Something About You (FBI/US Attorney #1)(33)

The defense attorney rose from his chair. “Objection, hearsay. Move to strike.”

Cameron turned to the judge. “It’s a preliminary hearing, your honor.”

“Overruled.”

Cameron wrapped up her redirect and took her seat at the prosecutor’s table. Because her office was swamped and understaffed, and because it was a preliminary hearing for what she considered to be a virtually open-and-shut case, she sat alone.

The judge glanced over at the defense attorney. “Any recross?”

“No, your honor.”

Agent Trask stepped down from the witness stand. Then, as he passed by Cameron’s table, the strangest thing happened.

He gave her a polite nod.

Cameron blinked twice, not sure she’d seen that correctly. Maybe he had some sort of tic she’d never noticed. Because for the last three years, the Chicago FBI agents she’d worked with hadn’t given her the time of day once they stepped off the witness stand, let alone the courtesy of a head bob. Apparently now that Jack was back, they’d decided to “forgive” her supposed crimes.

“Counselor?” the judge asked her.

She stood. “I have no further witnesses, your honor.”

The judge issued his ruling. “In light of the testimony I’ve heard today, along with the detailed FBI affidavit the government submitted with its complaint, I find there is probable cause to bind this matter over for trial. Trial is set for December fifteenth at ten A.M.”

They wrapped up the few remaining housekeeping items, then everyone rose as the judge exited the courtroom. The defense attorney whispered something to the defendant before making his way over to Cameron’s table.

“We’d like to talk about a plea bargain,” the attorney said.

Cameron was not surprised, but also not interested. “Sorry, Dan. It’s not going to happen.”

“There were several other Cook County Sheriff’s officers doing the exact same thing. My client can give you names.”

“I’ve already got names from Alvarez,” she said, referring to another man the FBI had arrested, a civilian, who had provided additional backup “security” for several of the fake drug deals.

“But Alvarez wasn’t at the meeting on June fourth,” Dan argued.

Cameron packed up her briefcase. “If I cared that much about the meeting on June fourth, I would’ve come to you with the deal instead of Alvarez’s lawyers.”

Dan lowered his voice. “Come on, Cameron—give me something I can tell my client. Anything.”

“Okay. Tell him I don’t make deals with dirty cops.”

Dan called her a bitch and walked off, taking his client with him.

Cameron shrugged and watched him leave.

Ah . . . it was great being back in court.

WHEN SHE GOT back to her office later that afternoon, Cameron spent a couple hours returning phone calls and kidding herself that she’d somehow squeeze in the time to work on an appellate brief she had due the following week. At six thirty, she gave in and wrapped things up. Never enough hours in the day, particularly not this one.

After clearing it with Officers Phelps and Kamin, she was set that night for her date with Max-the-investment-banker-I-met-on-the-Bloomingdale’s-escalator. They’d seemed to get a kick out of the story—a few weeks ago she’d been doing some shoe shopping on her lunch break and was on her way back to the office, on the down escalator, when her phone vibrated, indicating she had a new message. She saw it was a notification from the court on a ruling she’d been waiting for, so she’d gotten off at the landing to read the decision. When she’d finished, she forgot where she was and stepped right into the path of a man getting off the escalator. They’d collided, and her purse and shopping bag went flying.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” Cameron said as she stumbled, then righted herself. “I wasn’t looking.”

She caught sight of the tall drink of water standing before her. Not just tall, but also blond, bronzed, and gorgeous. She was looking now, all right.

She smiled demurely. “Oh. Hello.”

He spoke. “I think you dropped some things.”

He bent down to scoop up her purse and shopping bag and Cameron practically felt the breeze coming off her eyelashes as they fluttered. Such a gentleman. And he looked great in his navy suit—an expensive one, judging from the cut.

The shoe box had spilled open and one of her new four-inch silver strappy Miu Miu heels peeked out.

“Nice shoes,” the bronzed god said approvingly, handing over the bag and her purse. He raised an eyebrow. “For a special occasion?”

“My best friend’s wedding,” Cameron said. “I’m the maid of honor. She said we could wear any silver shoes we want, but now I’m not so sure. I hope she approves.”

The bronzed god grinned. “Well, I don’t know about the bride, but I think your date will definitely approve of them.”

“My date, right . . . I’m still working on that part,” Cameron said.

The bronzed god stuck out his hand. “In that case, my name’s Max.”

Five minutes later, he walked away with her cell phone number.

“And what would his name have been if you’d already had a date to the wedding?” Collin teased when she called him later that evening.