Something About You (FBI/US Attorney #1)(86)
“It . . . was a very key light switch.”
She sniffed. Her nose was red and her mascara was smudged underneath her eyes. Jack thought he had never seen anyone look so beautiful. When he thought about what could’ve happened . . . how close he’d come to losing her . . .
“You’re doing the serious face again.” Cameron touched his cheek, looking him over with concern. “Are you hurt? You have to be, after that fall.”
“I might’ve broken a few ribs,” Jack said.
“What? We need to get one of the paramedics to check you out. You could have internal bleeding or something.”
“It’s fine. I’ll have someone take a look later, when I’m finished with all this.”
She shook her head. “Not later, Jack. Now. You’re not invincible, you know.”
“Shh . . . I’ve been trying to keep that under wraps for years.”
That finally got a slight smile out of her. Jack got up and sat next to her on the bed.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I didn’t go into my room, you know. I stayed in the upstairs hallway to listen.”
“I figured as much.”
Cameron turned her head to look at him. “Those things you said to Lombard . . . were you bluffing?”
Jack thought about his response to this. He’d said a lot of things to Lombard. But right or wrong, the man she’d heard down there was him. “Does it matter?” he asked her.
She paused for a moment before shaking her head.
“No.”
Twenty-nine
“THERE’S SOMEONE HERE to see you, Cameron.”
Cameron glanced at the clock on her desk computer. It was after two o’clock, which surprised her. She’d been so caught up taking notes on the case files she’d been reading, she’d worked straight through lunch.
“Thanks, Elaine. Does this someone have a name?” She checked her calendar—she didn’t have any appointments written down for that afternoon.
Through the speakerphone, the front desk receptionist’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
After everything she’d been through recently, Cameron wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. She picked up the phone. “Do I at least know this person?”
“Yes. Definitely,” Elaine said.
“Then why can’t I know who he or she is?”
“I don’t know—he just said I should ask you to come out here. Oh, he’s looking over. I gotta go.” Elaine quickly hung up.
Cameron set the phone back in its cradle. She considered the possibilities.
Jack or Collin?
Whichever of the two it was, he was taking her to lunch, she decided. She was starving.
She got up from her desk and headed out into the hallway, wondering what all the mystery was about. Her instincts told her it was Jack. He had dropped by her office frequently over the last couple of weeks, for both professional and personal reasons.
Thinking about him never failed to put a smile on her face. Since Lombard’s arrest, Jack had spent nearly every night at her house—the only exceptions being the few nights she’d spent at his loft. They were busy during the week, each of them having been thrust back into work after the night of the attack, but they made up for it in the evenings and on weekends. Jack had decided to take on the job of repairing the stairwell banister, along with a few other renovations to her house, and Cameron had decided to assist him—which meant that she sat in the corner drinking wine and reading one of the hundreds of books from his collection that slowly seemed to be trickling into her house. She’d poke her head up every once in awhile and chime in with her two cents, and then somewhere around her second glass she’d start noticing all the ways in which Jack’s muscles flexed under his T-shirt while he worked, and how delicious he looked getting sweaty and mussed, and uh-oh, suddenly they’d be on the floor getting sweaty and mussed in ways that didn’t require a hammer and nails.
Best of all, though, she loved the way they talked—whether it was coming out of the movie theater, at a restaurant over dinner, or lying on the couch with her head against Jack’s chest as he told about his former cases and she shared memories of her dad.
Luckily, the media attention surrounding them finally seemed to be dying down—something they both were looking forward to. The biggest story in the press for the last two weeks had been the indictment and subsequent resignation of the U.S. attorney for the Northern District of Illinois. All things considered, Cameron supposed, Silas’s arrest had gone smoothly enough. The Monday morning after Lombard’s attack, she had “happened” to be out in the reception area when Jack and Wilkins had arrived with their arrest warrant. There’d been a lot of yelling and swearing on Silas’s part, particularly as Jack put the handcuffs on him. Standing off to the side with a few of the other assistant prosecutors, Cameron had watched as Jack remained calm and professional. He’d said something in a low voice only Silas could hear, and Silas nodded mutely, his lower lip quivering. Strangely, after that he’d been fully cooperative.
Closely following the scandal involving Silas had been the one with Grant Lombard—it wasn’t every day, after all, that a U.S. senator’s private bodyguard was arrested for murdering a call girl in one of Chicago’s most luxurious hotels. This arrest, unfortunately, had put Cameron and Jack directly in the spotlight: after the attacks it became impossible to keep secret the fact that she had been a witness (sort of) to the murder. The media quickly linked her and Jack together from the apparently never-to-be-forgotten “head up her ass” comment of three years ago. Although the rehashing of Jack’s remarks usually brought on another glowering session on his part, Cameron personally found it amusing to watch. She’d even slipped once—while he was trying to wrestle the remote control out of her hands to turn off the ten o’clock news, she’d teasingly said they should share the footage with their kids someday as evidence of their love at first sight. When Jack hadn’t immediately scrambled off the couch to head for the hills, and instead had gotten quite amorous after her comment, she took it as a sign that she hadn’t completely freaked him out.