Rogue Love (Kings of Corruption Book 1)

by Michelle St. James

  No, that wasn’t right. She would always be able to survive without someone. It was important to clarify that in the wake of Erin’s death. To confirm for herself that she would go on breathing and eating and laughing without Braden in her life.

  But it was hard to imagine how she’d lived.

  Had she felt alive? Had she been excited by the promise of the future? Had she been working toward anything more meaningful than a promotion and a raise?

  She wasn’t sure anymore.

  She reached her car, threw her bag into the passenger seat, then settled in behind the wheel. But when she reached into the pocket of her bag for her phone, she couldn't find it. She picked up the bag and set it in her lap, started removing things, sure the phone had just fallen to the bottom . It wasn’t until she’d emptied the whole thing that she accepted it wasn’t there.

  Shit.

  She’d either left it at Marty’s or dropped it along the way.

  She sighed, then threw everything back into the bag and stepped out of the car. She was back inside Marty’s dark interior less than five minutes later, making her way to the back booth she had occupied with Mike. It was empty, the table wiped clean, all evidence of their two hours there erased.

  She bent over the bench where she’d been sitting, checking the sides in case it had fallen down one of them when she’d tossed everything into her bag. Panic was setting in when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Connor, one of the bartenders looming over her, green eyes twinkling.

  “You looking for this, Murphy?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she took her phone from his hand. “Thank god. I can’t believe I was that careless.”

  “Happens to the best of us,” he said. “Sarah found it.”

  “Tell her thank you.” Nora looked around. “Shields is already gone?”

  “Left right after you,” Connor said, already heading back to the bar.

  She slipped her phone into her bag, careful to make sure it went into its designated slot, and headed for the door. She was halfway back to the Bureau lot when she spotted a familiar figure under the overpass. She stopped walking, her instincts ringing an alarm, and backed against the side of a small office building.

  It was Mike, that much was clear. But he wasn’t alone. Someone else stood next to him, the pair obviously engaged in conversation. The other man wore a leather jacket and gray slacks, his build short and stocky, a thick head of dark hair worn too long for someone at the Bureau. He was smoking a cigarette, his head bowed toward Mike as they exchanged words.

  A source? But they hadn’t talked about a source, and as far as she knew, the San Diego thefts were the only case Mike was working on at the moment.

  Besides, something told her that was no source. The man was too confident, his stance more conspiratorial than scared. Sources were nervous when approached by a handler from the Bureau. They always had something to lose, were never snitching because they wanted to.

  Her heart raced in her chest. She had the distinct feeling that she was seeing something she shouldn’t. She thought about what Braden had told her about Mike, wondered if the man he was talking to was part of Kalashnik’s organization.

  It gave her an idea, and she kept her eyes on them while she pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped a picture. It would be too far away to make out many details, but she could use the Bureau’s software to get a better look tomorrow.

  She moved slowly from the area where she’d been tucked into the shadows and hurried for her car, the hair raising on the back of her neck. She felt strangely vulnerable in spite of her duty weapon, and she forced herself not to look back.

  By the time she reached the Bureau lot, the sun had sunk closer to the horizon, the street lights already on to ward off the impending darkness. The lot was empty except for three cars at the far end. Adrenaline was flowing through her body when she finally reached her Prius for the second time. She was unlocking the door when she heard Mike’s voice behind her.

  “Murphy, wait! Nora!”

  She drew in a breath, forced an expression of calm on her face as she turned around. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said. “I thought you left, but then I saw you walking on the street.”

  “I left my phone,” she said. “Thankfully Sarah found it and gave it to Connor.”

  He nodded. Was she imagining the relief on his face? Did he know she’d seen him talking to the man under the overpass?

  “Well, I better go,” she said, reaching for the door.

  He put his hand on it, making it impossible for her to get in the car without forcing it open.

  “Are you sure everything’s all right, Nora?”

  She tried to read between the lines, to determine if he was worried she’d seen him or if he was genuinely worried about her. But there was no hint of emotion on his face, in his voice. He was a blank slate, and she realized for the first time that he’d always been one. There was no Deep Mike behind the facade of Douche-y Mike, no Kind Mike behind the facade of Self-Absorbed Mike.

  In fact, she was beginning to think even Douche-y Mike and Self-Absorbed Mike were constructs, personas he wore as sure as the other guys at the Bureau who used sexist jokes and swagger to convey their version of strength. Looking in his eyes now, she saw absolutely nothing. It was more terrifying than any self-interest she might have discovered.

  She smiled. “Everything’s good. I’m just tired, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a feeling we’re going to crack this thing wide open.”

  He nodded, and she wondered if he’d bought her carefully chosen words, her depiction of them as a team. It was a psychological technique, a reminder that they were on the same side. That they were partners.

