“Thanks, send him back.” She nodded at Rob, who waved good-bye on his way out. About twenty seconds later, he was replaced by Collin.

“You sounded terrible on the phone,” he said from the doorway, referring to the quick conversation they’d had about an hour ago. “I’m here to kidnap you.”

“I had a tough day in court.” Cameron checked her watch. “It’s four o’clock. I can’t leave work now. It would be . . . indecent.”

Collin laughed. “You’re running yourself ragged these days between work, Amy’s bachelorette party, and that other business we can’t talk about here. You need a break. Come on, counselor—I’ll treat you to a flight at 404 Wine Bar.”

It was tempting. Cameron eyed him knowingly. “You just finished a column, didn’t you?” She could always tell.

“Is it so wrong to want to spend quality time with my best friend when she’s had a rough day?” Collin asked innocently. “As for whether I also happened to be particularly insightful and witty while writing today, well, you’ll just have to see for yourself in tomorrow’s paper. It’ll be the big column about sports stuff under my picture.”

Cameron threw him a wry grin—very funny. Yet despite the pile of work she had stacked on her desk, and also despite the fact that she sensed that Collin was in another one of his god-among-men insufferable moods, she thought that a drink with her best friend didn’t sound like too bad of an idea right then.

So for the first time in her four years as a prosecutor, she shocked everyone in the office, including herself, by leaving early.

OFFICER HARPER ENTERED the kitchen, having finished his check of the second and third floors of Cameron’s house.

“We’re all clear.” He looked at his partner, Officer Regan, who had checked the main level. “You good?”

Regan nodded. “We’re good.”

Cameron followed them to the door and locked it behind them.

“So what do they do now?” Collin asked. He’d taken a seat at the counter while the cops had done their walk-through.

“They’ll follow us to the bar and wait outside until the night shift shows up.”

“Why do I get the feeling that things are more interesting when Jack Pallas is around?” Collin teased.

“Things with Jack have gotten a little . . . complicated lately,” Cameron said.

“Complicated” was certainly one way to describe it. On Saturday night, after she and Jack had rejoined Wilkins, Amy, and the rest of the bachelorette party, they’d barely said two words to each other—the two words on her part being “thank you” after he and Wilkins made sure the house was secure when they dropped her and Amy off, and the two words on his part being “you’re welcome.” She hadn’t heard from nor seen Jack since.

Which was just fine with her. Really. Over the last five days she’d had time to sort through her emotions. Sure, she and Jack had done Those Things She’d Never Admit in a random office in a nightclub, but she’d decided this was all simply part of that post-traumatic stress she’d been fighting off lately. She’d been on some crazed high after the excitement of the power outage, had gotten riled up, and Jack just happened to be there. With his mouth on her breasts.

Tell me.

Let me touch you.

Cameron felt a little flushed every time she thought back to that evening. Apparently, there was one level on which she and Jack had no problem communicating openly.

She filled Collin in on the events of Saturday night, leaving out the most racy parts. Which was odd, because normally she told Collin everything. But some of the things between her and Jack felt . . . private.

“Sounds like I missed quite a party,” Collin said when she’d finished. “So where do you and Jack go from here?”

“Nowhere,” Cameron said with emphasis. Hadn’t he been paying attention to the post-traumatic stress part? She’d mentioned that point at least six times. “Saturday night was nothing. A fluke.”

Collin threw her a skeptical look. “Babe, I hope you’re at least fooling yourself with that.”

Nope, not really. “All right. So I’m physically attracted to Jack,” Cameron conceded. It was a big step for her to admit even that much out loud. “Who wouldn’t be? You’ve seen him.”

“Rugged hotness, sex in a shoulder harness—yep, I’m familiar.”

“Right. But I can conquer a physical attraction. I mean, he told thirty million people I had my head up my ass. What kind of self-respecting woman would I be if I fell for a guy like that?”

“It would be somewhat ironic,” Collin agreed.

“Plus, he doesn’t even like me,” Cameron added.

Collin cocked his head. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“No, I’m not worried. I just think, given our history, that it would be foolish of me to think that Saturday night was about anything other than a mere physical attraction on Jack’s part.” Cameron paused. “So it’s a good thing he and I are on the same page with that.”

Collin seemed to be amused by her assessment of the situation. “I think you need a few drinks to help you sort this out.”

Cameron waved this off. “I don’t need to do any sorting.” She gestured to her outfit. “But I do need to change out of this suit before we head to the bar.”

“I’ll head up with you,” Collin said, sliding off the stool and leaving the kitchen with her. “I want to check the guest bedroom. I’m missing my Sox sweatshirt, and I thought maybe I left it here one of the times I stayed over. Either that, or Richard snagged it when he moved out.”

Cameron followed Collin up the stairs. “Have you talked to him since then?”

“Not once. I thought I’d get a phone call, or at the very least an e-mail. But apparently he thin—”

Neither of them saw the attack coming.

A dark figure lunged at them when they reached the second floor, a mere blur that moved blindingly fast. With Collin in front of her, Cameron never saw where the man came from. He struck Collin across the head with something in his hand, and Collin moaned and sank to the floor. Cameron screamed his name.

The man, dressed all in black, whirled around. He wore a ski mask that covered all of his face except for small openings at his eyes and mouth, and she noticed that he wore black gloves.

The object in his hand was a gun.

Pointed straight at her.

Cameron felt as though her legs were stuck in quick-sand. She looked over to where Collin lay on the floor. He wasn’t moving.

The man with the gun moved toward her.

Cameron took a step back, retreating slowly down the stairs. The man followed her.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

As he took the next step, he lifted his gloved hand and pointed.

You.

JACK LEFT THE Triumph in an open spot near the end of the block and walked over to the unmarked police car parked in front of Cameron’s house. He’d taken his time on the way over, soaking in the fifteen-minute drive along the lake. In about three weeks he’d have to put the motorcycle into storage for the winter and his cold-weather mode of transport, a Ford LTD Crown Victoria, while practical, didn’t pack quite the same punch.

As Jack made his way over, Harper, the senior cop on the day shift, unrolled the driver’s side window.

“She just got here a few minutes ago. She’s with McCann.”

Jack noted this information, not happy about the fact that Cameron wasn’t alone. He’d called her office and had been surprised to learn from her secretary that she’d gone home early. At the time that had seemed fortuitous, since he preferred to talk to her in person, anyway, and her house would be more private.

He thanked the cops and headed toward the front gate.

For the past few days, he’d been avoiding this conversation. Mainly because of how surprised he was by his actions on Saturday night. He was not an impulsive man. Impulsive men in his line of work quickly found themselves dead. Or worse. He personally had survived the worst of it at the hand of Martino and knew the only way he had lived to tell was because he’d kept his wits through the pain and waited out those two excruciatingly long days for the right moment to strike.