Chapter 20
Present Day
“Sit here and don’t touch anything,” Bray instructed when he led me back to his desk.
His actual desk, not the borrowed office he’d first taken me to.
His space was tidy and kempt, and the control freak thoughts I’d had when I first met him, and after seeing his apartment, solidified.
A potted succulent sat beside a holder full of pens.
His keyboard was free of crumbs, and his monitor was shiny and currently asleep.
I noted no picture frames or any personal effects, but what was he going to do, pin up a selfie of him and his mom to remind everyone of his status?
“Where are you going?” I asked when he started walking away.
“I have to see to a few things. I’ll be right back.”
He left me alone, swiveling in his surprisingly comfy chair (special treatment?), and staring at his keyboard.
He’d told me not to touch anything, but chances were not zero I could guess his password.
Knowing him, it was probably DSA123 or a series of smiley face emoticons.
With Bray’s computer sitting right in front of me and the need to know more about my own case burning a hole in my sternum, the temptation was too great.
I snapped out a quick hand and hit his enter key.
The screen fizzled to life. Of course a password prompt waited for me.
I glanced over my shoulder and made sure no one was looking.
Behind me, the aisle leading to offices was empty.
Beneath the sound of clacking keyboards and a distant ringing phone, I discreetly typed out DSA123 and held my breath.
The password box shook in refusal.
“Damn it,” I muttered, secretly glad Bray wasn’t that foolish, though it would have been to my benefit.
I slid my hands to the keyboard once more and hit a colon and parenthesis to make a smiley face, ready to roll my eyes if I was right, when someone nearby cleared their throat.
“I believe he told you not to touch anything.” A male voice floated over from the other side of Bray’s screen.
I jerked in surprise and leaned sideways to see who had spoken. A young man in a plaid shirt with square glasses, brown skin, and jet-black, wavy hair sat in the opposite cubicle, staring at his computer screen. His eyes flicked over when he saw me.
“I didn’t,” I lied and felt my face burn.
“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, clearly not believing me. He looked at me with more intention and then slid his chair sideways so we could fully see each other. He looked about Bray’s age, a few years older than me, and wore a lanyard around his neck with his photo and name on it.
“Hi, Agent Singh,” I said once I read it.
He studied me for a silent moment before his face split into a grin. “Call me Ramesh. You’re her, aren’t you? The CI who Agent Bray keeps talking about?”
I blinked several times, trying to keep up. He’d gone from scolding me to smiling at me to gossiping like we were besties.
“Um, yes?” I said as my face warmed at the thought that Bray was talking about me. With the way Ramesh had said it, I got the sense Bray was talking about me, not that he was sharing updates on the case with his cubicle mate.
Thoughts of my dream crashed into me again, sending a flurry of nerves and heat loose in my belly.
“Nice to meet you,” Ramesh said. “I’ve heard good things.”
“Oh?” I said, truly curious. “Like what?”
“Like you’re smart and a badass. I think Bray is a little bit afraid of you.” He whispered the last part like we were in on a secret.
I flushed again. “I expected you to say he says I’m a pain in the ass.”
“Well, yes. That too.” He smiled like it was a compliment.
I smiled back. “What do you do here?”
He lifted his hands as if to put his desk on display. “I’m the guy in the chair.”
“The what?”
“You know, when the field agents are out on jobs and they need to know something ASAP, like how to get out of a building or the best traffic route to escape or if someone is allergic to peanuts and might have been poisoned, they call me.” He proudly grinned.
“I see,” I said with a nod. “So, you’re basically the brains of any operation.”
“Correct. Although the guys and girls out there dodging bullets and punching bad guys don’t always see it that way.
Bray is one to give credit where it’s due though,” he said and nodded at where I sat.
“He’s always been a good guy, but after his recovery and the months he spent in the chair, he knows the job from both sides now. ”
I thought back to what Bray had said in the stairwell: He’d been at a desk for six months. He must have been a guy in the chair, like Ramesh.
“Guy like him doesn’t belong at a desk though,” Ramesh went on. “It’s taking some time to get his legs back, but he’s a Goddamn hero, if you ask me.”
I casually pinched one of the succulent’s thick spears, having a feeling I’d get more information out of a chatty cubicle mate than I ever would from Bray. “He mentioned this is his first case back in the field. What happened?”
