Julie James - Something about You

Without hesitating, the masked man pulled Cameron into the room on Jack’s right. Jack followed, realizing that however long the man had been inside the house, waiting, it had been long enough to familiarize himself with the layout.

The man headed to the door that led outside. There was a moment’s pause as he shifted his position, then, reaching around Cameron’s neck, he pinned her against his body with his elbow and forearm. He pointed the gun upward, bracing the muzzle right underneath her chin. He reached his free hand behind him to unlock the door.

So precarious was Cameron’s position at that moment, Jack couldn’t contemplate taking a shot—one slip of the intruder’s arm and it would all be over.

He needed to say something, anything to reach out to her. “Cameron—look at me.”

“Jack,” she whispered, her eyes holding his and pleading.

He heard a crash downstairs, the sound of wood splintering—a breaking door—just as the masked man pushed open the door to the deck and pulled Cameron outside. With two hands on his gun, Jack followed them across the rooftop. Behind them, the pitched walls of the house and the room they had exited blocked the view of the street, which meant it was impossible for Jack to see what was happening with the police officers below.

The man moved steadily and quickly to the far wall of the rooftop. He kept Cameron in front of him at all times, never giving Jack any opening. Without saying a word, he backed against the wall that overlooked the backyard. He glanced sideways, and Jack assumed he was searching for the fire escape one story below them.

Then he turned and looked at Jack.

Everything happened in an instant—the man suddenly took his gun off Cameron, pointed it at Jack, and pulled back the trigger.

“No!” Cameron shouted. She grabbed for the gun as it fired and the bullet splintered the wood of the deck mere inches from Jack’s feet. Cameron faced the man as they struggled. Jack didn’t have a shot with her between them, so he lunged for them instead.

The gun went off again and Cameron stumbled back.

“Cameron!” Jack yelled.

He caught her as she sank to the deck. He saw blood spreading over her blazer. While he held her, the man bolted and dove over the side of the roof, onto the fire escape.

“He’s getting away,” Cameron muttered with a stunned, pale look. “Just leave me.”

Like hell he would.

Harper and Regan burst through the doorway with their guns drawn.

“He ran down the fire escape,” Jack shouted as he eased Cameron down to get a better look at the gunshot wound.

The cops moved instantly toward the fire escape, then ducked for cover as shots rang out from below. There was a pause, presumably as the killer ran, and the cops took off in pursuit.

Jack focused on Cameron. He reached into his blazer for his cell phone and called for the paramedics and backup.

“Is Collin okay?” she asked when he hung up the phone.

“An ambulance is on the way. Everything’s okay now.” Jack pushed her blazer off. “Jesus, Cameron—what were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t just let him shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time for me.” Jack saw that the blood was coming from her shoulder. Not wasting a moment, he yanked open the top two buttons of her shirt and pushed it aside to get a better look.

Cameron closed her eyes. “Tell me the truth—how bad is it?”

Jack hesitated.

She panicked. “Oh God—that bad?”

He decided it would be best to just lay it on the line. “So on a scale of one to ten of all the gunshot wounds I’ve seen, this is . . .”

Her eyes widened.

“. . . about a point two.”

She sat up. “A point two? I bled through my blazer. Don’t tell me that’s a measly point two.”

“Admittedly, I’ve seen a lot of gunshot wounds, so my curve may be steeper than most,” Jack said, blotting her shoulder with the blazer. “But the point is, you’re going to be fine.” His throat tightened—he’d seen a lot of things between the FBI and Army Special Forces, but he doubted he’d ever be able to forget the image of her stumbling back after the gun had gone off.

“Well, point two or not, it hurts. A lot.”

“Good. Maybe now you’ll think twice about getting yourself nearly killed by attacking a man with a gun.”

“Gee, with that kind of thanks, I’m thinking that’s the last time I take a bullet for you.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Jack growled.

She managed a slight mischievous smile. “You were worried about me, Agent Pallas.”

“From your tone, I’m guessing I don’t need to be any longer.”

They heard the sound of a siren as an ambulance pulled up at her house.

“You probably should go now—try to catch the guy,” Cameron said.

Jack looked down at her, cradled in his arms. “I probably should,” he said huskily.

He stayed right where he was.

THE STREET OUTSIDE Cameron’s house was pure mayhem. There were squad cars, unmarked police and FBI cars, an ambulance, and cops and agents everywhere. Wilkins had arrived shortly after the paramedics with several FBI teams. Quickly thereafter, Detective Slonsky had shown up at the scene with his own men.

The paramedic who had bandaged Cameron’s shoulder led her to the ambulance parked against the curb. The back doors were open and Collin sat inside, facing out toward the street. A second paramedic checked his eyes, looking for signs of a concussion.

The instant he spotted Cameron, Collin pushed the paramedic aside and vaulted out of the ambulance.

“Oh, thank God.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “They wouldn’t let me see you—they said they were keeping you isolated until they were certain the guy was no longer in the area.”

“Slonsky said the cops lost him in the alley.”

Collin pulled back. His eyes fell on her bloody shirt. “When I heard you’d been shot, I nearly lost it.”

“I’m okay,” Cameron reassured him. “The paramedic said I might need a couple of stitches, but I was lucky. The bullet just grazed the top of my shoulder.” She reached up and brushed Collin’s hair aside, being careful to avoid the ugly bruise on his head. “How about you? How does your head feel?”

