Nora looked out the window, watching the suburban sprawl pass by on the other side of the glass. She’d been thinking about what was to come for five days, wondering what it would be like to confront Shields — if it came to that — about betraying the Bureau.

The time she’d spent with Braden had been as close to bliss as she was likely to find in her lifetime — hour upon hour feeling his body move against hers, saying all the things they’d been afraid to say, putting off the moment when they would have to reconcile the truth of their differences.

Now she just wanted it to be over.

She wasn’t nervous about the actual confrontation. She didn’t ask where Braden had gotten the weapons and tactical gear loaded in the trunk, but there was plenty of it. Both of them had had more than their share of armed confrontations, and she assumed the men Braden was working with were equally prepared. They had, after all, evaded apprehension despite their years of illegal activity.

She tried to picture them, to imagine what a gang of do-gooder thieves would look like. She couldn’t, and Braden had been no help on that front, insisting on keeping their identities a secret. They were as much a mystery to her now as they were when they’d been nothing but a case file, and she had a feeling it would still be that way after today, regardless of the outcome.

They would use no names during their operation today, and Nora had agreed to leave her cell phone behind. She wouldn’t have betrayed Braden’s trust by trying to snap a picture of them anyway, but she didn’t blame them for being careful.

She tried not to think about the relief she’d felt leaving her phone at Braden’s apartment by the beach. Tried not to consider the possibility that she was falling further under Braden’s spell, sliding into the kind of apathy about the rules that would eventually lead her to turn her back on them entirely.

She told herself it wasn’t about that. She’d called in sick all week, had been dodging texts from Mike with generic symptoms of illness and apologies for leaving him hanging on the San Diego case. It was natural to be relieved, to leave it behind and think only about the task at hand.

The focus required to participate in a raid was something she’d always enjoyed about her work at the Bureau. It left no room for second thoughts, no room for doubt or memory or philosophical pondering.

There was only the mission and the lives of those around you.

Today was no different. She would stay focused on the goal of intercepting Mike when he met with his contact, on discovering the identity of the person he was meeting. Maybe it would even result in a break on the Kalashnik case, something that would reinvigorate it without the weeks or months it would take to surveil the contacts under warrant.

“Almost there,” Braden said from the driver’s seat.

She looked out the windshield, saw the convention center looming ahead. It was after four p.m., nearing the end of the conference day, and the streets surrounding the center were packed with cars exiting nearby lots, people streaming down the sidewalks on their way from the center, some of them dressed in costumes, most of them carrying bags overflowing with promotional junk they’d picked up along the way.

Braden navigated past them, following the signs marked “Loading” to a gate with a short line of delivery vehicles. She wasn’t surprised when he pulled up to the gate and produced an ID that got them through. She didn’t know how much pull his new friends had, but she assumed getting into the convention center was small time compared to some of the stuff they’d pulled.

They made their way around the facility to a loading dock marked with a giant “H”. Braden slowed, searched the lot until his eyes came to rest on a white Humvee, a serene Buddha hanging from the rearview mirror.

She thought about the bank manager in Chula Vista, his description of the perp he called the leader.

It had a buddha pendant hanging from it, but not the fat kind.

Jesus.

Braden parked next to the Humvee and they removed the duffel from the back of the car. He threw her a jacket, and she turned it over in her hand before looking at him.

“Are you serious?” FBI was spelled out in big letters on the dark blue nylon.

“What?” he said. “It’s not a lie for you.”

“And what about you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No one told me to turn in my jacket.”

She sighed, slipped on the jacket. It was the least of her problems, and she knew the cover it would provide, the ease with which they would be able to move around in a crowd.

They made their way into the building, through a series of concrete hallways to a large holding room lined with boxes. Braden gave three quick knocks, and a moment later the door opened a sliver.

She caught sight of a brown eye and a lock of blonde hair before the door swung open. The man standing on the other side wore jeans and a white T-shirt, impressive biceps emerging from the sleeves. He also had a jacket identical to the ones worn by Braden and Nora, something that made her cringe inwardly. Right now she was off-duty, and while she could make a case for wearing her Bureau-issued jacket, could even make a case for Braden wearing one, it would be hard to sell working with a group of people who had no business in hell wearing them.

He waved them in and she stepped into the room.

He shut the door behind them, and she took in the other two men strapping weapons to their sides. One of them was tall and slender, his dark hair shaved so close she could see his scalp. The other had skin the color of black coffee, his shoulders as wide as Braden’s, his eyes like twin lasers focused on her as she came into the room. All of them were noticeably muscular — even the skinny one had the kind of build that promised wiry strength.

The man who opened the door turned to face her, and she caught a glimpse of the rope hanging around his neck, the Buddha nestled in the hollow of his tan throat.

“Sorry to do this,” he said to her, “but I have to check you for a wire.”

She lifted her shirt, glad Braden had warned her so she could wear a cami under her T-shirt. The man patted her down quickly and efficiently.

“Thanks,” he said.

She nodded, and they moved farther into the room.

“Just a reminder that we’re not using names on this one,” said the man who opened the door. He was obviously the leader, and the other men nodded, slipped on matching FBI jackets as he continued. “We all know who we’re looking for. The object of today’s game is to bring down a dirty Fed, and hopefully the asshole he’s communicating with outside the Bureau.”

The guys nodded, and Nora assumed they’d gotten the same pictures — one of Mike Shields, the other an enhanced version of the photo she’d taken under the overpass — that had been sent to Braden ahead of the mission. According to Braden, they had run deep background on the mystery man in the picture and discovered he was a notorious Ukrainian criminal named Petro Sokolov. It was no surprise; Ukraine had become a hotbed for all kinds of crime, including the sale of illegal weapons. There was no guarantee Shields would be meeting the same guy today, but it was all they had.

“There will be no firing of weapons,” the leader continued. “There are too many civilians. Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded, and he paused, like he wanted to make sure everyone understood. After a few seconds, he reached into a bag shoved under a metal table and withdrew a handful of headsets. He passed them out with standard instructions for their use, then continued.

“This is a voluntary mission. We’re helping out a friend, leveling the score on a dirty cop, that’s it. You can walk now if you’re not on-board.”

Mr. Skinny ducked his head. “Walk away from the chance to bring down a dirty Fed? No way.”

Nora’s confused loyalties swirled around her conscience. She had no love for dirty law enforcement, but she was a member of the Bureau. They were her people, and most of them were good people. At the same time, it’s not like she could find fault with Mr. Skinny’s argument.

“Then let’s do it,” the leader said. “Apprehend the target and bring him below deck. We’ll deal with him off premises.”

She didn’t love the sound of it, but Braden had assured her there would be no killing. Had promised that’s not what these people were about, in spite of the case file that said they’d killed a guard last year.

She adjusted her headset as they moved toward the door. Everyone else had filed through when she felt Braden’s hand on her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to wait here?”

She nodded, moving past him. “I’m sure.”

She ignored the voice inside her mind that called her a liar as she followed the others down the corridor with Braden at her back.