Neither Lombard nor Driscoll had been particularly forthcoming about Hodges’s affairs, but as the senator’s bodyguard and chief of staff, they weren’t expected to be. And though neither had an alibi, seeing how both men claimed to be home at the time of the murder, sleeping alone (Driscoll was divorced and Lombard had never married), this again was not unusual. However, both did fit the rough physical description Cameron had given of the man she had seen leaving room 1308.

It wasn’t a lot, Jack knew, but it was enough to look into both men further.

“Let’s get Driscoll and Lombard’s phone records and cross reference them with the numbers we have for Mandy Robards,” Jack told Wilkins. “And we should pull their credit card statements for the past two years—see if anything unusual turns up. In the meantime, we need to get started on that list Hodges gave us of people he believes might have a grudge against him.”

Wilkins nodded in agreement just as the phone rang. Jack saw the call was coming from the lobby security desk.

“Pallas,” he answered.

“Officers Kamin and Phelps from the Chicago Police Department are here to see you. They say they have something for you from a Detective Slonsky,” said the evening security guard.

“Thanks—send them up.”

Jack hung up the phone and looked at Wilkins. “Kamin and Phelps are on their way up.” He frowned. “Aren’t those the guys Slonsky put on Cameron’s surveillance?”

Wilkins glanced at his watch. “They’re the evening shift, I thought.”

“So what are they doing here?”

“You’ll have to ask them that.” Wilkins seemed to sense the dark cloud of displeasure that was quickly moving in. “Let’s try to play nice here, Jack—remember that we’re working with these guys.”

When Kamin and Phelps arrived at his office, Wilkins rose from his chair and greeted them with a cordial smile. “Hello, officers. What brings you by this evening?”

The older cop introduced himself and his younger partner. “I’m Bob Kamin, this is my partner, Danny Phelps.” He held out a large sealed envelope. “Detective Slonsky asked us to bring this to you. He says it’s the lab report you’ve been waiting for.”

Jack got up from his desk and took the envelope from Kamin. “Thanks.” He caught Wilkins’s sideways glance and shot him a look to let him know that everything was cool. “So . . . for some reason we thought you were the guys assigned to Ms. Lynde’s surveillance. Guess we were mistaken?”

“Nope, you got it right,” Kamin said. “We do the night shift. Nice girl. We talk a lot on the way to the gym.”

“Oh. Then I guess Agent Wilkins and I are just curious why you two are here instead of with her.”

Kamin waved this off. “It’s cool. We did a switcheroo with another cop, see?”

“A switcheroo . . . right. Remind me again how that works?” Jack asked.

“It’s because she’s got this big date tonight,” Kamin explained.

Jack cocked his head. “A date?”

Phelps chimed in. “Yeah, you know—with Max-the-investment-banker-she-met-on-the-Bloomingdales-escalator.”

“I must’ve missed that one.”

“Oh, it’s a great story,” Kamin assured him. “She crashed into him coming off the escalator and when her shopping bag spilled open, he told her he liked her shoes.”

“Ah . . . the Meet Cute,” Wilkins said with a grin.

Jack threw him a sharp look. “What did you just say?”

“You know, the Meet Cute.” Wilkins explained. “In romantic comedies, that’s what they call the moment when the man and woman first meet.” He rubbed his chin, thinking this over. “I don’t know, Jack . . . if she’s had her Meet Cute with another man that does not bode well for you.”

Jack nearly did a double take as he tried to figure out what the hell that was supposed to mean.

Phelps shook his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t go that far. She’s still on the fence about this guy. He’s got problems keeping his job from intruding on his personal life. But she’s feeling a lot of pressure with Amy’s wedding—she’s only got about ten days left to get a date.”

“She’s the maid of honor, see?” Kamin said.

Jack stared at all three of them. Their lips were moving and sound was coming out, but it was like they were speaking a different language.

Kamin turned to Phelps. “Frankly, I think she should just go with Collin, since he and Richard broke up.”

“Yeah, but you heard what she said. She and Collin need to stop using each other as a crutch. It’s starting to interfere with their other relationships.”

Unbelievable. Jack ran a hand through his hair, tempted to tear it out. But then he’d have a bald spot to thank Cameron Lynde for, and that would piss him off even more. “Can we get back to the switcheroo part?”

“Right, sorry. It was Slonsky’s suggestion. Turns out her date tonight is at Spiaggia. You know it?” Phelps asked.

Jack nodded. He’d never been, but he knew of it. A five-star restaurant—one of the top in the city—it was located at the northernmost point of the Magnificent Mile and known for its romantic views of Lake Michigan.

“Well, Slonsky knows a cop who does security there in the evenings—says he figured he’d put that guy on Ms. Lynde’s detail while she’s at the restaurant, since he already knows the layout of the place and everything,” Kamin said.

Phelps nudged him. “Tell him about the other part.”

Kamin folded his arms across his chest in a huff. “Slonsky also said this guy will blend better than we would at the restaurant. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

Jack’s eyes were drawn to the cuffs of Kamin’s faded-blue denim shirt, both of them stained with some sort of mystery red sauce. He’d put his marker on a chili dog as the likely culprit.

“So we dropped her off at the restaurant and made sure she got in okay, and we’ll go back when she’s ready to leave. She’s gonna call us,” Phelps said.

Jack did not like the sound of this plan—he wasn’t exactly thrilled about Slonsky sending in some new guy to watch over Cameron. Although after spending three minutes with Phelps and Kamin, he wasn’t sure he felt much better about them watching her, either. Still, he supposed he didn’t have anything specific he could complain about—Slonsky was in charge of this side of the investigation and they seemed to have thought things through—but the whole idea of this date just generally put him in a foul mood.

Instead of saying anything that would give this away, however, he thanked Phelps and Kamin for bringing by the lab report and sent them on their merry way. Before they started babbling on again about Cameron and Max-the-guy-he-couldn’t-give-a-crap-about and their Meet Cute or whatever. So he told her that he liked her shoes—so what? The whole thing sounded more like a Meet Lame to him.

“I’m proud of you, Jack,” Wilkins said after Kamin and Phelps left. “Not a single glowering look.”

“We’re still on the glowering thing?”

Before Wilkins could answer, Jack’s phone rang again. He picked it up. “Pallas.”

On the other end, the operator who answered the office’s main phone number informed him that she had Collin McCann on the line for him.

Jack frowned. “Put him through.”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Collin started right in as soon as the connection went through, “but it’s about Cameron and I didn’t know who else to call. I know this thing she’s involved in is confidential.”

“Is something wrong?” Jack asked. Hearing this, Wilkins looked over.

“It’s probably nothing,” Collin said. “She’s on a date tonight. Maybe she’s just . . . preoccupied.”

Jack gritted his teeth. If one more person mentions this damn date . . . “But?”

“She’s not answering her cell phone. I’ve called her several times and I keep getting her voicemail.”

“She probably turned it off,” Jack said. Wouldn’t want anything to interrupt her night with Max-who-apparently-has-a-fetish-with-women’s-shoes, after all.