But Cletis had surprised him.
The tip wasn't specific enough to be a break in and of itself, but shortly after his release, Brown had been contacted by a badge-carrying member of the Bureau who’d asked him if he knew who was running guns in South Central. The description Brown gave him didn’t ring any bells, but it was a start.
The break had been the only thing to take his mind off Nora and the ticking clock to the end of her work day. He’d made the drive back into the city as the sun dropped in the west, the information he’d gleaned from Cletis fading into the background as he got closer to seeing Nora.
Her smile had lit up her face when she caught sight of him, and his own heart had threatened to float out of his chest. He’d wanted to jump out of the car and pull her into his arms right there, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate the display of affection so close to the office.
He’d settled for a long kiss when she got into the car, then held her hand all the way back to the beach. They were barely inside the door to her apartment when she’d turned to him, unbuttoning his shirt in a frenzy, her mouth every bit as urgent as his while he undressed her next to the front door. He’d waited until she was naked to sweep her into his arms and carry her into the bedroom, and they’d spent the next three hours falling into the bottomless paradise of their passion. He wanted to mold her to his side, carry her with him every minute of every day even though he knew she would protest every step of the way.
The feeling didn’t dissipate as he parked the car, opened her door, led her into Rosa’s dimly lit interior. It didn’t diminish as they shared a bowl of chips and salsa, ordered margaritas, talked about everything and nothing while they ate.
He was starting to think it would never lessen. That he would want her this much for the rest of his life. That he’d been traveling the world, immersing himself in missions with the Bureau and the Syndicate only to keep himself from wanting her.
From needing her.
She’ll leave you once she knows you lied…
The voice was an insistent whisper in his head. He would have to tell her about his work with Locke. He wasn’t exactly an expert in long-term relationships. Long-term wasn’t really his thing.
Neither were relationships.
But Nora wasn’t just any woman. She was his woman.
He knew it with a bone-deep certainty on which he would have bet his life. And that meant a new set of rules were in order. Starting with honesty.
He would find the right time, tell her enough to keep the Feds from his door by omitting the details, protect Locke and his operation until he knew where Nora stood.
Fool.
The voice inside his mind was right. Nora would never let this go. She would never see things the way he did. Would never believe there was any other way to play the game but by the rules.
It was one of things that made her special.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked, pulling him back from the quicksand of his thoughts.
He looked across the table, her face bathed in the soft light of the candle at the center of the table.
“Nothing.” He laughed when she looked skeptical. She knew him too well. “Everything.”
“I think I have the cure for that,” she said.
“You do?”
She nodded.
“Care to share?” he asked.
“Let’s just say it involves ice cream and bed.”
He grinned. “I’m onboard already. Your place or mine?”
She thought about it. “Yours.”
Braden paid the bill and they stepped out into the warm evening. The conundrum of his new line of work was pushed to the back of his mind as they argued over pints of Ben and Jerry’s at the supermarket. They compromised on Mint Cookie (her choice) and Tonight Dough (his) and headed back toward his apartment.
They were stepping out of the carport and heading for the stairs when he heard the scuffle of feet on concrete behind him. His training went into overdrive as he turned, stepping in front of Nora by instinct, his eyes skimming the shadows, searching for things that didn’t belong there.
He only had a moment’s warning before he saw movement to the side of the carport. He drew his weapon as a figure stepped from the space between Nora’s building and the one next door.
“Freeze, FBI.” He didn’t even think about the words. About the fact that he no longer had the right to say them. He’d shouted them too many times, his body and mind trained to follow a series of protocols when under threat.
It was only when the figure raised his own gun that Braden caught half the man’s face in the light. He had the sense of height if not strength. Of shaking hands and glazed eyes pinned on him.
Then there was no time for anything but spinning to push Nora to the ground as the weapon sparked in the dark, the silencer creating a muffled thump against the backdrop of the tide rolling onto the sand beyond the walk street.
He felt the impact of the pavement as it reverberated through Nora’s body. He rolled in front of her, on his feet in seconds, wanting to mark the position of the person who had just tried to kill him.
The man was gone.
Braden turned to Nora, back on her feet. “Do you have your service weapon on you?”
She shook her head.
“Go upstairs,” he commanded, throwing her the keys, still scanning the area in case the guy came back.
“I’m not leaving — ”
“That wasn’t a request, Nora.”
Her eyes flashed, but she turned to go. He had no doubt that the conversation wasn’t over, but their training had taught them the importance of timing. He watched her climb the steps, then moved slowly to the alley between buildings.
He made his way cautiously through the narrow space, the stucco apartment buildings rising on either side, blocking out the moonlight. But the alley was clear, and when he emerged onto the walk street he already knew he’d lost the shooter.
He did his due diligence anyway, moving down both sides of the street, looking into all the carports and alleys, anywhere a druggie might hide. Because he knew the look of an addict, and the guy who’d tried to kill him definitely fit the bill.
