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.


NAVIGATING HIS WAY through the dark, Jack led Cameron through the maze of people hanging out in the hallway. People who, unlike him, enjoyed the thrill of the power outage.

He needed a confined space, preferably one with a lock on the door.

Having no such luck on the second floor, he found a back staircase and led Cameron upstairs. The first door on the right was shut. He pushed it open and barged in.

The room was small. An office. A man and a scantily clad woman sprang apart at the desk.

“What the hell?” the man asked, half pissed, half startled.

“Who are you?” Jack demanded.

“The manager. Who the fuck are you?”

Jack gestured to the door. “Get out.”

“Screw that. This is my office.”

Jack gestured to the door, this time with his gun. “Get out.”

The manager’s mouth fell open and he nodded. “We’re going.” He grabbed the girl and hurried out.

Jack locked the deadbolt on the door behind them. He let go of Cameron’s hand so that he could check out the room. A small loveseat along the south wall, a steel file cabinet, and a desk with one rolling chair. No closets or other doors, but there was a large window that led out onto the fire escape. He tested the window and saw it rose easily enough. In case of an emergency, it would do.

Realizing that Cameron had fallen quiet, he headed over. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” She paced around the room restlessly.

“Stay away from the door,” Jack told her. “And the windows. Stick to the center of the room.”

“Right. Sorry.” She moved quickly toward the desk, putting it between her and the door. She glanced down at her purse, then set it on the desk, as if wanting her hands free. “This is probably just a coincidence, right?”

“I’ll tell you that when I know it.”

In the moonlight, Jack saw her bite her lip anxiously. Then she put on a brave face and nodded. “Fair enough.”

Jack felt something pull at him.

“But if it makes you feel better, I don’t give a fuck what comes through that door. They’re not getting to you.”

She gazed at him through the dark, surprised. Turning away, he walked over to the door and listened.

Presumably following his lead, Cameron fell silent. The room was eerily quiet until the sound of his vibrating cell phone cut through the tension.

Jack grabbed the phone out of his pocket, saw it was Wilkins, and answered. “Talk to me.”

“We’re all clear.”

“What’d you find out?” he asked, not yet abandoning his post at the door.

“The power is out for the entire block,” Wilkins said. “I had our office patch me through to ComEd, who said they’ve got a power line down. They’ve got a team working on it as we speak.”

Jack strode over to the window, looked outside, and saw that the buildings around them were dark as well. He spoke into the phone in a low voice. “Any chance this is a setup?”

“Not likely. I talked to both the director in charge of the district and the foreman on site. It’s an underground power line—an overnight construction crew got sloppy trying to fix the water pipes to that church across the street and dug a little too deep. It’s just a coincidence, Jack.”

Through the window, Jack could see the construction crew outside the church and several ComEd trucks. He looked over at Cameron. Her eyes stayed with him as she listened to his end of the conversation. “Thanks. We’ll meet you back at the VIP room.”