Even more amazing, Dreya seemed to feel the same way. That was why he’d admitted to her later how hard it had been for him to stop. He didn’t want her to think that she was the only one who felt this thing between them. He wanted her, too. He was willing to wait until the right time.
He knew it was stupid to get involved with a person he worked with. He’d seen fellow cops in the MPD try to make it work as lovers, and more often than not, the results had been disastrous.
But there was something about Dreya that made it impossible to resist her. Hell, maybe it was some kind of shifter DNA thing. After the stuff he’d learned over the past few days, he was ready to admit he didn’t know nearly as much about the way the world worked as he’d once thought.
Besides, he had no idea how long this DCO partnership thing was going to last. One more day, another week, a month? He wasn’t prepared to mess up this thing he had going with Dreya when he could be back in the MPD burglary section next week.
And if he ended up being partnered with Dreya for longer than he expected? If John decided to keep him around for a while?
Then he’d find a way to make it work with Dreya. Hell, Danica and Clayne were partners, and they were married. If that odd couple could make it work, he and Dreya sure as hell could.
Braden was still pondering that when he caught a sudden movement on the main monitor.
Shit.
“Dreya,” he said into the mic. “There are two more guards on your floor now. They’re moving faster than they should, too. I think you must have tripped an alarm or something.”
She snorted. “I’ve never tripped an alarm in my life. By the way, I think I’ve found the right file. Just give me some time.”
Braden ran a hand through his hair. Dammit! Dreya was as stubborn as Tommy had ever been, maybe worse. She was still in the lawyer’s office, and the guards—three of them now—were getting closer.
He had to buy Dreya that time she asked for.
He looked around the van, his eyes locking on the row of switches that let him cut into selective camera feeds in the building.
“Well, fuck.”
Reaching over, he slapped all the switches to the intercept position. Without having run a loop first, the effect was instantaneous and obvious. One by one, every monitor in the van faded to black. Inside the security control room, the effects would be even more pronounced as every camera in the building simultaneously went down.
Braden jumped out of the van and ran up the sidewalk along Biscayne Boulevard toward the main entrance of the building Dreya was in.
“I have the file,” she whispered in his earpiece. Her voice was so soft, Braden could barely hear her over the pounding of his feet on the pavement. “But now I can’t get out of here, because the guards are right outside the door.”
Shit.
He knew this would happen. His heart beat faster. Not from the sprint, but from fear.
“Stay where you are,” he told her. “I’m on the way with a distraction.”
“What are you going to do?” Dreya asked.
Braden didn’t answer. Instead, he skidded to a stop in front of the office building and banged on the big glass door with his fist. The uniformed security guard standing behind the marble-topped counter looked up with a start, the phone he had to his ear all but forgotten. Frowning, the guard waved him away.
Braden smacked his MPD badge against the glass and pointed at the lock. He should have used the DHS badge John had given him and Dreya to allow them to carry their guns on the flight as well as have jurisdiction in Miami, but reaching for his police one was just second nature. Besides, he figured there was a good chance he was going to lose that badge after this insanity. Might as well get some use out of it.
The guard said something to whoever was on the other end of the line, then hung up the phone and strode over to the door. The moment the man unlocked it and pulled it open, Braden punched him—hard. The blow snapped the guy’s head back, banging it against the metal door frame. Eyes glazing over, he started sliding to the floor. Braden caught him before he could hit and dragged him inside the lobby, all the way across the floor and behind the big marble-topped counter.
He didn’t hesitate, jogging across the lobby, past the gray and white marble walls and all the high-end shops to the elevators. He stepped in one that was already open and waiting. He reached out to push the button for the thirtieth floor, but then hesitated for a split second before finally thumbing the one of the twenty-ninth.
“Okay, I’m in the building,” he said softly into his mic. “Are you still in the office?”
“I’m in the executive washroom that connects to it,” she whispered. “I think you were right. I must have tripped something when I came in here. Or maybe when I powered up the computer. I shut everything down, but now all three guards are looking around the office. They’re going to look in here next. What should I do?”
Braden glanced at the display showing what floor the elevator was on. “Is there anywhere to hide in the washroom?”
“No.”
“Hang tight. I’m almost there”
