“We traded sarcastic barbs and insults the whole time. It was nice, catching up like that.”

“But is he still just as hot?” Amy exchanged a look with Collin. “Well, one of us had to ask.”

“That’s kind of irrelevant, don’t you think?” Cameron managed a coolly disdainful look as she took a sip of her wine. Then she swallowed too fast, nearly choked, and coughed while gasping for air.

Amy smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Cameron dabbed her watering eyes with a napkin and turned to Collin for help.

“Don’t look at me—I’m staying out of this one,” he said.

“I would like to remind both of you that the jerk embarrassed me on national television.”

“No, the jerk embarrassed himself on national television,” Amy said.

Cameron sniffed, partially mollified by this. “And I’d also like to point out that because of him, virtually every FBI agent in the Chicago area has carried a grudge against me for the past three years. Which has made things tons of fun, considering I work with the FBI on a near-daily basis.”

“You don’t have to see him again, do you?” Collin asked.

“If there is a god, no.” Cameron thought about this more seriously. “I don’t know, maybe if there are some follow-up questions they need to ask. But I’ll tell you this: if I do see Jack Pallas again, it will be on my terms. He may have caught me off guard last night, but next time I’ll be prepared. And at least I’ll be dressed appropriately for the occasion.”

“What was wrong with the way you were dressed?” Amy asked.

“I was wearing yoga pants and gym shoes.” Cameron scoffed. “I might as well have been naked.”

“Certainly would’ve made for a more interesting interrogation.”

Collin sat back in his chair, all haughty manlike. “You and your high heels. You’re lucky you weren’t still in your underwear. Between that and being interrogated in your gym shoes, which would you prefer?”

Cameron thought about this. “Do I still get to wear high heels in the underwear scenario?”

“That was supposed to be a rhetorical question. You have a problem,” Collin said.

Cameron smiled. “So I like to vertically enhance . . . I’m a five-foot-three-inch trial lawyer. Cut me some slack.”


AMY LEFT APOLOGETICALLY as soon as dinner was over, saying that she needed to get up early the following morning to meet with her florist. Cameron and Collin stayed at the restaurant for another round of drinks, then walked the five blocks to her house.

It was a crisp October evening. Cameron pulled her jacket closed, belting it at her waist. “I’m not sure Amy’s going to make it to the wedding without having a nervous breakdown. I keep telling her to let me help out more.”

“You know how she is—she’s been planning this since she was five,” Collin said. “Speaking of planning, how’s the bachelorette party coming along?”

“Her cousins think we need a stripper,” Cameron said, referring to the other two bridesmaids. “But Amy practically made me swear an oath in blood: no strippers, no tacky wedding veil, and absolutely no penis paraphernalia. So I’m doing a wine tasting and desserts at my house, and then we’ll go to a bar afterward. I hope she likes it. If she fires me as maid of honor, you have to take on the job, you know.”

Collin threw his arm around her shoulders. “Not in a million years, babe.”

Cameron smiled and leaned against him, taking comfort in the firm solidness of his chest. In turn, Collin pulled her tighter, turning serious. “You know we were just kidding around at the restaurant, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“Because we’re very both worried about you.”

“I know that, too.”

They came to a stop in front of her house. Collin faced her, and she could see the worry in his hazel eyes. “Seriously, Cam—you were an eyewitness, earwitness, whatever you want to call it, to a murder. And you saw the killer leave. I hate to go down this road but . . . is there any chance he knew you were watching?”

Cameron had asked herself this very question several times over the course of the last twelve hours. “I was behind the door the whole time. And even if he heard me or somehow otherwise suspected I was watching, there’s no way he’d know my identity. The FBI and CPD have kept my name confidential.”

“Not exactly a good night for you, was it?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Collin cocked his head in the direction of her house. “So, then . . . would you like some company tonight?”

Cameron thought about it. After the bizarre occurrences of the night before, the idea of spending the night alone in that big house was not particularly appealing. But she knew that if Collin stayed, there would be problems. “Thanks for offering. But Richard already thinks you spend too much time with me. I’ll be okay by myself.”

