Something About You (18 page)

Eighteen

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.

Nineteen

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.

Cameron took a seat in front of Davis’s desk, in the chair closer to Jack. Wilkins sat on her other side. Davis folded his hands as he sat down. Like the other time she’d been in his office, three years ago, he wore a serious expression.

“Ms. Lynde, as the special agent in charge of this office, I would like to give you my most sincere apologies. For what it’s worth, I’ve put a call into the CPD superintendent. I plan to see that the officers who had been handling your surveillance this afternoon are disciplined appropriately. I’m furious about what happened. I promise you that it will not happen again.”

“Thank you. Luckily Agent Pallas was there. He deserves to be commended for his actions today. I can’t imagine what might’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did,” Cameron said.

“Jack and I have spoken. I agree with him that the FBI needs to take over your protective surveillance. In light of today’s attack, we’re going to assign an agent who will be with you at all times. He’ll move into your house, follow you to work, go everywhere you go. I’ve asked Jack, as the lead investigator in this case, to take on this assignment. He has agreed.”

Cameron was careful not to show any reaction to this. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Jack. His expression remained neutral as well. It was weird, sitting next to him in Davis’s office, pretending as though everything was business as usual despite what had happened between them on Saturday night.

“I’m afraid this is going to be a much more intrusive level of protective surveillance,” Davis continued, “but unfortunately, we don’t have much choice in the matter.”

“Trust me—no one wants to make sure we don’t have a repeat of today’s incident more than I do,” Cameron said. “In this case, I’m happy to be inconvenienced.”

“With Jack handling the surveillance, we’ll need someone else to manage the day-to-day responsibilities of the investigation.” Davis turned to Wilkins. “Sam—Jack has recommended that you replace him in this capacity. He assures me that you’re ready for the responsibility.”

Uncharacteristically speechless, Wilkins paused before addressing his boss. “I appreciate the confidence that Jack—and you—have in me, sir. But Jack and I are partners, and I would like to stick with him on this assignment.”

Davis chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry—you’re not getting rid of him that easily. You’ll still be partners, but with different responsibilities. Jack will remain with Ms. Lynde, and you’ll lead the team here in our office.”

Wilkins grinned. “In that case, I wholeheartedly accept.”

“I thought you might,” Davis said. “Now—we need to start thinking about what happened today. How the hell did Mandy Robards’s killer find out about Cameron? On the FBI side of things, there are the three of us, and the director, who are aware of her involvement in the investigation. Wilkins—I think the first thing you need to do is come up with a list of everyone in the Chicago Police Department who knows. Today’s attack tells us one thing: we’ve got a leak. But we might be able to use that to our advantage. Once we find the leak, we can use him to get to the killer.”

“Be careful how you handle CPD on this,” Jack warned Wilkins. “These cops are not going to like the implication that one of them may have leaked confidential information either purposefully or inadvertently. So tread lightly.”

“Don’t worry—finessing is my forte,” Wilkins said. “And we need to think beyond CPD. Twenty women at the bachelorette party on Saturday saw that Cameron was under my and Jack’s surveillance. Any one of them could’ve spread that information to the wrong person.”

“I can get you their names, but I doubt any of those girls are the leak,” Cameron said. “None of them had any clue why you and Jack were watching me.”

Jack addressed Cameron. “What about your friends and family? Have you told them anything?”

“Collin and Amy know a little, but nothing specific. And they know to keep quiet. I haven’t talked to anyone else about it.”

Davis rocked back in his chair. “So we’ve got CPD to focus on, and, as an outside chance, the women who were with Cameron on Saturday night. By the way, Jack, I don’t recall seeing anything in your last report about you and Agent Wilkins attending a bachelorette party over the weekend. Strange how that got left out.”

“It was a last-minute determination made based upon the security parameters of the nightclub Ms. Lynde planned to attend.”

“Nice answer,” Davis said.

“No kidding,” Wilkins agreed, looking impressed.

“As long as we’re listing everyone who is aware of my involvement in the Robards’s investigation, I should mention that Silas knows. He found out through Godfrey,” Cameron said, referring to the FBI director. “Apparently, he called Silas last week to thank me for my cooperation in the investigation.”

Davis paused at the mention of Silas’s name. “Do you think it’s possible Silas told someone about your involvement in the case?”

“As the U.S. attorney, he certainly should know better,” Cameron said.

“I would hope so,” Davis agreed.

The conversation turned to the subject of Jack and Wilkins’s recent trip to New York. As Cameron listened while Jack filled in Davis, her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the cut above his cheek. In the emergency room, after she’d gotten five stitches for her “point two”-level gunshot wound, the doctor had offered to have a nurse take care of the scrapes on Jack’s cheek and hands. He’d waved this off, not budging from Cameron’s side.

So much had transpired between them over the last few days—first The Thing That Never Happened on her front doorstep, and then Those Things She’d Never Admit on Saturday night. Cameron had no idea what was going on with her and Jack lately, but as she looked at the cut on his face, she did know one thing.

She trusted him.

And since he now would be the one covering her twenty-four /seven, she knew that trust had to go both ways. Which meant she needed to tell him about everything that had happened three years ago.

Tonight.