Ramesh leaned in and lowered his voice. “He almost died on a job, from multiple gunshot wounds. The doctors were lucky to save him. Had the whole office in a panic, especially his mom—I mean, the director.”
Guilt washed over me anew for giving Bray a hard time as Ramesh blushed at his slip. “Was there anyone else, um … particularly worried about him?” I asked and pinched the succulent again.
“I mean, we all were,” Ramesh said. “But if you’re asking if there was a girlfriend, no. No one like that.”
A relieved breath whooshed out of me before I could stop it. I flamed in embarrassment again as Ramesh tried to hide a knowing grin. I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “What’s the deal with that? Is it weird to have the director’s son working here?”
Ramesh shrugged. “Not really. He doesn’t take advantage.
If anything, she’s harder on him.” He leaned in again and nearly whispered.
“The truth is, I don’t know if he ever even wanted this job.
I think he’d be in a band somewhere if it paid the bills and he wasn’t built for climbing walls and taking bullets. ”
“Band? What instrument does he play?”
“I guess I shouldn’t say band. More like an ensemble or an orchestra, or wherever cellos go.”
“I knew it!” I blurted. My impression of his elegant hands playing a classy instrument was spot-on.
Ramesh jerked back at my outburst.
“Sorry. I just had a hunch.”
His knowing grin came back.
“So,” I said, trying to pivot away from my embarrassment. “Are you Bray’s guy in the chair for the Del Rio case?”
He gave me a little salute. “Yes. Although, he’s had me looking at some classified files these past few days—your files, actually.”
“And?” I said, nearly climbing onto the desk.
He leaned back and his eyes flicked up over my shoulder. “Agent Bray!” he blurted. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh? All good things, I hope?” Bray said from behind me.
He’d returned from wherever he went and was holding a thin folder.
“Add this to the Del Rio files, will you?” He handed the folder to Ramesh.
“Ms. Daniels, if you’ll follow me, please.
” He nodded for me to join him, and pure curiosity got me out of the chair.
“Nice to meet you, Ramesh,” I said, and gave him a wave.
He waved back with a small grin.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I followed Bray down the aisle.
His black T-shirt carved out the muscles in his back.
I dared not look any lower than that for fear—yep.
From behind, his slacks hugged his hips and thighs and everything in between like a glove.
I made a mental note to always walk in front of him.
“And what’s with Ms. Daniels? No one calls me that. ”
He glanced over his shoulder. “What’s with Ramesh? Did you make a new best friend in the five minutes I was gone?”
“First off, I’m pretty sure Ramesh could make friends with anyone in five minutes, and yes, maybe that’s what happened, but more importantly, you’ve got him working on my case?”
He abruptly stopped walking, and I ran into his back. It was a goddamn brick wall that smelled like fresh mint and soap. I wanted to stay splattered against it like a fly on a windshield. “What did he tell you?”
I took a moment to gather myself. “Nothing. You came back and interrupted before he could say anything.” Other than you’re single, play the cello, are respected at work, and have heroic tendencies.
I kept the latter part to myself and felt the revelations burrow into a dangerously warm pocket of my heart.
The cello? Seriously?
“Well, he doesn’t know anything I haven’t told you,” Bray said.
I gazed up into his gray eyes and looked for any sign he was bluffing.
“I’m serious, Erin. Yes, he’s been helping, but I’ve told you all I know at this point. Which brings me to our next task.” He held out his arm, and I only then realized we were standing at an elevator. He reached out to press the call button.
“Are we leaving?” I asked when it arrived with a ding.
“Yes, but we have to make a stop first.”
When we stepped in and he hit the button for the basement, I cocked a curious brow at him but decided not to ask.
Our uninterrupted descent into the bowels of the building landed us in a hallway where the telltale scent of gunpowder, hot metal, and rubber curled into my nose. A shooting range.
“What are we doing down here?” I asked.
“Taking matters into our own hands,” Bray said as he led me over to one of the stalls.
The range was empty, but the ground was littered with shells and the air tinged with smoke as if someone had recently finished taking target practice.
In fact, a mangled paper target hung holey and limp at the end of the next stall over.
Bray removed his gun from his holster and released the clip. He set the disassembled pieces on the shooting bench in front of us. “I’ll give you a gun if you can show me you know how to use one.”