  He hesitated, and for a split second she thought he wasn’t going to let her go. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited to see what he would do next. She was painfully aware of how quiet it was, how easy it would be for Mike to hurt her in the empty lot with no one watching.

  Except she wouldn’t let him. She performed a mental catalog of her options, preparing to fight him off if it came to it. She was trained in hand-to-hand combat, and while he had almost a foot on her, she was right next to her car; she could probably buy herself enough time to get in and lock the door.

  A moment later he stepped back, gave her a smile as easy as all the ones he’d given her over the years.

  “I have a feeling you’re right,” he said.

  She lifted a hand in greeting and opened her door, slid into the driver’s seat, practically holding her breath the whole time, half-expecting him to stop her.

  She started the car and was relieved to see him step away as she reversed. She made her way out of the lot and onto the street, Mike still visible in her rearview mirror. She was almost a mile away when she started shaking.

  She pulled into a 7-11 parking lot and took a few deep breaths, tried to bring herself back from the moment with Mike by the car, to convince herself she was safe.

  Except now she wasn’t sure it was true. What if Braden had been right? What if Mike was a mole for Kalashnik? If he knew she’d seen him with the man under the overpass? She was Mike’s partner. How long would it be before he tried to find out how much she knew? Before he tried to keep her quiet?

  She pulled out her phone and looked at it for a long moment before she opened up her contacts.

  37

  Braden stood by the kettle in his kitchen, waiting for the water to boil while he tried to keep his blood from doing the same thing. He could see Nora on his sofa from where he stood, her long hair still pulled back into the ponytail she often wore to work. It had been torture not to touch her, not to pull her into his arms when she’d stepped out of her car, but he knew things were far from settled between them, and he still didn’t know what had precipitated her call. She’d said only that she had new information about Mike, that she felt threatened and didn’t want to take her
car back to the lot and wait for him to get there. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know something had happened with Shields — and if Braden found out the bastard had put one finger on Nora, he was a dead man.

  He poured hot water over the tea bag in the cup he’d set on the counter, then carried it over to the sofa. She looked up, her expression guarded, and took the steaming mug.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.” He sat on the other side of the couch, careful not to sit too close even though all he wanted was to hold her. She thought she was hiding how rattled she was, but he could see it in the careful composition of her expression, a tactic designed to give nothing away and one only deployed when you had something to hide. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  She took a sip of the tea, then set it on a coaster on the coffee table and started talking. He listened carefully, trying not to feel jealous when she mentioned all the hours she’d spent with Mike in the past two weeks, their after-hours sessions at Marty’s. It had been hard not to feel defensive when she said she hadn’t found anything suspicious, hard not to present her with all the evidence he and Locke had been collecting against Mike Shields.

  He’d kept his mouth shut, listened as she talked about leaving Marty’s, realizing her phone was missing, going back only to see Shields talking with someone under the overpass.

  “I have a picture,” she said, reaching in her bag. “It’s not a close-up so we might need some help getting anything from it.”

  She handed him her phone, and he magnified as much as the device would allow.

  “Doesn’t look like someone from the Bureau,” he said. “And he’s standing wrong to be a source.”

  “I thought the same thing,” she said. “Anyway, I took the picture and booked it back to my car, but when I got there, Shields was coming after me.”

  “What do you mean he was ‘coming after you’?” Braden couldn’t keep the menace from his voice, wasn’t sure he wanted to try. Nora didn’t want to be treated like a damsel in distress. He knew that. But she family to him, and he would protect his family.

  He would protect her. Whether she liked it or not.

  “He was just… calling my name,” she said. “Trying to catch up to me.”

  “Then what?” Braden asked.

  “We talked for a couple minutes — about my phone and the fact that Conner had kept it for me. But when I tried to leave…”

  “When you tried to leave?” he prodded.

  “When I tried to leave he put his hand on my door.” Braden sat up straighter, his fists tightening on his knees. “It wasn’t overtly menacing, but…”

  She trailed off, seemed to be remembering the moment.

  “But?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. It felt like a message.”

  “What kind of message?” he asked.

  “Like… a power play,” she said. “Like he wanted me to know he was in control.”

  “The hell he is,” Braden growled, getting to his feet. He paced the room, then turned to look at her. He almost couldn’t get the next words out of his mouth. “Did he put a hand on you? Did he hurt you?”

  “No! Nothing like that. I was just…” She laughed a little, but there was something fragile about it. “To be honest, I was a little scared. Something about him made me realize I didn’t know him at all.”

