Nora Murphy was only half-listening as the men ribbed each other, making jokes over everything from the size of their guns (regulation) to the snugness of their pants (yet another pissing contest). She played along but her mind was still with Kane.

She’d taken him for a typical recruit when they’d been assigned to the same group at the academy. Another empty vessel with more testosterone than sense. But little by little, he’d proven her wrong.

He had at least as much sense as he had testosterone.

They’d become fast friends, pushing each other on long runs through Quantico, studying psychological profiles, and debating who would score higher on their latest exam. Even then it hadn’t been easy to keep her distance. He was magnetic. What her grandmother would have called the strong, silent type. Of course, it didn’t hurt that his eyes were the deep green of trees in summer or that his smile was so beautiful and so rare that when he gave it to her it felt like a gift.

She’d thought it was an act. Most of the guys at the academy spent years honing a tough but honorable persona in law enforcement or the military, but it wasn’t that difficult to find cracks in their facade — moments of weakness when things got tough, mean streaks when their ego was on the line, sexism when they thought she wasn’t listening.

Braden was different. What she saw was what she got, and what she saw was a good man. A man strong enough to keep his own counsel and secure enough not to be influenced by little boys pretending to be grown-ups. A man with secrets he was accustomed to keeping, a reluctant but warm smile, and kind eyes.

Plus a very, very hot body.

Not that she went out of her way to look at his body. Because really, what would be the point? Why make things harder than they already were? Why pile temptation on top of temptation when there was no way it could ever go anywhere?

Everything you need to know is right in front of you.

She heard her mother’s voice, as clearly as if she were standing next to Nora in the dying light. It was something she had said often when Nora was confused or worried, and while Nora appreciated the assist, it wasn’t that simple.

It wasn’t the Bureau that was the problem. Lots of people hooked up through work, not just with fellow agents but with lawyers and law enforcement too. She even had an acquaintance who’d had an affair with her Bureau-appointed psychiatrist.

But falling for someone was a special kind of danger. The danger of losing yourself so totally that you became someone else. That you did crazy things and hurt the people you cared about to maintain a love that wasn’t love at all. To hang onto something that would eventually kill you. It was a lesson she’d learned in the most painful way possible and it was one she didn’t intend to forget.

Besides, the fact that everyone else hooked up at work didn’t make it a good idea. Her brothers would say, “Don’t shit where you eat.” Her father, for all his years at the Boston PD, would call them crass, but he would agree.

It wasn’t just the obvious conflict of interest. It was the risk of caring too much about the people who went into dangerous situations at your side, which was just as bad as not caring enough. The key was to balance on the knife’s blade in-between. To care enough to lay down your life for them but not so much that it would make you stupid.

She didn’t dare ask her brothers — or her father — what to do if it was too late. If she already cared too much.

It was something she would have talked to her mother about if she’d survived the cancer that had ravaged her body when Nora was twenty. Or maybe her sister, Erin, if she hadn’t fallen in love with the wrong guy and OD'ed on heroin two years later.

Nora pushed the thought away before it had time to sink its teeth in her. She wouldn't think about that now. Tried not to think about it ever.

She pictured her brothers instead — a legion of giants, all bachelors to the core. They had taken Erin’s death hard. Had used it as fuel to create a lucrative and illegal business that was the antithesis of their father’s long career in law enforcement — of her burgeoning career at the FBI. Their choice only made the work she did more important. She was her father’s legacy, the one Murphy still dedicated to serving the law instead of circumventing it.

“Yo, Murphy, you need another cup of coffee?”

She looked up to find Mike staring at her, his Tom Cruise smile practically gleaming in the dim light of the warehouse.

She laughed. “I’m good.”

“You looked a little out of it there for a minute,” he teased.

She fumbled with her vest, trying to hide the fact that she’d been caught letting her mind wander. “I’m just prepping.”

He nodded, then stepped closer, bowing his head so the other men wouldn’t hear him speak. “You sure you’re okay?”

He was sweet. One of her best friends at the Bureau besides Braden.

She smiled. “I’m good. Seriously.”

“Cool.”

