Something About You (20 page)

Twenty-one

JACK PACED THE room while she talked.

Cameron began first with the Martino case, thinking she might as well start at the beginning. She told him about Silas’s decision not to prosecute, and his directive that she not speak to the FBI, or anyone, about his decision.

“I was new to the office back then—I didn’t want to rock the boat,” she said. “Things would be a lot different if he and I had that conversation now.”

Then she told him everything else: Silas’s attempts to get him fired, her contact at the DOJ, her meeting with Davis to fill him in on the situation, even her response to Davis when he’d asked why she wanted to help out Jack.

“Your transfer to Nebraska wasn’t a great result, I realize, but it was better than being dismissed from service entirely,” she said. “It was the best I could do under the circumstances.”

When she’d finished, Jack said nothing. A moment passed and . . .

He still said nothing.

Then he fixed his gaze on her and stalked across the room.

Cameron braced herself. With that kind of look in his eyes, he was either going to kill her or—

He kissed her. Hot, demanding sweeps of his tongue against hers. When he dragged his mouth away they were both out of breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me this three years ago, before I left?” he asked.

“You told thirty million people I had my head up my ass. Funny how that turns a girl off from having any meaningful conversation.”

He smiled. “True. So where does that leave us now?” As if she had a clue. “I guess we should probably talk about the rules of our situation here. You living in this house. With me.”

Jack pulled back. “Right. Boundaries. Good idea.” He ran his hand through his hair and stood against the counter next to her. He exhaled raggedly and looked over. “I think the first thing we need to talk about is you not running around in tight T-shirts and yoga pants.”

“Fine. I’ll stop doing that as soon as you shave.”

Jack ran his hand along his jaw and grinned. “You like the scruff, huh?”

Did she ever.

His jaw tightened. “I warned you about looking at me like that.”

Cameron could see both the heat in his eyes and his internal struggle.

Screw it.

She crossed the space between them and kissed him. As if dispensing with the preliminaries—which was just fine with her—he grabbed her bottom and lifted her up. Not breaking their kiss, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“This is probably a bad idea,” Cameron said as she ran her hands over his muscled arms and shoulders, marveling at the ease with which he carried her.

Jack bit her lower lip daringly. “So stop me. Tell me I shouldn’t get involved with you while you’re my witness.”

Cameron tangled her fingers through his thick dark hair. “That does sound complicated.”

At the top of the stairs, he pushed her back against the wall and kissed her neck. “Tell me I should slow down,” he murmured against the base of her throat.

Cameron closed her eyes and nearly moaned. “You probably should.” She shifted as she straddled him, settling the hard bulge in his jeans right between her thighs.

Jack sucked in his breath and carried her into the bedroom. “Tell me this is just some sort of hero-complex with you, because I saved your life today.”

“I suppose that’s entirely possible.”

He laid her on top of the bed and crawled over her. His voice was husky. “Just tell me you don’t want this, Cameron.”

She ran a finger over the cut above his cheek. “Sorry. But that I won’t say.”

Jack kissed her, and something snapped in both of them. Cameron reached for his shoulder harness, having no clue how to get the damn thing off. Jack’s hands roamed everywhere. He grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt, ready to yank it over her head.

“Just watch the stitches,” Cameron mumbled against his mouth.

“Fuck,” Jack hissed and suddenly rolled off her.

“No—where are you going?” If it was anywhere other than to grab a condom, they were going to have some serious words. And lots of them were going to be profane.

“You were shot today,” he said between ragged breaths.

“It’s okay,” Cameron said, reaching for him. “It’s just a point two, remember?”

Jack grabbed her hands and pinned her down on the bed. She looked on approvingly. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Christ, Cameron. I just found out that I’ve been a huge asshole for the last three years. Don’t make me be the asshole tonight, too. Let’s at least get this part right. You’re hurt, you’re emotional—I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

She glared up at him. “What a lousy time for you to start being nice again. I thought we talked about that.”

“Trust me—this isn’t any easier on me.” Jack climbed off the bed. “You need to rest tonight, anyway. And if I don’t leave now, rest is the last thing you’ll be getting.” He held out his hand and helped her up.

Cameron got off the bed and followed him to the door. He hung in the doorway for a moment, watching her. His hair was rumpled, and his eyes were a warm chocolate color. Bedroom eyes, except she hadn’t gotten the damn bedroom part.

She rested against the doorframe, close to him. “You know, in the morning I’ll probably be grateful you were a gentleman tonight.”

“But now?”

“Right now my feelings toward you are a lot less pleasant.”

Jack smiled. “I’m used to that by now.” He turned and headed down the hallway to the guest bedroom. He paused before going in. “By the way, there’s a man’s sweatshirt in my dresser.”

“White Sox?” Cameron asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s Collin’s. He must’ve left it here one of the times he spent the night.”

“Are you sure you two are just friends?” he asked suspiciously.

Cameron laughed at this. “Yes.”

“And are you sure he’s gay?”

“Definitely.”

Jack nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good night, Cameron.”

That was the last she saw of him that night.

JACK CHANGED INTO running pants and a T-shirt, leaving the gun strapped to his calf. He paused at his doorway, listening to the sounds coming down the hall of Cameron getting ready for bed. He unhurriedly went through his own routine, then checked his BlackBerry for any emails from the office. When he finished with that, he propped a couple pillows against the headboard and lay down, tucking his hands behind his head. He thought about cracking open the book he’d brought, but wasn’t exactly in a relaxed frame of mind.

He waited thirty minutes from the time he heard the noises stop, just to be safe.

