If anything, he looked a little bored. “My money would be on the lady,” he said, losing his smile. “Now, friend. You can either go get us a dessert menu, or you can fuck off and slink back to your bodyguard duties.”
Brigid swallowed a gasp. Had Raider just said the F-word? She glanced toward the corner, where one of the other bodyguards had started walking their way. This was about to get ugly. She wasn’t armed. Was Raider? He couldn’t be. They’d flown commercially, and he hadn’t declared a gun.
They had to get out of there. Right now.
The guy grabbed Raider by the tie, and then everything happened so quickly that Brigid didn’t see all of it.
Raider stood in one easy motion, manacled the back of the guy’s neck, and smashed his head so hard into the table that it cracked in two. Dishes and utensils flew in every direction while the guy and the wood crashed to the floor.
Brigid’s chair rocked back, and she yelped, scrambling to her feet to keep from falling. The guy on the floor didn’t move.
Raider’s easy and brutal violence shocked her more than the fight itself.
“Hey!” The other bodyguard, a red-headed man with a barrel of a chest, ran forward while yanking out his gun.
Raider pivoted and kicked the guy beneath the chin, sending him down and following like a blur of motion. Three punches and a quick twist, and Raider stood with the gun pointed at the back table. When he lifted his chin, the two men there lifted their hands.
The remaining patrons looked on without moving.
Raider straightened his tie.
Brigid could only gape, her mind fuzzing. What had just happened?
Raider backed toward her. “Door. Now.”
She turned and stumbled toward it just as sirens echoed down the street. Running outside into a light rain, she rushed to the passenger side of the compact they’d rented at the airport. Raider calmly entered the driver’s seat, ignited the engine, and drove away from the restaurant.
Brigid gulped down panic, struggling to secure her seat belt. “I don’t understand. Why in the hell were we sent to that restaurant?”
Raider set the gun between them and maneuvered around traffic. “I have a feeling our mission went according to plan.” His hands were light on the steering wheel but his voice held a tone she couldn’t identify. She studied him. He looked like he’d been out for a relaxing lunch with a friend, not like a man who’d probably just put two guys—two tough guys—in the hospital for a week.
Just who was Raider Tanaka?
After a silent plane ride back to DC, where Brigid ran over every moment of the day in her head and Raider read a series of HDD reports, they finally ended up at their headquarters just as night began to fall. As usual, the dilapidated elevator shuddered to the bottom floor and then remained quiet.
“I hate this thing.” Raider smacked his palm against the door. “Open, darn it.”
The door opened with a hitch.
Amusement bubbled through Brigid’s unease. “You’re magic.”
He looked over his shoulder. “You have no idea, Irish.” Then he crossed into the small and dimly lit vestibule of the basement offices.
Had he just flirted with her? For Pete’s sake. She moved out of the too small space on wobbly legs, feeling overwhelmed on several levels. Enough of that silliness. Reaching the wide-open room, she sighed. Fresh paint had brightened the office a bit, but the myriad of desks were still old and scarred, and the overhead lights old, yellow, and buzzing.
Raider looked down at the cracked concrete floor and shook his head.
“We’re supposed to paint that next,” Brigid said. Wasn’t that the plan? “And I think there’s art coming, or screens that show outside scenery.” The basement headquarters were a step down from depressing, even with the new paint. The big room was eerily silent, as well.
Three doors led to an office and two conference rooms, while one more door, a closet for the unit’s shrink, was over to the west.
A German shepherd padded out of the far office, munching contentedly on something bright red. It coated his mouth and stained the lighter fur around his chin.
“Roscoe,” Brigid breathed, her entire body finally relaxing. Animals and computer code, she knew. It was people who threw her.
The dog seemed to grin and bounded toward her, his tail wagging wildly. She ducked to pet him. “What in the world do you have?” This close she could see that the stuff was thick