Something About You (15 page)

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Jack stood on Cameron’s front stoop, arguing with Wilkins. Partners or not, he had to draw the line somewhere. No more bachelorette party, no more games involving underwear, no more Cameron in that black sweater, gray silky camisole, and pencil-thin skirt that showed off many, many inches of her sleek legs. Any more of that, and he might start getting a little fuzzy on all the reasons why he didn’t like her.

“Too late. I already told Phelps and Kamin that we’d cover Cameron for the next couple of hours,” Wilkins said.

Jack checked. Their car was still parked on the street. “They haven’t left yet. I’ll tell them we’re going back to the original plan.”

“Have you ever been to Manor House, Jack?”

He scoffed at the question. “Our assignment here isn’t to get into some hot club.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Wilkins said. “I’ve been there. Opened just a couple months ago. It’s big—three stories. Originally a mansion built at the turn of the century. You know those old houses. Lots of rooms and hallways. And dark corners, too, especially since the club keeps the lights low for the ambience. Tons of places for someone to hide. The club will be packed, and the music will be loud. It’d be really easy for a person to find herself in trouble in a place like that, if the right people aren’t watching out for her.” Wilkins expression was serious. “Cameron’s my witness, too. Kamin and Phelps are good guys, but this is the kind of assignment I’d rather handle on my own. If you don’t mind.”

Jack remained silent, needing a few seconds to finish chewing the big piece of humble pie he’d just been served.

“Caught you off guard with that one, didn’t I?” Wilkins grinned, back to being Wilkins.

“Let’s not make too big a deal out of it. Shockingly, once a decade or so, even I can be wrong.”

AT TEN O’CLOCK that evening, Grant waited in his car at the location Mr. Black had given him. The address had turned out to be an abandoned warehouse on the city’s west side. It took about five minutes of waiting before it occurred to him that the warehouse was the same one that had been in the news three years ago, the site of the legendary shoot-out between Jack Pallas and Martino’s men. Also, if rumor was true, the site where Pallas had been tortured for two days before escaping.

Grant grew uneasy. It was possible he was being set up. Then he discarded the thought, finding it more likely that Mr. Black had chosen the location as a reminder of what happened to those who betrayed Martino. Not that he had any such intentions.

He had killed a woman.

Grant wasn’t particularly bothered by this fact, if anything he was more annoyed by the inconvenience of having to clean up the mess he’d left behind. He had turned a corner—in his line of work he’d dealt with many an unsavory character, but doing business with the likes of Roberto Martino’s men was an entirely different matter. Unfortunately, it was a necessary evil given the FBI’s involvement in the murder investigation. He felt confident that he could’ve handled the situation had only the Chicago police department been involved. But he worried about Jack Pallas and whatever it was that the FBI agent knew.

He didn’t like having to worry about these things.

Grant heard the crunch of gravel and saw a black Mercedes pull up in front of the warehouse. He got out of his car and walked over.

The door of the Mercedes opened, and the driver got out. Grant grinned. Martino really did have friends in high places.

“Mr. U.S. Attorney. How ironic that we should meet under these circumstances.”

Silas Briggs glanced around, looking both annoyed and nervous. Martino must’ve kept him on a very tight leash.

“This isn’t how I usually do things, Lombard,” he said.

Grant leaned casually against the Mercedes. “It’s a first for me, too. But the senator needs your assistance, and I’ve been told by Mr. Black that you could be helpful.”

“What is it the senator is looking for?”

“Information. The FBI is hiding something, and we need to know what that is.”

Silas laughed scornfully. “So Hodges really killed that girl, huh? Hell, I didn’t think he had it in him. And you’re stuck with cleanup duty now, is that it?”

“Something like that.”

Silas looked Grant over carefully. “Hmm . . . or maybe it’s not the senator at all. Maybe you’ve got a mess of your own that needs to be cleaned up.”

Grant took a step closer. “Maybe you shouldn’t ask so many questions. Maybe instead you should just tell me about the Robards murder investigation.”

Silas made a big show of trying not to look nervous, but Grant could see it in his eyes. No balls. Frankly, he was an embarrassment to his office. He doubted it took much for Martino to buy him off.

“That investigation is being kept confidential,” Silas said.

“Glad to hear it. Now cut the crap and tell me what Pallas knows.”

Grant saw beads of sweat forming on Silas’s forehead.

“I told you, it’s confidential. Even I’m not in the loop.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Grant asked. “I’d hate to have to leak it to the press that Chicago’s U.S. attorney has been accepting bribes from one of the country’s biggest crime lords.”

More sweat. A rivulet trickled down Silas’s hairline.

Grant cocked his head. This was getting interesting. “What’s with the hesitation?”

Silas cleared his throat. “There’s a witness.”

Grant’s self-preservation instincts immediately kicked in and the cold blue flame of anger was back.

A witness.

He grabbed Silas by the collar and was satisfied when he saw the look of surprise and fear in his eyes.

“What does this witness know?” he nearly spat in his face.

