Her stomach growled at the mention of food. “Can you swing by my apartment first so I can pick up some stuff? If I’m going to be spending the next five days at this compound, I’m going to need some things.”
“Clayne and I stopped by your place after we dropped you off at the DCO,” Danica said. “I packed you a bag. It’s already in the trunk.”
Dreya’s jaw dropped. As a thief, she’d been through plenty of people’s houses when they weren’t there, but this was different.
“You broke into my place and went through my stuff?” She sat up in the seat, glaring at the back of Danica’s head. “What if I had turned down Loughlin’s offer?”
“Then Clayne and I would have gone over and put everything back. We certainly would have had the time, since you would have been in jail.” Danica glanced at her. “I wasn’t too worried about you turning down John’s offer. He can be persuasive when he wants to be.”
Dreya flopped in the seat, dazed at how her life suddenly seemed to be spinning out of control. First the arrest, then the job offer she couldn’t refuse, and now complete strangers rifling through her panty drawer. Could this day possibly get any worse?
In the front seat, Danica was frowning at Clayne. “What are you looking at?”
Clayne glanced at the driver side mirror. “We have a tail. We picked him up the second we pulled out of the garage.”
“Can you tell who it is?” Danica asked, her gaze darting to her side mirror.
Dreya turned in the seat to look behind them, but there were dozens of cars. She had no way of knowing if any were following them.
“Our favorite MPD detective, Braden Hayes. He must have been so pissed off that we took his collar, he decided to follow us.”
Danica laughed softly. “You have to appreciate a determined man.”
No, you don’t.Dreya turned around, realizing that yes indeed, this day could get worse.
* * *
Tommy always said to act like you were supposed to be there when you went someplace you weren’t supposed to be, and no one would ever question what you were doing there. With that in mind, Braden walked into the EPA building, flashed his badge to get past security, and worked his way to the parking garage.
He found the fed’s black sedan parked off to one side, near a set of unmarked and unremarkable double glass doors. Figuring that was where they must have taken Dreya, he walked in and up to the big U-shaped reception desk. Other than framed photos of historical DC landmarks mounted here and there on the walls, there was nothing that made him think the office belonged to the FBI or DHS, much less give him a clue where they might be holding his hijacked cat burglar.
The attractive blond woman at the desk regarded him curiously. Braden did his best to seem charming as he gave her what he hoped was a warm smile.
She smiled. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Agent Jenkins,” he told her, saying the first name that popped into his head. “I have an appointment.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, but there’s no one here with that name.”
“You’re kidding.” He put on a surprised look. “I’m sure this is the address he gave me. Maybe he’s new to the FBI and you don’t know him. Could you check?”
“I’d be glad to if this were the FBI, but it isn’t.”
Braden waited for her to follow up with the next most obvious piece of info, like what kind of office this actually was. When she didn’t, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Wonderful,” he muttered. “I better call him and tell him I’m lost. Mind telling me where I am, so he can give me directions from here?”
The woman smiled and pointed out the double glass doors with one hand while slipping the other under her desk.
“Why don’t you tell him you’re in the parking garage of the EPA headquarters on Twelfth? That should do it.”
So the blond wasn’t simply a receptionist—she was a gatekeeper, too, one who seemed to think he was a gate-crasher. No doubt the hand under her desk was hovering over a button to alert security—if she hadn’t pushed it already.
Braden poked a few buttons on his phone, bringing up his contacts and calling the first number on the list—Angelico Pizzeria, best damn delivery in DC. He held the phone to his ear and gave the woman a nod and wave, then headed for the door.
Once outside, he hung up on the poor person at Angelico who answered the phone, left the EPA building, and walked to his car. He shoved some extra change in the parking meter on the curb, then got in his Charger, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Three hours later, he was still sitting in his car, his stomach threatening to gnaw its way out of him and run off down the street looking for breakfast, when the black four-door sedan rolled out of the parking garage and turned onto Twelfth Street. The big guy was driving, the woman who’d claimed to be an FBI agent was in the passenger seat, and Dreya was sitting in the rear. He was relieved to see that she looked okay.
