She’d never done anything so violent before—had never wanted to—but she would do anything to keep Braden safe.
Paying no attention to the shout of pain Cabo let out, Dreya twisted and jumped to her feet, ready to strike again. But Braden had already ripped the weapon out of the man’s hand and thrown him to the floor.
Even then, Cabo refused to give up, his hand whipping behind his back and coming up with a wicked-looking knife. Braden was ready for the wild swing that came at his legs, leaping away from the blade and aiming his gun at the man’s head.
“I’m going to tell you one more time,” Braden said. “Drop it, or I shoot you. And you don’t have a woman to hide behind this time.”
Cabo glared at Braden, then swung his ire on Dreya before he cursed and tossed the knife away. It slid across the floor to come to a stop by Braden’s booted feet.
Braden reached behind his back and came out with a pair of handcuffs. He held them out to Dreya. She couldn’t believe he’d thought to bring them. Once a cop, always a cop, she supposed.
While Braden kept the man covered, Dreya flipped him over and yanked his arms behind his back. Cabo howled in pain. That’s when she realized the man was bleeding from a wound in his shoulder. Ignoring his protests, she pressed one knee into his spine and cuffed him. She’d never been trained in their use, but after having them slapped on her several days ago, she understood the basic concept.
“Is that a bad man, Mommy?” a tiny voice suddenly said from behind her.
Dreya turned to see the little girl standing beside Barbara Herrera. There was a dark bruise already forming along one of the woman’s cheeks, but other than that, she seemed okay. She reached out and pulled her daughter in for a hug, but before she could answer the little girl’s question, the lights flicked on, and a thin, middle-aged man in pajamas hurried into the kitchen with a small revolver in his hands. His eyes widened at Cabo, lying facedown on the floor, cuffed and still, before he pointed the gun at her and Braden, nervously alternating between them.
“It’s okay, Mateo,” Barbara told her husband as she slowly got to her feet. “They’re feds.” She eyed Dreya and Braden warily. “You two are feds, right?”
Dreya looked at Braden, not sure how to answer the woman. Technically, she hadn’t been hired by the DCO yet, and she couldn’t very well say she was a thief—or a jewelry designer.
Braden’s mouth curved. “It’s complicated, but yeah, you can call us feds.”
Chapter 13
“When you said you spent most of your time at work, I expected your place to be kind of Spartan.” Dreya looked around his small one-bedroom apartment in Arlington as she sat at the kitchen table. It was surprisingly clean and neat, with a comfy-looking sectional couch in the living room, framed pictures on the wall, and even a few plants. “This is nice.”
Braden chuckled as he took the Chinese takeout they’d gotten out of the microwave and brought it over to the table. “I went out with an interior designer a while back. She made it her mission to give my place a makeover. She was of the opinion that I had zero decorating skills. She dumped me after she realized the reason I never bothered to decorate my apartment is because I’m never here.”
Silly woman. Well, her loss was Dreya’s gain. She inhaled appreciatively as Braden opened up the takeout containers from P.F. Chang’s. “Mmm, that smells so good. I’m starving.”
Mouth twitching, he dumped a whole carton of brown rice on her plate, then did the same with his own. “You know, you wouldn’t be nearly as hungry if you ate what they gave us on the plane.”
She dipped her fork in the different containers, trying to decide which one she wanted. When he’d suggested stopping by the Chinese restaurant on the way home from the airport, she’d been too tired to think about food, but now that she got a whiff of it, she hoped they had bought enough.
“That wasn’t a meal,” she told him. “It was a can of soda and a pack of pretzels. I’m not picky about my food, but no one considers a pack of pretzels to be a meal.”
“There is that,” he agreed. “So, what’s it going to be? Mongolian beef or spicy chicken?”
“Can we share?” she asked. “They both smell so good that I can’t decide.”
He shrugged. “Works for me.”
While she spooned some of each onto their plates, Braden grabbed the soy sauce from the fridge, then joined her at the table.
They’d landed at Reagan two hours ago. Braden had been going to drop Dreya at her apartment in Foggy Bottom, but the president was speaking at George Washington University that evening, so the Secret Service and Metro Police had all the roads in and out of her street blocked off. Since they wouldn’t reopen for hours, they’d decided to grab takeout and go over to his place while they waited. That was fine with Dreya. Truth was, she’d been curious as heck to see his place. She had expected a typical bachelor pad, but like everything else about the man, his apartment had surprised her. Bottom line, Braden was a man who defied simple and cliché stereotypes.
As they ate, they talked about the mission in Miami, discussing everything that had happened from the moment they’d broken into the Martz Law Firm to when the local FBI and Justice Department had finally stopped asking them questions they couldn’t answer and let them leave. Luckily, their Homeland badges spoke volumes.
“I haven’t been that worried about a partner in a long time,” Braden admitted quietly.
Dreya knew he was talking about Tommy. She sipped her iced tea, setting the glass on the table before answering. “I’ve never worked with a partner, so I never had one to worry about, but I was terrified when I saw you fighting Cabo. I’ve never felt an urge to hurt someone before, but I wanted to rip him apart with my claws.”
Braden’s mouth edged up. “I know how you feel. I wanted to kick the crap out of the security guard who had a gun on you at the law firm.”
Dreya felt an unfamiliar yet extremely pleasant sensation warm her middle and spread up into her chest. She refused to admit it out loud, but she swore she’d never had a man say anything so romantic to her in her life.
Across from her, Braden polished off what was left on his plate. “I’m not sure if you realized it, but we spent day five of your DCO recruitment deal in Miami, fighting crooked lawyers, security guards, and a cartel hit man. Tomorrow morning when we go to work, you’re officially done with your obligation to them. If you decide to stay, it’ll be because you want to, not because you have to.”