There was a flicker of emotion in Collin’s eyes. “Actually, Richard and I decided to take a break.”

Cameron was shocked. She knew they’d been having problems—personally she blamed Richard; he’d always been a little arrogant and strangely unappreciative of Collin, whom half the male population in Chicago practically worshipped—but the two of them had been together for three years and she just assumed they’d work things out.

“When did this happen?” she asked.

“Last night. He said he changed his mind about going to Amy’s wedding. He used the old ‘But-I’ll-be-uncomfortable’ excuse, but really he just didn’t want to sacrifice a whole weekend in Michigan.” Collin emphasized this last part in mock horror. “I told him that the wedding is at a nice hotel, but you know him—if it’s not a Four Seasons, he thinks he’s roughing it. Anyway, we argued about that, and then we argued about a lot of things, and now . . . well, here we are.”

“Do you think there’s any chance it’ll all blow over in a few days?” Cameron asked gently.

Collin shook his head. “If he can’t do this for me, then no. He knows what this wedding means to me, and I think that’s the problem. It’s all part of his stupid competition with you and Amy. So he’s moving his stuff out of the condo tonight. Probably right at this very moment.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Cameron hugged him. “So I guess the real question is: do you want some company tonight?”

“Yes.” Collin held open the gate for her. “But you have to promise to get me very drunk.”

Cameron walked up the steps. “As long as you promise to still make breakfast in the morning.”

“Babe, I always make breakfast. You can’t even warm an Eggo.”

“That was one time.” Their senior year, and Collin had never let her live it down. “The stupid box said one to two cycles—I did two cycles. How the toaster caught on fire is just as big a mystery to me.”


SITTING IN THEIR unmarked car across the street, Officers Phelps and Kamin watched as the couple headed up the front steps of the house.

“And that will be the last anybody sees of them tonight,” Officer Kamin said, satisfied. He folded up his Sun-Times as Phelps started the car. “For a minute there, I wasn’t sure our boy was gonna get the go-ahead signal. Looks like he’s home free now.”

Phelps squinted, trying to get a better look at the pair as they stepped inside the house. “Are you sure Slonsky said to check out the girl?”

“Yep.”

“ ’ Cuz the guy looks really familiar to me. Can’t place him, though.”

Kamin shrugged. “Can’t help you there. Slonsky said to drive by the girl’s house, make sure everything looks secure. That’s all I know.”

“Maybe we should sit here for a moment, just to be certain we’re all clear.”

Not exactly in a hurry to seek out more dangerous assignments, Kamin liked the reasoning behind that. “Works for me.”

They passed the next twenty minutes in silence, the only noise being the occasional crinkling of newspaper from Kamin. He was reading the sports section when he stopped.

“Well, look at that.” He held the paper out so Phelps could see. “That’s the guy we just saw, isn’t it?”

Phelps leaned over, then sat back in the driver’s seat, satisfied.

“I told you he looked familiar.”


ACROSS TOWN, JACK was in his office, once again listening to the muffled sounds of Davis’s yelling. At least this time, he was pretty sure the ruckus had nothing to do with him. Not directly, anyway.

He and Wilkins were the only other two agents in the office, given that it was nearly eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. Sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, Wilkins gestured in the direction of their boss’s office. “Is he always like this?”

“You get used to it,” Jack said. Actually, he didn’t mind Davis’s occasional flare-ups; back in the army he’d served under several commanders who’d had their fair share of those. Like his former commanders, Davis was pretty much a straight shooter—and loyal as hell to the agents in his office. He’d fought hard to get Jack transferred back to the Chicago office as soon as the position opened up.

A few minutes later the commotion died down and Davis’s door flew open. He stuck his head out and looked over. “Pallas, Wilkins—you’re up.”

They took their seats in Davis’s office, which Jack had always found odd in not being much bigger than those the rest of the Chicago agents had been assigned. He figured the Bureau could at least get the guy a view of something more interesting than the building’s parking lot for all the crap he had to deal with as special agent in charge. Then again, knowing Davis, he’d probably specifically requested that office in order to keep track of everyone else’s comings and goings. There certainly wasn’t much that slipped past him.