“I don’t know. That’s the truth,” Silas stammered. “Pallas is protecting her. That’s all I know. I swear.”

Her. So it was a woman. Another fucking woman.

Grant curled his fingers tighter around Silas’s collar. “What’s her name?”

When Silas continued to stall, Grant gave him another shake for good measure. “Answer me.”

Silas swallowed.

“Cameron Lynde.”

Fifteen

AS SOON AS they arrived at Manor House, thanks to the reservation Cameron had made several weeks prior (and, possibly, also thanks to a flash of Jack’s trusty FBI badge) their entire party was shuffled inside and promptly escorted to the VIP room.

Jack walked by Cameron’s side along the candelabra-lit hallway, taking in their surroundings.

“Interesting place,” he said.

Indeed it was. Manor House fit true to its name. The club had several rooms on each of its three floors, and every room continued the turn-of-the-century theme in the original style of the mansion. There was a library, a study, and even a billiard room. Kind of like the board game Clue, Cameron had joked to Collin, after dropping by to check the place out for the bachelorette party.

As she knew from the tour she’d been given when she made the reservation, the VIP room—the “master suite”—was upstairs. Their party climbed up the wide oak staircase, with Wilkins in the lead and Jack and Cameron bringing up the rear. When they got to the top and stepped into the VIP room, she saw a glimmer of amusement in Jack’s eyes.

“Very interesting.” He focused on the ornate wood canopied king-sized bed—yes, a bed—in the corner of the room.

Cameron watched as Amy and the other girls headed over, settled themselves on the bed, and got down to the serious business of drink orders. The cousins started hollering for Buttery Nipple shots.

“I give the place a year before the novelty wears off,” she told Jack.

Amy strode over and stuck out her hand. “Look what Jolene just gave me.” She held out a beaded necklace with little plastic penises and condom packets taped to it.

“Oh, look—it’s just what you always wanted. A penis necklace. Maybe that can be your something new for the wedding,” Cameron suggested.

“Get rid of it,” Amy said. “And make sure there aren’t any others.”

“I’ll get right on it.” Both Cameron and Jack watched as Amy hurried back to the bed and demanded that all the girls open their purses for inspection.

“She seems a little . . . intense about all this,” Jack said.

Cameron stuck the penis necklace into her purse. “It’s a phase. Thankfully one that will be over in a week, after the wedding. She’s actually a very sweet person.” Not that she was going to bring this up right then, but after her father had died, Amy had been a godsend. Being the only child of parents who had divorced years ago, all the responsibility for her father’s funeral arrangements had fallen on Cameron. In her emotional state, she’d been overwhelmed by the task, to say the least. Without saying a word, Amy had shown up on her doorstep with a suitcase, moved in for two weeks, and had taken care of everything Cameron couldn’t handle on her own. In exchange, Cameron figured she could deal with the bridezilla routine.

Wilkins came over to them, carrying what Cameron guessed was a club soda. “I never made it to the VIP room the last time I was here.” He stared at the waitress who passed by with a bottle of vodka lit up with sparklers. “No one told me that they’ve got waitresses dressed up like turn-of-the-century maids. Ooh—with sparkly things.”

Cameron tilted her head in concession at Jack. “Maybe two years before the novelty wears off.”

“NOW THIS IS what I call an assignment.”

Jack gestured to the bartender for another club soda. “Soak it in while you can,” he said to Wilkins. “Because they’re not all like this.”

“Really, this is better than Nebraska?” Wilkins joked.

Jack caught sight of Cameron, sitting on the bed across the room. She was laughing with Amy and two of the other girls while telling a story. As she gestured, the neck of her belted sweater slipped down, once again exposing her shoulder and the thin strap of her camisole. He watched as she reached forward to put her hand on Amy’s arm and her camisole dipped lower, revealing a hint of what appeared to be a lacy black bra. “It’s not all bad, I suppose,” he found himself murmuring.

He turned back and caught his partner’s expression. “Don’t say it.”

“Say what?” Wilkins asked innocently. “Oh . . . you mean I shouldn’t comment on the fact that you haven’t taken your eyes off her since we got here? Is that what I’m not supposed to talk about?”

“It’s my job—our job—to watch her.”

Wilkins nodded. “Of course.”

Jack muttered under his breath. At least in Nebraska a man could glance at a woman once or twice—for professional reasons—in peace.

He stole another look, for security purposes, and watched as the sweater once again slid away from her collarbone, inching down, taunting him, teasing him, dipping lower and lower, revealing creamy ivory skin and that delicate gray silk strap he could rip away with his teeth.

A shoulder. He was going crazy over a fucking shoulder .

He swore, turning to Wilkins. “What’s the deal with that sweater, anyway? Is there a reason she can’t keep herself clothed? Did she buy the wrong size? Seriously, somebody needs to throw a coat over that woman.” He shoved away from the bar. “I’m going to walk the room. Make sure everything is still secure.”

AMY LEANED OVER and whispered in Cameron’s ear. “Okay, now he’s pacing back and forth.”

“You don’t have to give me the play-by-play,” Cameron whispered back. “If I want to know what he’s doing, I’ll just look myself.”

