Fate was so clearly mocking her.

Cameron frowned. “What are you doing here?” Perfect. Just the man she wanted to run into right then.

“You haven’t been answering your phone. Are you having problems with it?” Jack looked displeased. Big surprise there.

“It seems to be working fine.” Cameron reached into her purse and pulled it out to check. She realized what she’d done. “Oh . . . I turned the ringer down. I must not have heard the calls over the noise of the restaurant.” She peered up at him. “Were you trying to call me? Is something wrong?”

“Collin called. He couldn’t reach you, got nervous, and called me. Then we couldn’t reach you or get through to the restaurant, so here I am,” Jack said.

Cameron ran her hands through her hair, feeling very tired. It had been a long day—she’d gone one round with her opposing counsel in court, another round with Silas, and then had been ditched by her date. From the look on Jack’s face, he was gearing up for another sparring match and she wasn’t sure she had it in her right then.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking when I turned down my phone. I apologize that you had to run all the way over here for nothing. Glower at me all you want—you’ve earned it this time.”

Jack took a seat in the chair across from her.

“That being said,” Cameron continued, “I would like to point out that Officer Zuckerman has been over there at the bar, watching me all night, so it’s not as though I had any reason to believe I was in danger. And I’d also like to state, for the record, that there was never any discussion about me keeping my cell phone on at all times. If that was something you expected as part of this surveillance, you should have stated it clearly up front to avoid exactly this type of scenario.”

Okay, so maybe she had just a tiny bit left for one last round.

Jack rested his arms on the table. “That has to be the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve had a chance to think things through. Seeing how I was only about thirty percent at fault here, you get thirty percent of an apology.”

“I see.”

Cameron waited for him to say something further. “That’s it? I expected there to be a lot more. You know, with the growling and scowling.”

“I could add a few curse words to that, if you like.”

Cameron checked her grin just in time. “Not necessary, but thanks for the offer.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each one studying the other warily.

“So you never said what happened to your date,” Jack led in.

“He had a last-minute conflict with work. For the third time in three weeks.” Cameron had no idea why she’d added that last piece of information.

Jack’s dark eyes studied her. “I hope you had better luck picking out shoes that day.”

He never ceased to amaze her. “How do you know how I met Max?” Cameron asked.

“Kamin and Phelps are a wealth of information. They seem to be having a blast being assigned to your detail.”

“Shockingly, some people actually find me charming.”

“I once found you charming, too,” Jack said quietly.

It was as though the proverbial record had skipped to a stop, silencing the room.

For the last week, she and Jack had danced around this very issue, never actually discussing the past. But now that he had launched the first salvo, she could either retreat or face him head-on. And she wasn’t a retreating kind of girl.

“The feeling was once mutual.”

Jack mulled this over for a moment. “Now that we’re working together, maybe we should talk about what happened three years ago.”

Cameron took a sip of her wine, trying to look casual. She chose her words carefully. “I don’t think there’s anything that could be said that would do us any good.”

Jack surprised her with his response. “I was wrong to say those things to that reporter. I knew it right after I said it. That was . . . a rough time for me. I was going to apologize to you. Of course, I never got the chance.”

It was as she’d expected. He blamed her for his transfer, never realizing how close he’d come to being dismissed from the FBI. Part of her was tempted to tell him the truth and just get it all out there. But he was so angry with her about the Martino case—about everything—that she didn’t know how he’d react. Logically, there was no good reason why she should trust Jack. So she continued dodging the issue. “I appreciate your apology,” she said matter-of-factly, hoping that would end the conversation.

His face hardened. “That’s it?”

“There’s not much more I can say about what happened back then.” Without taking a risk that the information would get back to Silas.

“You can tell me why you did it. I know you were pissed off about the things I said, but did the sight of me really offend you so much that you needed to have me thrown out of the entire city?”

Cameron knew it was time to end this conversation. “This isn’t a good idea, us talking about this.”

Jack leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light coming off the candles in the center of the table. “I saw you come out of Davis’s office that morning, Cameron.”

Anger got the better of her. She leaned in, meeting him halfway. “You saw what you wanted to see,” she snapped.

Cameron saw surprise register on Jack’s face and knew she had said too much. “Dammit, Jack. Just let it go.” She stood up from the table and walked away, not daring to utter another word.

WHILE WAITING IN the lobby, Cameron slipped on her jacket and tied the belt around her waist. It was a warm night for October in Chicago, but given that it was nevertheless still October in Chicago, the concept of “warm” when wearing a sleeveless dress was relative.

“I can take it from here, officer. Thank you.”

At the sound of Jack’s voice, both Cameron and the police officer Slonsky had substituted for Kamin and Phelps turned. She watched as Jack strode down the escalator.

“Thank you, Agent Pallas, but there’s no need,” she replied coolly. “I’ll stick with Officer Zuckerman until Kamin and Phelps arrive.”

Jack ignored her and showed his badge to Zuckerman. “Jack Pallas. You spoke with my partner on the phone a few minutes ago, so you’re aware that the FBI has jurisdiction over the investigation Ms. Lynde is involved in. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

Cameron watched as Officer Zuckerman nodded and wished her a good night. After he left, she glared at Jack. “Why did you do that?”

“Because we’re not finished with our conversation.”

“Believe me, we’re finished.”

He shook his head. “No.” He moved toward her, close enough that Cameron had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“What did you mean, when you said that I saw what I wanted to see that morning?” He studied her face, searching for answers. “What else should I have seen?”

Cameron held her ground. “If this is some kind of interrogation technique, it’s not working.”

“I’m awfully good at this when I need to be, you know.”

“How fortunate then that I don’t plan for us to do a lot of talking.”

“Maybe you’ll warm up to the idea on the way home.”

It took Cameron a second to catch that. “I’m not going home with you.”

Jack nodded. “I already called Kamin and Phelps and told them to meet us at your house.”

“Why?”

“I told you, we’re not finished with our conversation.” He smiled slightly. “What’s wrong? Don’t trust yourself around me?”

Cameron raised an eyebrow. Hardly. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. Where’s your car?”

“Parked on the street in front of my apartment.” He pointed behind her. “We’re taking that.”

Cameron turned and saw a motorcycle parked in front of the building. She was no expert on motorcycles—far from it—so later when Collin interrupted her at this point as she recounted the details of the evening to ask her five thousand damn questions about what kind of motorcycle Jack drove, the best she could tell him was that, no, it wasn’t a Harley, and no, it wasn’t one of those crotch-rocket sport bikes either.