but Braden had assured her there would be no killing. Had promised that’s not what these people were about, in spite of the case file that said they’d killed a guard last year.
She adjusted her headset as they moved toward the door. Everyone else had filed through when she felt Braden’s hand on her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to wait here?”
She nodded, moving past him. “I’m sure.”
She ignored the voice inside her mind that called her a liar as she followed the others down the corridor with Braden at her back.
41
They stayed together until they reached the end of the hall, then Locke’s men split off to the left while Locke led Braden and Nora right. Braden knew from their planning that the other two men would approach Bayside Corridor from one direction while he, Nora, and Locke approached from the opposite side of the building. They had no way of knowing which direction Shields would come from, but the sooner they could get him the less likely it would be that he’d have help.
They took a freight elevator to the main concourse, then used the escalators to get to the hall called Bayside Corridor. They were almost to the top when he heard a voice in his ear announcing the arrival of the other men on their assigned side of the concourse.
“Copy.” Locke ducked his head into his jacket in a gesture so subtle, Braden wondered if he’d ever worked for the Bureau.
They stepped off the escalator into a stream of people traversing the wide, carpeted hall. It was busier than it had been on the floors below, and he wondered if there was an event scheduled to account for the increased traffic. He had his answer a moment later when they passed one of the big reception halls. A sign stood on an easel out front announcing the room’s latest event.
BATMAN V. SUPERMAN
PSYCHOLOGY OF A RIVALRY
5pm-6pm
A list of names for the panel was written under the presentation’s title, and Braden recognized several leading actors and a well-known director. Now the timing made sense; if you wanted to meet someone in a crowded place where it would be difficult for someone to mark you, this would be at the top of the list.
He watched as people streamed from the big hall. Some of the crowd noticed their headsets and jackets, parted for them as they passed. Others jostled them, seemingly unaware of anything but their own excitement.
He looked down at Nora, her face intent as she scanned the crowd. “See anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. “You?”
“Not yet.”
They neared a second set of doors for the conference room and a fresh wave of people walked into them, splitting him from Nora. There was a moment’s confusion: people bumping into him, their bags hitting him as they passed, some of them stopping in the middle of the walkway to talk and plan. He looked at t
heir faces as they passed, not wanting to miss Shields, as Locke’s head moved through the crowd up ahead. When a break in the crowd emerged, Braden looked down to check in with Nora.
She was gone.
She pushed through the crowd, glancing at the faces as they passed while she kept her eyes on their leader, forging a path up ahead, a good foot above most of the crowd. She had no idea why people liked this kind of thing. The costumes, the crowd, the noise… It wasn’t her scene.
She was aiming for a break in the throng, a pocket of open space a few feet behind the man leading them through the upper corridor, when a vise closed around her arm. She hardly had time to register it before she was pulled from the crowd, practically lifted off her feet as someone dragged her through the crowd of people and into a back hall.
She was being pulled from behind, struggling to see who had ahold of her. She had only the sense of sheer size and bulk, dark hair, strength that left her unable to move freely, to gauge the situation.
The crowd disappeared as if through a telescope, growing smaller as she was propelled farther away. She thought she caught a glimpse of Mr. Skinny’s back, and then Braden, walking past the hallway, searching the crowd in every direction except the one in which she was being dragged.
She tried screaming his name, but she was already too far from the masses, her voice snatched by the throng of excited conference goers. Then she was passing through a narrow doorway into another long hall.
Whoever had ahold of her arm shoved her into an empty room. She stumbled forward, held her hands out to brace for impact against the wall. It worked, but only as far as the wall went. She still went down, the concrete floor hard under her knees.
She was reaching for her weapon when strong hands yanked her to her feet, pulled the gun from her holster, held it against her cheek. She looked up into Mike Shields’ blue eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come, Murphy.” He cursed, hit the wall behind her head hard enough that she heard the drywall crack. “You shouldn’t have fucking come.”
Rogue Love (Kings of Corruption Book 1) Page 16