Looking at his jet black hair, ice blue eyes, and the lean muscle visible even under his tac gear, she couldn’t blame all the women at the Bureau for lusting after him. Add to that his sense of humor and you pretty much had the perfect combo for any red-blooded female.

Another vehicle pulled into the warehouse and Special Agent in Charge Alvarez stepped out of its interior. He was sporting tactical gear instead of the suit he’d taken to wearing since his promotion to SAC, and he stepped up to the group and rubbed his hands together as Braden came to stand on the other side of Nora.

“Is it just me, or is he more of an asshole than he was yesterday?” Braden muttered under his breath.

She grinned. “It’s not just you.”

It was true that Alvarez had gotten a little cocky since his promotion, but she couldn’t help liking him. He’d been good to her, had mentored her when she’d first come to LA, taken a personal interest in her success.

“Everybody here?” Alvarez scanned the group as everyone looked around, taking inventory of the agents who were present. “Good. Let’s run through everything one more time.”

Kowalski, Alvarez's sidekick and resident brown-noser, handed him an iPad. He held it up and Nora looked at an aerial photograph of the shipyard, different areas marked with color-coded circles.

“Bravo team is staging on the other side of the yard,” he said, pointing to one of the green circles. “Their positions will mirror yours. The shipment will be unloaded here and moved to the east side of the holding area.” He pointed to a red circle near the dock and traced a path along a red line to another location. “If all goes well, Ivan Kalashnik will come for it tonight. The two point men will keep eyes on the container until they show up. Then we’ll make our move. Any questions?”

Braden spoke up from the group. “What are our orders for force?”

Nora was glad he asked the question. They still hadn’t confirmed that Kalashnik was behind the shipment, but the deal had his name all over it. And while the strike team might have Kalashnik outgunned, he was infamous for his brutality. If things went bad, he wouldn’t go quietly — he would take out as many of them as he could before he let them kill him.

“We need these guys alive so we can dismantle their organization,” Alvarez said. “Otherwise we’re just taking a few guns off the street.”

Nora was acutely aware of Braden next to her, his body tense, already in the quiet space they had to enter to make life and death decisions. He was a great agent — probably too good for the LA office, evidenced by all the special projects he’d been assigned in the past two years. She wondered how long it would be before he was transferred to DC or New York, then had to stuff down a pang of loss at the thought.

“Anything else?” Alvarez looked around, clapped his hands together. “Good. Check your comms. Get into position. Let’s do this.”

The group broke into their assigned formations, Shields exiting to the left of the container with his team while Nora, Braden, and Miller — a tall, skinny Texan with a residual drawl — stepped out of the warehouse. They streamed to the right, taking up position behind a two-story stack of rusted shipping containers.

The sun had almost set, the sky turning inky overhead, when Braden lifted the binoculars to his eyes. He was point man for their group, and she watched as a muscle jumped in his jaw, a tic she’d noticed when he was wholly focused on a task.

She forced her eyes away from his profile and leaned against the container. It didn’t take long for the cold to seep through her gear into her shoulders. She scanned the shipyard in front of her even though Kalashnik was expected to enter from the other direction. The biggest danger in a sting like this one was boredom. It could take hours for the target to arrive, and it was easy to be lulled into a false sense of safety. To get so used to your surroundings you forgot to look around. Forgot to notice things that mattered.

But everything was quiet. There was the creaking of cranes, raising and lowering the massive shipping containers on the dock, the clang of metal reverberating through the night air as they were set down. It was two hours before she heard Shields’ voice in her ear.

“That's our mark. Blue container. Almost to the ground.”

Braden swiveled his head, looking for the container. “Got it.”

Comms was quiet for ten more minutes before Shields spoke again. “Touchdown.”

“Container’s down,” Braden murmured, still looking through the binoculars. “Now we wait.”

She looked over at Miller, leaning against the container on the other side of Braden. They were still waiting a half hour later when Perelli’s voice crackled in her ear. “I hope these guys get here soon. I need to take a leak.”

“Better lock it down.” Braden’s voice was like warm honey next to her. “I’ve got movement coming through the yard to the west. Black SUV.”

“Got it,” Shields said.

“All systems go,” said Alvarez. “Repeat; all systems are go.”