  Braden hesitated. Bringing Nora in was a point of no return for them both. She would have information on Shields that she would have to explain to someone at the Bureau — if she chose to — and he would be giving her data gathered by Locke’s extensive network of hackers and analysts.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  He went to his office, removed the printouts of Shields’ communications transcripts. He planned to shred them, but they were easier to read in hard copy after hours spent staring at his computer. Sometimes he needed to get away from the screen, but he was never ready to stop deciphering the mystery of Mike’s possible betrayal, and he often fell asleep at night going back over the transcripts, looking for something he might have missed.

  He took them into the living room, sat next to Nora.

  “What is that?” she asked, looking at the papers in his hand.

  “It’s data we’ve gathered on Shields,” he said. “But I’m still not sold on the idea that I should show it to you.”

  She nodded slowly. “Want to explain why?”

  “I think you know why.”

  She drew in a breath. “I assume it wasn’t obtained legally?”

  “We didn’t have a warrant, if that’s what you mean,” he said.

  He thought she would rebel, rise in disgust, leave now that he’d proven himself to be on the other side. She asked a question instead.

  “Does it incriminate him?”

  “It’s not airtight,” Braden said. “But it’s solid.”

  She hesitated, then held out her hand.

  “This isn’t my data,” Braden said. “Not really.”

  She sighed. “You have my word that this will be off the record. Whatever is in there won’t be used in any current investigation into your friend’s operation.”

  “My alleged friend’s alleged operation,” Braden corrected.

  She waved it away with surprising ease. “Whatever.”

  He gave her the stack of papers. “The important stuff is marked,” he said. “I’m going to start dinner while you read.”

  “Who said I’m staying for dinner?” The question was defiant, her chin raised in challenge.

  He looked down at her, cheeks pink, eyes on fire. He wanted to sweep her up, take her to the bedroom, show her all the reasons she belonged to him. All the reasons he was hers. Prove to her that nothing was strong enough to stand between them.

  “Aren’t you?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  Scooting back on the couch, she tucked her bare feet under her, bowed her head to the papers in her hand.

  38

  Nora held her hand over her glass as Braden tried to pour more wine. She was already a little buzzed, already too comfortable in the apartment, across the table from the one man who set her soul on fire.

  More dangerous territory.

  “Let’s talk about the transcripts,” she said.

  She’d read in silence while he made dinner, had looked up only when he’d set the table, delicious and comforting smells wafting from the kitchen into the living room. He’d poured the wine and they’d eaten — roast chicken, garlic potatoes, a salad — mostly in silence. The weight of their opposing views was ever-present, but it wasn’t the only thing between them. It wasn’t even the heaviest thing.

  That honor went to the heat that still coursed through her body when he looked at her, the feeling she saw in his eyes.

  He sat back in his chair, nodded. “Okay.”

  “None of it will hold up in court,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  She wasn’t surprised by his casual dismissal. He hadn’t left the Bureau to try criminals to court, to bring dirty agents to internal affairs. His methods would be off-the-books now.

  “But you’re sure it’s legit.”

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  She trusted him, and she knew he wouldn’t tell her more about his methods for obtaining the comms records anyway.

  “So Shields is telling someone outside the Bureau about the surveillance warrants on Kalashnik’s people.”

  “That’s what it looks like to us,” he said.

  She wouldn’t question his use of the pronoun. “The transcripts obviously point to someone else at the Bureau who’s in on the action. Do you have a line on who that might be?”

  “Not yet,” Braden said. “We’re hoping Shields will lead the way.”

  “During the meet-up at Comic Con next week, you mean?”

  A flash of surprise showed on his face before he buttoned it up. “What makes you say that?”

  “Bayside
Corridor? July 20th?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not an amateur.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “I’d never heard of Bayside Corridor before this.”

  She smiled, was surprised to find that it felt sincere, that for the first time since they’d been shot at outside Braden’s apartment, it felt right to be with him. She didn’t have the energy to figure out what it meant. What it said about her own state of mind.

  “Relax,” she said. “I hadn't heard of it either. Google is your friend.”

  He chuckled, and the sound of it sent a pulse of heat to her center. “I see you haven’t lost your sarcasm.”

  “It’s the only thing keeping me sane.” It came out more serious than she intended, and she finished the last of her wine, trying to distract herself from the power of his eyes.

  “Why is that, Nora?” His voice was soft and low.

  She turned the glass in her hand. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “That’s easy,” he said. “You’re having dinner. And wine.”

  She met his gaze. “You know what I mean.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “I should have gone to Alvarez the minute we got back from Washington.”

  “But you didn’t,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why,” she said.

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  She thought about it, searched her mind for the right words. For something that was honest. “I guess I’m still trying to figure out if it’s because I know you’re right about the Bureau, or because I’m in love with you.”

  She hadn’t meant to say it so plainly. Had intended to say something about her feelings for him confusing things for her.

  But there it was: the truth.

  Everything you need to know is right in front of you.