He got up and walked down the hall. He entered Cameron’s bedroom quietly, pausing just inside the doorway to listen to the soft, steady sounds of her breathing. Satisfied she was sleeping, he moved to the corner of the room and took a seat on the floor next to the boarded-up doors that led out to the balcony and fire escape. He rested his head against the wall.

He sat there in the darkness and watched.

He knew that sleep would eventually overtake him—he’d certainly slept in more uncomfortable places—but it would be a light, dreamless sleep. He would be ready in an instant, if necessary.

God help the man who tried to get past him.

Twenty-two

CAMERON WOKE UP disoriented the next morning. It took her a moment to shake off her bad dreams, to reassure herself that they were, in fact, just dreams.

She sat up, listening for any sounds in the quiet house. She heard nothing, but then again she never heard Jack unless he wanted her to. For a split second she wondered whether she should be worried about him, then realized (a) he was Jack, and (b) if anything had happened to him, she wouldn’t be sitting in her bed wondering anything, seeing how she’d be dead and all.

Feeling strange still being in bed, knowing he was awake somewhere in her house, Cameron got up and padded into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up as she undressed. Her injured shoulder yelled out tiny screams of protest as she stretched her arm over her head to take off her T-shirt. She peeled back the bandage and checked in the mirror to make sure everything looked okay.

It was hardly a fun task, trying to shower and wash her hair while keeping her stitches as dry as possible. Per the doctor’s orders, she was supposed to avoid getting them wet for the first twenty-four hours. She certainly could’ve used some help in the shower—an arrangement that would’ve been possible if a certain someone hadn’t decided it was time to be all gentlemanly.

Much grumbling about Jack ensued.

After showering, she did a quick job with her makeup before heading downstairs. She left her hair to air-dry, figuring it wasn’t worth bothering with since she’d likely just have to do it again before Amy’s rehearsal dinner. She walked into the kitchen and found Jack seated at the counter, working.

He glanced at her over his computer. “Good morning.”

He looked again. Longer this time. She may have “forgotten” to put a bra on that morning. Another oops.

“Are you kidding me with that?” he asked.

“Deal with it. I had a really fun time getting all the conditioner out of my hair, buddy.”

Jack chewed on this for a moment. “Nope. No clue what that means.”

Figured. She noticed there was a freshly brewed pot of coffee waiting for her. She sighed. Impossible man—he made it more and more difficult for her to stay cranky with him. She used to be so good at that.

She grabbed her Michigan mug out of the cabinet and poured herself a cup. She took a sip of the deliciously hot beverage and slowly began to feel human again. “You look busy.”

“Got a full day ahead of us,” Jack said.

With his short-sleeve gray T-shirt, jeans, and damp hair, he looked casually gorgeous and far too alert. Cameron figured he must’ve slept well enough in the guest bed.

Jack frowned at his computer. “You have a weak Internet signal.”

Cameron came around the counter and took the seat next to him. “I’ve never had a problem with it before.” As she glanced at his computer, she caught sight of the scar on his forearm—in short sleeves it was hard to miss: jagged, ugly, and several inches long. She knew from reading the files on Jack’s capture that there was a scar on the other side of his arm as well, where the knife had come out the other side.

She said nothing about the scar, not wanting to make Jack uncomfortable.

“Not pretty, is it?”

Cameron silently chastised herself for being so unsubtle. Then again, Jack caught everything. “I can’t imagine how much that must’ve hurt.” She looked up and saw him watching her.

“A bit more than a point two.” He switched the subject. “So we’ve got about a five-hour drive ahead of us today. That means we’ll want to get on the road no later than eleven in order to get you there in time for the rehearsal.”

“I need to call Collin,” Cameron said, suddenly remembering. “After Richard bailed on him, we decided to drive together.”

“I’ve already talked to Collin—he called earlier this morning to see how you were doing. He’s going to take his own car.”

“You answered my phone?”

Jack seemed to find the question amusing. “Is that a problem?”

“You just seem to be on a roll, taking charge with everything this morning.”

“Perhaps we need to set the record straight, then. No matter what happened last night—”

“Oh, but nothing happened last night, remember?”

“—when it comes to your safety, this works like any other protective surveillance situation. Which means that I’m in charge, this entire weekend and for however long it takes until we catch this guy.” Considering that settled, he picked a pink Post-it pad off the counter. “Now—I spoke to your friend Amy about the wedding.”

Cameron glanced at the clock on the oven. “You talked to Amy, too? It’s only eight thirty.”

“I got the number off your cell phone. I needed to ask her to email me the guest list. The FBI team meeting us at the hotel will set up a security checkpoint at the wedding. Only people on the list will be able to get in.”

“I bet Amy was thrilled about that.”

“Actually she was—she said it would make the wedding seem ‘ultra-exclusive.’ ” He rifled through the Post-it notes. “She had a few messages that she asked me to pass along to you, word-for-word. First, she says not to forget the special maid of honor jewelry she gave you, because you know how much time she put into shopping for it and how important it is that you stand out from the other bridesmaids. Second, she asked that you remove all references to college drinking stories from the rough draft of the wedding toast you sent over last week. Third, she said that you shouldn’t interpret her first two messages about the jewelry and the toast as a sign that she wasn’t really, really worried about everything that happened to you last night, and how touched she is that you’re still coming to the wedding. Finally, she asked if you wouldn’t mind pretending that I’m your date for the weekend, because she doesn’t want the other wedding guests thinking that the FBI is protecting you because you’re some Mafia mistress-turned-snitch.”

Jack set the notepad down. “I told her we were okay with that last part.”

The part where they pretend to be a couple. “So we’re a ‘we’ now?”

He grinned. “At least this weekend we are, sweetie. Shouldn’t be too hard of a cover to pull off, considering we’ll be staying in the same hotel room.”

Oh boy.