The sudden aura of vulnerability had his heart beating hard and fast. The urge to protect her from whatever was freaking her out was impossible to ignore. Part of the reason he’d become a cop was to help people in trouble, and Dreya definitely seemed to be in trouble.
Even as he turned to look at the one-way mirror, giving the signal to Mick to stop the video recording of this interrogation, he reminded himself that this might all be an act. This could simply be another weapon she had at her disposal, something she pulled out when she wanted people to underestimate her or cut her a break.
But somewhere, Tommy was pointing out that maybe Dreya wasn’t acting. Maybe she really was in trouble.
There was a knock on the glass—Mick letting him know the camera had been turned off. This was something Tommy would have typically done, not him. Braden rarely broke department standard operating procedure on something so fundamental, but he’d found himself doing it more than ever since that insanity with Thorn. And now that he had Dreya in custody, he seemed to be doing it again.
He turned around in his chair, taking in her tense expression and fear-filled eyes. “What’s going on, Dreya? Why do you want that video destroyed?”
She threw another glance at the one-way mirror. “If people see that video—especially the wrong people—my life is over.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Does this have something to do with what happened with Thomas Thorn? Are you worried about him seeing the tape?”
Dreya opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally she nodded.
Braden wanted to ask how she’d gotten involved with Thorn, but a loud commotion outside the door interrupted him. It was five thirty in the morning. Who’d be making a racket at this hour?
Then he heard Mick’s voice.
What the hell?
Frowning, Braden pushed back his chair and headed for the door as it burst open. The dude standing there was at least six four with shoulders so damn wide they practically filled the doorway. He was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and biker boots, and he looked like he broke kneecaps for a living. If Braden had his gun on him, he probably would have pulled it, but cops weren’t allowed to carry weapons in the interrogation rooms. So he did the next best thing. He stepped forward to block the guy.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded at the same time Mick said, “I told you that you can’t go in there!”
The guy ignored Mick, instead regarding Braden with a look that made him think the man blamed him for everything from the national debt to the Redskins losing their quarterback to free agency in the off-season. Then again, it was possible the pissed-off expression Mr. Grumpy wore was normal for him. Like the male version of resting bitch face.
Regardless, Braden wasn’t impressed. He wasn’t backing down no matter how huge the guy was. “In case you didn’t figure it out, this room is in use right now.”
Mr. Grumpy glared at Braden. “Do I look like the kind of guy who gives a shit about whether the room is in use?”
Braden crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t tell me who you are and what the hell you’re doing here in the next five seconds, I’ll arrest your ass.”
Before Mr. Grumpy could answer, a tall, dark-haired woman stepped around him into the room and casually positioned herself between him and Braden. It was like she knew a fight was brewing and believed she could stop it with her mere presence.
“We said we were going to be tactful about this, remember?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Mr. Grumpy.
Mr. Grumpy scowled. “Wedidn’t say anything.Yousaid we should be tactful.Itried out the whole tactful thing by not telling you it was a bad plan.”
She sighed. “It’s a start, I suppose.”
Before Braden could ask what the hell was going on, the woman reached into the jacket of her pantsuit and pulled out a badge wallet. Braden got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach before she even opened it.
“I’m Special Agent Danica Buchanan from the FBI. This is my partner, Clayne Buchanan from Homeland Security.”
Braden couldn’t decide what was more bizarre, that the big dude worked for a federal law enforcement agency, that the FBI and DHS had partnered up two of their people, or that the two of them were married. Or simply had the same surname by chance.
He was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that the mouth breather might be married to the attractive FBI agent when he realized that Danica Buchanan was still talking to him.
“…the Department of Homeland Security will be taking custody of your suspect,” she said, giving Dreya a pointed look as if she wanted him to know she meant that suspect and not some other suspect he might have hidden in a closet.
Anger began to boil in Braden’s gut. He’d expected this from the moment the woman had pulled out her badge. Because there was only one reason the feds would walk in on the middle of his interrogation at five o’clock in the frigging morning.
“And why exactly does DHS want a small-time thief like Dreya Clark?” he asked. “It’s not like she stole government secrets. She swiped a glass dog.”
“Porcelain,” Dreya corrected.
Braden ignored her.