Which didn’t meant that it was random. The guy had been waiting.
He thought about Cletis Brown. His questioning of Brown was the only thing he could think of that might lead someone to try and silence him. That or word had gotten out that he’d had the parking lot ticket tested for prints before he’d resigned.
Either way, someone was onto him. And they’d put Nora in danger.
That was the part that caused fury to flood his body like adrenaline. They could come for him. He expected it.
But they would pay for putting Nora in harm’s way.
He headed back to the apartment, his mind already working the problem of Nora. He was out of time. he would have to tell her now. About all of it. There was no other way.
But first he had to get her the hell out of here.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps and pulled out his phone, then dialed Locke. The other man answered on the second ring.
Locke’s greeting was short. “What do you need?”
“A plane,” Braden said. “I need a plane.”
18
Nora paced the apartment, service weapon in her hand, body still flooded with adrenaline priming her for a fight that hadn’t come.
Not for her anyway.
The thought of Braden out there alone sent an icy finger up her spine. She was still pissed — it was obvious Braden had been hiding something — but she was surprised to find her anger paled in comparison to the fear she felt for his safety.
She paused at the window overlooking the walk street, looked up and down the small concrete walkway leading to the beach. It was empty, no sign of Braden or the shooter. Still, it took all her discipline not to rush out, weapon drawn, to give him backup. It would be a mistake. Surprising a fellow agent while they were already working a plan was reckless.
Braden wouldn’t be expecting her. He might think she was the guy who’d come for him.
And the shooter had been male. She’d gotten a brief glimpse of his face in the split second it had taken Braden to spin and throw his body over hers.
She resumed her pacing, funneling all her pent-up energy into going over everything that had happened since Braden left the Bureau with no notice.
The raid that was supposed to bring in Kalashnik.
That night when he’d stayed late at the office claiming he had paperwork to finish when she knew deep down he was always first in with paperwork. And not just paperwork.
Everything.
The vague mention of a job in La Jolla, his hedging when she asked for details.
She toyed with the possibility that he was working undercover. It would explain the sudden resignation, the lack of detail with regards to his plans for the future, but something about it didn’t sit right.
It was possible that his resignation had been planned, put into place over the weeks and months it would take for the Bureau to set up an undercover identity, but she didn’t think so. It had felt the same way it had looked.
Sudden.
Like he’d made the decision right then. Right after the Kalashnik raid.
And how much did she know about him really? They’d worked together for years, but he’d always kept her at arms-length, had rarely even allowed her in his apartment until the night he made love to her for the first time.
The thought of it brought back the memory of him between her legs, his muscled body moving against hers as he drove into her again and again, his gaze piercing hers like he was afraid she would disappear even as he brought her an orgasm the likes of which she’d never experienced.
She was embarrassed by the flood of wetness between her legs. Embarrassed that he could have that effect on her even now when it was possible — more like likely — that he’d been hiding something from her.
Something important.
She spun, raising her weapon as the door opened behind her.
Braden held up his hands. “It’s me. It’s just me.”
She lowered her weapon, noticed his gun was back in its holster at his side. “Jesus.”
“Sorry.” He closed and locked the door, moved purposefully into the room. “I need you to pack a bag.”
“Pack a bag?” It took her a few seconds to process the words, the least likely of all the ones she’d imagined he’d say when he returned. She set her weapon on the end table. “I’m not packing a bag.”
He turned to face her, the muscle jumping in his jaw. “Yes, Nora. You are.”
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to Kane, but fucking me doesn’t give you a right to order me around like some kind of neanderthal.” She crossed her arms. “You owe me an explanation.”
She could see the internal battle playing across his features, could almost hear the wheels spinning in his mind as he contemplated tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her home to pack.
“I know,” he finally said, an apology in his voice. “And you’re going to get an explanation. Just not right now.”
“I see nothing wrong with right now,” she said. “In fact, given that someone just shot at us, I’d say now is a perfectly good time.”
“And I’d say the fact that someone just shot at us makes it the worst time.” He was barely able to get the words out between his clenched teeth. This was Braden angry in a way she’d never witnessed. The thought was strangely thrilling, and she had to resist the urge to push him further, to see what would happen when he finally cut loose the carefully controlled facade that seemed to anchor everything he said and did.
Make that almost everything. Because there was nothing controlled about him when he fucked her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you when we get to the airport.”
“The airport?” She almost laughed. Who did he think he was dealing with? “You expect me to pack a bag and get on a plane with you to some unknown destination without a word of explanation?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think you overestimate your hold on me.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them. As soon as she saw the hurt — quickly covered by the familiar opaqueness that always made it hard to know what he was thinking.
“Be that as it may,” he said, “I’m going to have to insist. It’s not safe here, as you’ve seen firsthand.”
