Something About You (FBI/US Attorney #1)(57)

He needed to say something, anything to reach out to her. “Cameron—look at me.”

“Jack,” she whispered, her eyes holding his and pleading.

He heard a crash downstairs, the sound of wood splintering—a breaking door—just as the masked man pushed open the door to the deck and pulled Cameron outside. With two hands on his gun, Jack followed them across the rooftop. Behind them, the pitched walls of the house and the room they had exited blocked the view of the street, which meant it was impossible for Jack to see what was happening with the police officers below.

The man moved steadily and quickly to the far wall of the rooftop. He kept Cameron in front of him at all times, never giving Jack any opening. Without saying a word, he backed against the wall that overlooked the backyard. He glanced sideways, and Jack assumed he was searching for the fire escape one story below them.

Then he turned and looked at Jack.

Everything happened in an instant—the man suddenly took his gun off Cameron, pointed it at Jack, and pulled back the trigger.

“No!” Cameron shouted. She grabbed for the gun as it fired and the bullet splintered the wood of the deck mere inches from Jack’s feet. Cameron faced the man as they struggled. Jack didn’t have a shot with her between them, so he lunged for them instead.

The gun went off again and Cameron stumbled back.

“Cameron!” Jack yelled.

He caught her as she sank to the deck. He saw blood spreading over her blazer. While he held her, the man bolted and dove over the side of the roof, onto the fire escape.

“He’s getting away,” Cameron muttered with a stunned, pale look. “Just leave me.”

Like hell he would.

Harper and Regan burst through the doorway with their guns drawn.

“He ran down the fire escape,” Jack shouted as he eased Cameron down to get a better look at the gunshot wound.

The cops moved instantly toward the fire escape, then ducked for cover as shots rang out from below. There was a pause, presumably as the killer ran, and the cops took off in pursuit.

Jack focused on Cameron. He reached into his blazer for his cell phone and called for the paramedics and backup.

“Is Collin okay?” she asked when he hung up the phone.

“An ambulance is on the way. Everything’s okay now.” Jack pushed her blazer off. “Jesus, Cameron—what were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t just let him shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time for me.” Jack saw that the blood was coming from her shoulder. Not wasting a moment, he yanked open the top two buttons of her shirt and pushed it aside to get a better look.

Cameron closed her eyes. “Tell me the truth—how bad is it?”

Jack hesitated.

She panicked. “Oh God—that bad?”

He decided it would be best to just lay it on the line. “So on a scale of one to ten of all the gunshot wounds I’ve seen, this is . . .”

Her eyes widened.

“. . . about a point two.”

She sat up. “A point two? I bled through my blazer. Don’t tell me that’s a measly point two.”

“Admittedly, I’ve seen a lot of gunshot wounds, so my curve may be steeper than most,” Jack said, blotting her shoulder with the blazer. “But the point is, you’re going to be fine.” His throat tightened—he’d seen a lot of things between the FBI and Army Special Forces, but he doubted he’d ever be able to forget the image of her stumbling back after the gun had gone off.

“Well, point two or not, it hurts. A lot.”

“Good. Maybe now you’ll think twice about getting yourself nearly killed by attacking a man with a gun.”

“Gee, with that kind of thanks, I’m thinking that’s the last time I take a bullet for you.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Jack growled.

She managed a slight mischievous smile. “You were worried about me, Agent Pallas.”

“From your tone, I’m guessing I don’t need to be any longer.”

They heard the sound of a siren as an ambulance pulled up at her house.

“You probably should go now—try to catch the guy,” Cameron said.

Jack looked down at her, cradled in his arms. “I probably should,” he said huskily.

He stayed right where he was.

Eighteen

THE STREET OUTSIDE Cameron’s house was pure mayhem. There were squad cars, unmarked police and FBI cars, an ambulance, and cops and agents everywhere. Wilkins had arrived shortly after the paramedics with several FBI teams. Quickly thereafter, Detective Slonsky had shown up at the scene with his own men.

The paramedic who had bandaged Cameron’s shoulder led her to the ambulance parked against the curb. The back doors were open and Collin sat inside, facing out toward the street. A second paramedic checked his eyes, looking for signs of a concussion.

The instant he spotted Cameron, Collin pushed the paramedic aside and vaulted out of the ambulance.

“Oh, thank God.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “They wouldn’t let me see you—they said they were keeping you isolated until they were certain the guy was no longer in the area.”

“Slonsky said the cops lost him in the alley.”

Collin pulled back. His eyes fell on her bloody shirt. “When I heard you’d been shot, I nearly lost it.”