in confusion, Cameron watched as Jack pulled back.
“We’ve got company,” he said in a thick voice.
She looked over his shoulder and saw a familiar unmarked car parked on the street in front of her house. Phelps and Kamin.
“When did they get here?” she asked.
“Just now. I heard the car pull up.” Jack gestured to her door. “Do you have your keys?”
She nodded, trying to clear her head. “In my purse.” She pulled the keys out and unlocked the door.
Jack moved past her and stepped inside. “Stay in the doorway, where Kamin and Phelps can see you.” Then he went to search her house.
Cameron stood there and waited, trying to process what had happened between her and Jack. Her mind was quickly coming to terms with the fact that she’d almost just made a very big mistake, although her body seemed not as willing to accept this as fact.
Get a grip, she told herself as Jack came down the stairs from the second floor.
“All clear,” he said as he approached.
Cameron stepped out of the doorway, knowing that physical distance was her best defense against him right then.
Jack noticed her quick retreat. “Don’t forget to lock the door behind me,” he said tersely.
He walked out the door.
JACK HURRIED DOWN the steps, trying to figure out when, exactly, he had become such an idiot.
He’d almost kissed her. And if Phelps and Kamin hadn’t pulled up when they had, he would have.
Clearly, a bad idea. On this, at least, they seemed to agree.
He’d been momentarily caught off guard by that look she’d given him when she’d gotten off the bike—whatever the hell that had been—but now he was focused once again. She was his witness. More important, she was Cameron Lynde, and that meant hands off. The last time he’d gotten too close to her, he’d gotten burned. Big time. Not something he wanted to go through again.
He liked being back in Chicago. Being a solitary person, he didn’t have a ton of friends, but his younger sister and two-year-old nephew lived close to the city. He planned to stay in Chicago for good this time, and that meant no screw ups, particularly in cases where Cameron was involved.
Jack walked the perimeter of the house and confirmed that all the windows and doors were secure. When he finished, he closed the front gate and headed over to the unmarked car parked at the curb. He had no idea how much Kamin and Phelps had seen, but they weren’t smirking or gawking as he walked up, so he took that as a good sign.
The window of the passenger side unrolled as he walked up. Jack knew he was in trouble as soon as he saw the older cop’s expression.
Kamin grinned approvingly. “So that’s why you wanted to drive her home from the restaurant.”
Phelps leaned across the seat. “Does this mean she’s not going to the wedding with Max-the-investment-banker?”
So much for hoping they hadn’t seen anything.
Twelve
ON THE WEST side of the city, Grant put on his game face as he approached the bar with the red neon side that blinked “Club Rio.” He felt naked without his gun and shoulder harness, but only a man with a death wish would attempt to bring a piece into this kind of place.
He opened the door and the loud rhythmic beat of salsa music spilled out. Almost immediately upon stepping inside, a bouncer dressed in black and wearing an ear wire frisked him. He asked the bouncer where he could find Mr. Black—that was all his contact had told him, to ask for a Mr. Black. The bouncer nodded in the direction of the few empty booths in the back of the club.
Grant chose the booth in the corner and took a seat. It was doubtful that anyone would hear him and “Mr. Black” over the music, but given the stakes and the purpose of his visit, he didn’t want to risk having any eaves-droppers. A waitress came for his order, and he asked for a whiskey neat. He didn’t plan to drink it, but appearance was everything in situations such as these and he didn’t want to look overly nervous or suspicious.
After the waitress came back with his drink, he sat back in the booth and feigned interest in watching the dancers out on the floor in the center of the club. In the middle of the second song, a tall, thin man in his forties showed up at his table. He wore an open-neck white cotton shirt