“I don’t know,” Coleman said. “Maybe I’m simply worrying over nothing, but keep an eye on her, huh? Let me know if you see anything that makes you think she’s going back to her old ways. If you even suspect she is, call me. We have some excellent people she can talk to at the DCO.”
Braden frowned. “Psychologists, you mean?”
Coleman smiled. “Think of it as an intervention.”
Braden had still been standing there, thinking about the deputy director’s words, when Dreya came out of the admin building. She was so excited about how much she was going to make, not to mention what kind of housing allowance they were giving her and the free motorcycle insurance, that he couldn’t help smiling, despite how preoccupied he was.
He was genuinely happy for her, but at the same time, Coleman’s words kept playing over and over again in his head. Braden hated the idea of snooping on Dreya, but what if the deputy director was right? What if Dreya was one stumble away from doing something incredibly stupid and screwing everything up? Given her background, Braden had to at least consider that as a possibility, didn’t he?
* * *
“What kind of law enforcement background do you have, Dreya?” Braden’s dad asked, glancing at her as he flipped the burgers on the grill.
Braden was pretty sure that was the most heavy-handed attempt to fish for information he’d ever witnessed. There was a reason his dad had never wanted to be a detective—his questioning technique sucked. Braden was surprised it had taken almost a whole hour for his dad to bring the subject up.
When Braden had called to reassure his mom that he hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth but was instead working with Homeland on a joint mission, she had cajoled him into coming over for an impromptu cookout. Sitting with Dreya at the umbrella table on his parents’ deck in the backyard now, he wasn’t sure that had been such a good idea. Even his parents’ orange tabby cat, Merlin, who was currently curled up on Dreya’s lap, seemed to doubt the decision.
“Joseph, you stop badgering her right this minute,” his mom scolded as she set a plate full of condiments on the table to join all the other food she’d already brought out, including sliced tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, three kinds of chips, and two kinds of dips. His mom did nothing halfway. “Our son already said he can’t talk details about the type of work he and Dreya are doing for Homeland, so stick a sock in it.”
Tall with salt-and-pepper hair and a matching mustache, his dad tried to put on an injured expression and failed miserably. That didn’t stop him from trying to defend himself. “Janice, doesn’t a father have a right to know what kind of partner his son is working with? I mean, it’s bad enough that he won’t tell us what the feds need a burglary detective for. Now you’re saying I can’t even ask if the woman is qualified to keep my son from getting his ass shot off?”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Joseph Hayes!”
His father ducked his head, looking chagrined. “Excuse my French. I’ll put a quarter in the jar later.”
Braden shook his head. His mother had been making his father put a quarter in a jar in the kitchen every time he cursed since Braden could remember. Unfortunately, the penalty had never really worked well, and now there were so many jars lined up on a shelf in the basement that they could probably pay for their first grandkid’s college tuition in full—if he or his brother, Nate, every got around to having any.
His mom continued to stare daggers at his dad until he relented and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Dreya.” Spatula in hand, he sat at the table, giving her an apologetic look. “But I’m just an old street cop through and through. This talk of feds, Homeland Security, and long-term reassignments scares the…” He stopped and regrouped, his gaze going to his wife, then to Dreya. “It scares me. I want to make sure my son is going to have backup he can trust when the time comes.”
Braden was about to tell his dad to stuff the scared old man act. Nobody was buying it. But unfortunately, it seemed that Dreya did.
“I completely understand,” she said, gently running her fingers over Merlin’s fur. “I don’t have what you would call a traditional law enforcement background.”
Braden cursed silently. He’d put enough quarters in the jar over the years, thank you very much.
His father’s head whipped around like the turret on a battle tank as he fixed her with a sharp look. “And what exactly does that mean? Are you a cop or not?”
“You don’t have to answer that, Dreya,” Braden said.
He was ready to take her hand and walk right the hell out of there. He loved his dad, but in this case, the man was out of line.
But Dreya shook her head. “Actually, I think I do, Braden. Your parents have a right to know who’s covering their son’s back.”
Even his mom looked worried at that. She pushed her dark hair over her shoulder and sat beside her husband, her dark eyes intent on Dreya. “You’re not a cop or a fed?”
Dreya smiled. “I was officially hired as a fed at eleven o’clock this morning. Before that, I was a professional second-story thief and have been for the better part of ten years. In all the time I worked, nobody has ever come close to arresting me, until Braden. Homeland wanted someone with my talents and decided that if he was good enough to catch me, we should be good working together. They were right. We make a very good team.”
His father’s jaw dropped while his mom lifted a hand to her mouth in surprise. Oh hell, now the crap had hit the fan.
“The feds partnered my son up with a thief!” his father demanded when he’d finally found the ability to speak again. “What kind of backup are you going to be if someone pulls a gun on Braden? What are you going to do, pick the guy’s damn pocket?”
Braden cringed. His father was yelling so loudly, he’d be surprised if the entire neighborhood didn’t hear. That was all he needed.
“No, she’s not going to pick his pocket, Dad, because she’ll be too busy kicking his ass,” he said. “If you need proof, there’s an Argentinian cartel assassin in Florida heading to a federal prison right now with a limp he’ll have for the rest of his life thanks to Dreya. As far as I’m concerned, she’s already proven herself a solid partner in the only way that matters, and she did it while covering my ass.”
He wasn’t sure if his mother had heard enough to satisfy her or she was just concerned about the burgers, because she took the spatula out of her husband’s hand and went over to the grill to pull them off the heat.
His father looked at him sharply, then at Dreya. The man read state and federal police blotters over breakfast every morning, so Braden knew he’d leaked more than enough information for his dad to figure out exactly which cartel assassin he was talking about.