Collin touched the bump. “Terrible. But my pride hurts far worse. I’m so sorry, Cam. When I think about what could’ve happened . . . I should’ve protected you better.”

She took his hands and squeezed them. “It turned out okay.”

“Luckily the cavalry came when it did,” Collin said.

Cameron doubted she’d ever be able to forget the sight of Jack bursting through the glass doors to rescue her. When they’d been on the rooftop deck, right before the paramedics had arrived, she’d noticed a cut above his cheekbone. And when he’d stood up to let the paramedics take over, she’d seen several more cuts on his hands. Visible reminders of the danger he’d put himself in. For her.

Detective Slonsky stood by one of the cop cars, talking to Officers Harper and Regan. When he saw Cameron standing by the ambulance, he headed over.

“We’re finishing our check of the house now,” he told her. “My guys will follow you over to the hospital and get your statement there.”

“Like hell they will.”

At the sound of Jack’s voice, Cameron looked over and saw him cut through the front gate, followed by Wilkins. Jack strode over to Regan and Harper. “Which one of you checked her bedroom?”

Harper straightened up, as if bracing himself for the worst. “I did.”

“Did you go inside her closet?”

“I took a look in there, yes.”

Jack waited, the anger visible on his face.

“But, no . . . I didn’t actually go inside the closet,” Harper admitted.

Slonsky walked over. “What’d you guys find?” he asked Wilkins and Jack.

“Some of the dresses had been knocked off the rack behind the door,” Wilkins answered.

“And there were two shoe imprints in the carpet. About a men’s size eleven, I’d guess,” Jack said. “Your men are off this case, Slonsky. And don’t even think about giving me any crap about jurisdiction.”

His eyes dared anyone to challenge him on this.

CAMERON SANK AGAINST the ambulance, needing a moment.

Collin’s hand touched hers. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Just thinking.” And trying not to throw up.

The killer had been hiding in her bedroom closet.

Oddly, more than anything else that had happened that afternoon, that left her feeling violated. And the thing she kept coming back to was this: she’d left work unexpectedly early that afternoon. She wasn’t supposed to have been home at that time.

The cops and FBI had examined the doors and windows of her house and found no visible signs of his entry, which meant the killer knew how to pick a lock without leaving evidence behind. During the entire attack, he’d been terrifyingly cold and in control and had never spoken once. Bottom line: he was not an amateur. He knew what he was doing.

But Cameron would’ve thought that a professional would break into her house at night. Four in the afternoon was a much riskier time—people walked their dogs, picked up their kids from school, and started to come home from work.

Which meant the killer knew that she was being watched. He was aware that his only opportunity to get inside the house was while she was at work. Once she returned home, she was under constant police surveillance.

Cameron thought back to the moment she’d first seen the man coming down the stairs for her. The creepy black mask and gloves, the gun he’d pressed against her temple and under her chin. The sound of the gun going off. She’d have nightmares for weeks, of that she had no doubt. And now the thought that he had been watching her, that he knew her daily routine . . . well, she liked to think she was a strong woman, but this was almost too much.

Almost, she emphasized to herself. She might have nightmares for weeks, but she would not let this asshole, whoever the hell he was, turn her into a helpless wreck. And if he did, well, she would just have to find a way not to show it.

After finishing what looked like a pretty heated discussion with Slonsky, Jack approached her. “I’m going to ride with you in the ambulance. Wilkins will follow in his car. We’ll get statements from you both at the hospital.”

“At least mine will be short, seeing how I slept on the floor through the whole thing. How clever and brave of me,” Collin said, his voice tinged with disgust. He climbed into the ambulance.

“I spoke to Davis,” Jack said to Cameron. “After we’re finished at the hospital, he wants to see you, me, and Wilkins in his office.” His gaze fell to her shoulder. “I heard you might need stitches.”

He looked so serious right then.

“Oh no—not again,” Cameron said. “If you keep up this whole nice routine, there’s a good chance I’ll lose it right here. And personally, I was hoping to postpone all freak-outs over the attack until later, in the privacy of my own home.”

Jack studied her for a moment. “You are something else, Cameron Lynde.”

He held out his hand to help her into the ambulance.

CAMERON AND WILKINS waited in the chairs outside Davis’s office. It was nearly 9:00 P.M., and the FBI agents stared at her curiously as they trickled out of the office after putting in long days.

Davis had asked to speak with Jack first. Alone. Wilkins stood up and paced the room, and Cameron could tell he did not like being left on the sidelines. Frankly, neither did she. With a feigned yawn, she leaned her head back against the glass window of Davis’s office. The curtain was drawn, so she couldn’t see anything, but if perchance she happened to overhear a word or two . . .

“I already tried that,” Wilkins said. “They’re speaking too quietly.”

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“You.”

“Well, I know me, but what about me specifically?”

Wilkins glanced at the door. “I don’t know.”

Cameron picked her head off the glass. “Do you think Jack in is trouble?”

Wilkins answered after a pause. “I should be in there.”

The door suddenly flew open and Davis stepped out. He nodded at Wilkins, then gestured to Cameron. “Ms. Lynde, if you would please join us in my office.”

She followed Wilkins inside. Jack was perched against a table in the corner of the room. His face was unreadable.