Of course, that’s exactly what she did. She snuck a quick glance across the room and watched as Jack did a loop around the bar, then looked back. When he saw her watching him, he turned and began crossing the room toward her, like a panther stalking its prey. From the intense look in his eyes—whatever he was about to say—he was a man on a mission.

Sitting next to her, Amy was wide-eyed, mesmerized at the sight of Jack heading over in all his seemingly pissed-off-once-again glory. “I changed my mind, Cam. If this was all a big setup and he’s coming over to strip for me, I think I can handle it. I definitely can handle it.”

Hearing Amy’s words, the other girls stopped talking. Following her gaze, they turned to watch as Jack approached. He stopped in front of the bed of women who lounged about like a sultan’s idle harem and stared down at Cameron.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Okay. Talk.”

“Alone.”

Cameron didn’t like being ordered around by Jack, but she didn’t want to make a scene in case he needed to discuss some security issue. With a nonchalant look, she slid off the bed—oopsie, another flash of leg, strange how that kept happening around him—and followed Jack out of the VIP room.

He took her by the arm and led her through the hallway into a barely lit corridor.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” she asked. From the look on his face, she was only partially teasing.

“Not today.”

He released his grip and paced the corridor in front of her. Cameron had no idea what he was so worked up about, but she looked him over closely right then and was satisfied to say that he looked nothing like a ham to her.

More like a chocolate molten lava cake. A dessert so sinful, so luscious, so filled with inner heat it made a girl want to lick each and every crumb right off the plate. That was Jack Pallas.

Cameron regrouped. “So am I supposed to guess, or do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“I think you know.”

Oh, balls. He was going to bring up The Thing That Never Happened on her doorstep.

“The investigation?” she asked hopefully.

He threw her a dark look that reminded her why Jack Pallas was not a man to be trifled with.

She leaned against the wall, thinking she might as well make herself comfortable. Jack stopped his pacing. His eyes ran over her.

“We’re going to finish that talk of ours from the other night.” He crossed the hall and put one of his hands on the wall next to her. “You said that I saw what I wanted to see that morning at Davis’s office. Explain.”

Cameron stared up at Jack defiantly. Ha—like he could intimidate her into talking. Well, he probably could; he could probably get anyone to talk eventually. But she was decidedly immune to any of his so-called sexual char—wow, he smelled fantastic. His shampoo, perhaps? Couldn’t be aftershave, with that I-just-rolled-out-of-bed scruff of his.

Decidedly immune.

“We’re back to this again?” Cameron asked, feigning disinterest.

Jack put his second hand on the wall to the other side of her, trapping her in.

She eyed her predicament. Wits don’t fail me now.“I think this constitutes false imprisonment, Agent Pallas.”

“Probably. And I’m about to throw in an illegal interrogation.” He peered down into her eyes. “Let’s start at the beginning. Three years ago. Martino. You told me the decision not to file charges was yours.”

“You think we’re going to have this conversation now? Like this?” Cameron gestured to their closeness.

Slowly, Jack grinned. His voice was warmer now, whisky-rich. “Actually, I think this is perfect.” But his gaze remained unwavering. “Start talking, Cameron. I saw you come out of Davis’s office that morning. Why were you th—”

They were plunged into darkness as all the lights in the club went out.

Cameron felt Jack’s hand grip her arm. She felt his other hand brush against her chest as he reached underneath his blazer for his gun.

Her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, and she heard squeals of laughter and mixed voices coming from the VIP room. Despite that, the club seemed quiet. It took her a moment to realize the music had stopped.

“The power went out?” she asked Jack.

“Seems that way.” There was the sound of approaching footsteps and a creaking floorboard. Jack pulled her away from the wall. “Get behind me,” he ordered her. He turned, gun ready.

A shadow stood at the end of the hall.

Jack shifted, using his body as a shield to cover her.

“Jack—it’s me,” Wilkins said through the dark. “You two all right?”

Jack lowered his gun. He led Cameron out of the corridor, where the moonlight streamed through the windows and allowed her to see better.

“Is the power out in the entire place?” he asked.

“From what I can tell,” Wilkins said. His eyes fell on Cameron.

She had never seen Wilkins look so serious. That, more than anything, scared her.

“Do you think this has something to do with me?” she asked.

Neither of the men answered her. “Go check it out,” Jack told Wilkins. “I’ll stay with her. Call me on my cell when you know something.”

Wilkins nodded and took off.

Jack slipped his hand into Cameron’s. “Stay close to me.”

Her head was spinning with how fast everything had changed. She forced herself to stay calm.

“I’m taking you to a more secure location until we get this sorted out,” Jack said.

As he began to lead her away, they nearly ran into Amy, who stood in the doorway of the VIP room. Her eyes fell on Jack’s gun. “What’s going on? Where are you taking her?”

“We need to move now,” Jack said low in Cameron’s ear.

“Everything’s fine,” she told Amy. “Just stay with the other girls.”

Before she could say anything else, Jack took her by the arm and led her away.