Braden Kane sat in the back of the armored vehicle, trying not to think about the woman next to him as they sped down the 405. It wasn’t the first time they’d been assigned to the same sting but it never seemed to get easier.

“Why so quiet, Kane?”

He braced for the impact as he turned to face Special Agent Nora Murphy. She was wearing the tactical gear that was standard for FBI agents in operations like this one, but even the homogenous black garb couldn’t detract from her inherent beauty. Her vibrant blue eyes still took him by surprise, her features almost too delicate over the full mouth that begged to be kissed.

Just not by him. Never by him.

“Running over the timeline,” he said. “You know how it is.”

“I do.”

She tucked a blond tendril behind her ear. It was a gesture as familiar to him as his own face in the mirror. He’d been watching her do it ever since the academy when they’d been cajoled, harassed, and bullied through months of studying and physical training made bearable only by her presence.

It hadn’t been the work that almost killed him — it was the boredom. A fast-tracked Masters at Princeton had prepared him for the intellectual challenge. Four years in Special Forces had prepared him for the rest. By the time he got to the academy he just wanted to get on with it.

But the more he got to know Nora, the more he found himself dreading graduation. It had been both a dream and a curse when she’d been assigned to L.A. Now they worked together nearly every day, which meant it was still both a dream and a curse.

They exited the freeway and Perelli spoke from the driver’s seat. “Five minutes.”

Braden watched him flex his fingers on the steering wheel, the motion pulling at his shirt sleeves to reveal the beads on his rosary tattoo. It was normal to be nervous before a raid, although “nervous” wasn’t a word used lightly by anyone at the Bureau. Agents were more inclined to say they were amped or psyched, ready to bust some balls. Nervous was weakness.

Nervous got you killed. And maybe someone else too.

Nora started working the straps on her Kevlar, her graceful neck bent as she tightened the straps. Braden had to fight the urge to remove the hair tie holding back her glossy blond hair. He wanted to let it fall around her shoulders the way it did when they hung out — strictly as friends — on the weekends, or when she got dolled up for one of the few agency events he bothered to attend.

The thought was absurd. He shook it off, started cataloging his equipment as they made their way to the biggest shipyard in Southern California. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. None of them could. They’d been setting up the arms raid for almost a year, following the trail of phone calls, money transfers, passports and bribes to this one, important shipment that would lead them to the man behind the curtain — Ivan Kalashnik.

The case had come at a good time. He’d spent the last three years working too closely with a group of criminals who had become too much like friends. He’d needed the project. Had needed to renew his faith in the Bureau and the work they did. Because from where he’d been sitting, the lines had gotten more than a little blurry. Bad guys like those in the Syndicate seemed to be doing more to benefit society than the good guys. The crimes they committed in the name of their own brand of justice had begun to seem like a small price to pay for the greater good.

It was a kind of insanity, something that had forced him to call into question everything he’d believed since joining the military, and later, the Bureau. He had no one to blame but himself. He’d violated one of the cardinal rules: he’d gotten too close. He’d even considered leaving, joining the ranks of agents who had gone rogue over the years, exacting off-the-books justice that, while not exactly legal, would be a hell of a lot more satisfying.

But he was over that impulse. Now he was more than ready to bring Kalashnik to justice by shutting down the back channel sale of assault weapons that had no business on the streets. To remind himself that the work he was doing had value even if the change was so incremental it was almost invisible at times.

“Your hair’s caught. Let me help.”

Braden turned his attention to the tall man on the other side of Nora. He had to force down the irrational surge of jealousy that flooded his body as the other man wrapped his hand around a strand of Nora’s hair, pulling it free from her Kevlar.

“Ow,” Nora said, wincing.

Mike Shields smiled. “Sorry.”

The bastard didn’t look sorry, and Braden had an image of his fist meeting Shields’ smarmy face.

“It’s okay,” Nora said. “Thanks.”

She and Mike were friends. Braden knew it but didn’t like it, and he had a feeling Shields felt the same way about him. He knew Nora sometimes worked weekends with Shields, too. Had spent more than one sleepless night fighting images of her in the bastard’s arms despite the fact that Nora didn’t date her fellow agents on principle.

Not that he’d ever asked her directly about it. Because doing that — letting her know how often he thought of her, how much he looked forward to the times they were alone, how often he wanted to tell her she was brave and beautiful — would bring down the wall that was holding back his feelings like a crumbling dam.

And really, fuck feelings. They were the last thing he needed.

Perelli pulled into the shipyard, waving his badge at the guy manning the gate. They were expected, and the dock workers on duty had all been cleared through extensive background checks to insure no possible connections to Kalashnik. Two other vehicles, both loaded with agents, were on their way. All that was left now was to get into position and wait for the pickup.

They pulled the car into an empty warehouse on the concrete next to the dock. They were stepping out of the A/C and into the mild June evening before Perelli killed the engine. Less than a minute later two SUVs pulled into the warehouse. Then it was a clatter of boots and clicking of weapons into place and murmured conversation as everyone prepared for what was next.

Which could be anything.

Braden went to work on his checklist, trying not to think about the fact that Nora would be stepping into danger along with him. He was double-checking his firearm when he felt the hand on his arm. He turned to find himself staring into Nora’s deep-sea eyes.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

She shrugged her slender shoulders. “You seem a little… distracted.”

The defensiveness rose in him before he could stop it. “I’m fine.”

“Kane,” she said softly. “It’s me. I’m just checking on you, that’s all.”

He drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t his enemy. And it wasn’t her fault he worried himself sick about her safety every time she was assigned to a sting. She was a professional. One of the best. A woman with the physical stamina to run marathons, training in three different martial arts, and an eye on the firing range that almost qualified her as a sniper.

But he still couldn’t help worrying about her.

“I know,” he said. “Thanks. I am a little distracted.”

“Want to grab coffee later?” she asked. “Talk about it?”

He nodded. “Maybe.”

He wouldn’t lie to himself and say he didn’t want to spend every minute with her, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea. In fact, talking about his feelings over coffee with the one woman who invaded his dreams was the worst kind of bad idea. At some point he’d have to accept that it wasn’t going to happen for them.

That it couldn’t.

She smiled, squeezed his arm. “Let me know.”

She turned away, joining Shields and three of the other men in a group by the door. He watched as Shields moved in, closing the distance between them just enough to be work appropriate while making it clear he was staking his territory. Braden refocused on his gear.

Nora wasn’t his business. It didn’t matter that he wanted her to be.