“I have work Monday.” It was a dumb thing to say, but she could feel herself losing the battle, could tell Braden was closer and closer to the moment when he would pick her up and carry her from the apartment out of fear for her safety.
“That’s plenty of time,” he said. “Consider it a weekend away — on me.”
She was still considering when he spoke again.
“I’m sorry, Nora.” He hesitated. “I owe you an explanation. I know this is… fucked up. But right now, can you just trust me when I say we have to get out of here?”
He wasn’t afraid of the man who’d shot at them; that man had been a junkie, even she had been able to see that. This was about something else. Something bigger.
Did she trust him?
She was probably a fool, but right now the answer was yes.
She sighed. “Fine. I’ll pack a bag. But this grace period isn’t going to last long, Braden.”
He nodded, the relief visible on his face. “I know.”
19
Nora sat next to him in silence as he navigated the car inland to Riverside. It was the first time he’d hated the silence between them. The first time it had felt menacing — a sign of something deeply wrong in his world.
And something was wrong; fucking Cletis Brown had ratted him out to someone, and that someone had sent a shooter to kill him. Worst of all, Nora had been with him, could have been killed.
He felt again the shock of pavement through her body as she’d hit the ground, the fear that had coursed through his veins — more palpable and visceral than any fear he’d ever felt when his own safety had been compromised. It sent a wave of cold rage through his body, and he rolled the window down a little, hoping the cooler air would calm his temper. He couldn’t afford to be reckless right now. Not when Nora’s safety was in his hands.
At least she’d come with him. That hadn’t been a given. It was no small thing for a woman like Nora to follow the orders of someone who wasn’t her superior at work. But she had come. The possibility that she cared enough to hear him out was a thread of hope he clung to with surprising ferocity.
The commuters had arrived home hours ago, and traffic was light as Braden pulled off the freeway into a seedy suburb of crumbling McMansions. Riverside was uneven like that; some of the neighborhoods birthed by the need for affordable housing had become safe, thriving communities.
Others, not so much.
He navigated easily through the neighborhood, remembering his conversation with Cletis earlier in the day. It hadn’t taken that fucker long to rat him out, that’s for sure.
He watched through the windshield as the neighborhood got rougher, dealers standing on street corners, waiting to do business with addicts who would gladly cut themselves open and hand over a kidney for their next fix. It didn’t move him. Not right now when Nora was next to him, her face pale and drawn as she looked out the window, her safety in his hands. He couldn’t afford to have sympathy right now. For anyone.
His prime directive was getting Nora safely to the airport and onto Locke’s plane.
They were about a mile from the freeway when he pulled the car in front of a two-story house with a peach stucco facade, an overgrown lawn, and bars on the lower windows. He looked around, relieved to see that the street was quiet and empty.
“You have your weapon?” he asked her.
“I have it,” she said, still staring out the windshield.
“I’m sorry I have to bring you here.” He resisted the urge to touch her. To lay his hand
on her cheek. He knew from her body language that the gesture wouldn’t be welcome. “I’ll only be inside for a few minutes. Keep the doors locked. Honk if you have any trouble.”
He slid out of the car before he could get pathetic. Before he started begging her to forgive him, to give him some sign that all wasn’t lost for them. There would be plenty of time for that once he told her his plans. For now, the fact that she was here was more than he had a right to expect.
He shut the door, locked the car, and scanned the area as he walked toward the porch. There was no sign of trouble on the street, but he saw the curtain in an upstairs window fall back as he stepped up to the door. He drew his weapon with one hand and knocked with the other, training his ears.
The sound he expected came a split second later — the slam of a screen at the back of the house, the shuffle of hurried footsteps on pavement.
He sprinted off the porch, slowing down as he moved down the narrow concrete walkway between the house and a leaning wood fence separating it from the property next door. The trees and bushes were overgrown, providing plenty of opportunity to hide, but Cletis wasn’t looking to jump him.
He was looking to get away.
Braden flew into the backyard in time to see Cletis scrambling over the chain link at the back of the property.
“Motherfucker,” Braden muttered, racing to the fence.
He scaled it quickly, not entirely sure it was solid enough to hold his weight, then hit the dry grass of a neighbor’s backyard. He followed Cletis into another sheltered walkway at the side of a house that looked all but abandoned from the back. By the time he emerged onto a cracked driveway, Cletis was only a few feet in front of him, just hitting the pavement of the road that ran in front of the house.
Braden pushed himself to go faster, his eyes on the skinny man in front of him, slowed down by his need to look back every few seconds and check Braden’s progress. It only took Braden another five seconds to barrel into Cletis’ back, pushing him to the pavement with more enthusiasm than he needed to, the memory of Nora hitting the ground still fresh in his mind.
Rogue Love (Kings of Corruption Book 1) Page 8
