Something About You
Page 39
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His face hardened. “That’s it?”
“There’s not much more I can say about what happened back then.” Without taking a risk that the information would get back to Silas.
“You can tell me why you did it. I know you were pissed off about the things I said, but did the sight of me really offend you so much that you needed to have me thrown out of the entire city?”
Cameron knew it was time to end this conversation. “This isn’t a good idea, us talking about this.”
Jack leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light coming off the candles in the center of the table. “I saw you come out of Davis’s office that morning, Cameron.”
Anger got the better of her. She leaned in, meeting him halfway. “You saw what you wanted to see,” she snapped.
Cameron saw surprise register on Jack’s face and knew she had said too much. “Dammit, Jack. Just let it go.” She stood up from the table and walked away, not daring to utter another word.
Eleven
WHILE WAITING IN the lobby, Cameron slipped on her jacket and tied the belt around her waist. It was a warm night for October in Chicago, but given that it was nevertheless still October in Chicago, the concept of “warm” when wearing a sleeveless dress was relative.
“I can take it from here, officer. Thank you.”
At the sound of Jack’s voice, both Cameron and the police officer Slonsky had substituted for Kamin and Phelps turned. She watched as Jack strode down the escalator.
“Thank you, Agent Pallas, but there’s no need,” she replied coolly. “I’ll stick with Officer Zuckerman until Kamin and Phelps arrive.”
Jack ignored her and showed his badge to Zuckerman. “Jack Pallas. You spoke with my partner on the phone a few minutes ago, so you’re aware that the FBI has jurisdiction over the investigation Ms. Lynde is involved in. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”
Cameron watched as Officer Zuckerman nodded and wished her a good night. After he left, she glared at Jack. “Why did you do that?”
“Because we’re not finished with our conversation.”
“Believe me, we’re finished.”
He shook his head. “No.” He moved toward her, close enough that Cameron had to tilt her head back to look at him.
“What did you mean, when you said that I saw what I wanted to see that morning?” He studied her face, searching for answers. “What else should I have seen?”
Cameron held her ground. “If this is some kind of interrogation technique, it’s not working.”
“I’m awfully good at this when I need to be, you know.”
“How fortunate then that I don’t plan for us to do a lot of talking.”
“Maybe you’ll warm up to the idea on the way home.”
It took Cameron a second to catch that. “I’m not going home with you.”
Jack nodded. “I already called Kamin and Phelps and told them to meet us at your house.”
“Why?”
“I told you, we’re not finished with our conversation.” He smiled slightly. “What’s wrong? Don’t trust yourself around me?”
Cameron raised an eyebrow. Hardly. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. Where’s your car?”
“Parked on the street in front of my apartment.” He pointed behind her. “We’re taking that.”
Cameron turned and saw a motorcycle parked in front of the building. She was no expert on motorcycles—far from it—so later when Collin interrupted her at this point as she recounted the details of the evening to ask her five thousand damn questions about what kind of motorcycle Jack drove, the best she could tell him was that, no, it wasn’t a Harley, and no, it wasn’t one of those crotch-rocket sport bikes either.
It was silver and black, and it was definitely a bad-boy bike, she decided as she looked it over. But bad-boy in a refined, understated sort of way. It suited Jack well.
But still. It was a motorcycle.
“I’m not getting on that,” she told him.
“Never been on a bike before?” he guessed.
“Ah, no. Not my thing.”
“How do you know they’re not your thing if you’ve never been on one?”
“For starters, they’re dangerous.”
“Not in the right hands.” Jack walked over to the motorcycle and climbed on.
Cameron had a retort ready, but it died on her lips. Holy shit, he looked ridiculously hot on the bike.
Jack nodded. “Come on—let’s go.”
She walked over. “How am I supposed to ride that thing in a dress?”
He didn’t so much as blink. “That slit at your thigh should do the trick.”
So.
He’d noticed the slit of her dress.
Cameron hiked up her dress and climbed on, showing a lot of leg in the process. Oops. She adjusted her jacket to cover up, wondering how much Jack had seen. From the look on his face when she glanced up, he’d seen plenty.
“Oh yeah—the dress works just fine,” he said with a warmer gleam in his eyes than she was used to seeing.
Cameron looped her purse around her wrist and settled it into her lap. She searched around the seat for her handles. “What do I hold on to?”
“Me.”
How convenient. “Maybe I should just stick with Phelps and Kamin,” she said nervously.
“Too late to back out now.” Jack reached around her and pulled a helmet off the back of the seat. “You never know, maybe you’ll surprise yourself and actually like it.” He handed her the helmet. “Put this on.”
“There’s not much more I can say about what happened back then.” Without taking a risk that the information would get back to Silas.
“You can tell me why you did it. I know you were pissed off about the things I said, but did the sight of me really offend you so much that you needed to have me thrown out of the entire city?”
Cameron knew it was time to end this conversation. “This isn’t a good idea, us talking about this.”
Jack leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light coming off the candles in the center of the table. “I saw you come out of Davis’s office that morning, Cameron.”
Anger got the better of her. She leaned in, meeting him halfway. “You saw what you wanted to see,” she snapped.
Cameron saw surprise register on Jack’s face and knew she had said too much. “Dammit, Jack. Just let it go.” She stood up from the table and walked away, not daring to utter another word.
Eleven
WHILE WAITING IN the lobby, Cameron slipped on her jacket and tied the belt around her waist. It was a warm night for October in Chicago, but given that it was nevertheless still October in Chicago, the concept of “warm” when wearing a sleeveless dress was relative.
“I can take it from here, officer. Thank you.”
At the sound of Jack’s voice, both Cameron and the police officer Slonsky had substituted for Kamin and Phelps turned. She watched as Jack strode down the escalator.
“Thank you, Agent Pallas, but there’s no need,” she replied coolly. “I’ll stick with Officer Zuckerman until Kamin and Phelps arrive.”
Jack ignored her and showed his badge to Zuckerman. “Jack Pallas. You spoke with my partner on the phone a few minutes ago, so you’re aware that the FBI has jurisdiction over the investigation Ms. Lynde is involved in. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”
Cameron watched as Officer Zuckerman nodded and wished her a good night. After he left, she glared at Jack. “Why did you do that?”
“Because we’re not finished with our conversation.”
“Believe me, we’re finished.”
He shook his head. “No.” He moved toward her, close enough that Cameron had to tilt her head back to look at him.
“What did you mean, when you said that I saw what I wanted to see that morning?” He studied her face, searching for answers. “What else should I have seen?”
Cameron held her ground. “If this is some kind of interrogation technique, it’s not working.”
“I’m awfully good at this when I need to be, you know.”
“How fortunate then that I don’t plan for us to do a lot of talking.”
“Maybe you’ll warm up to the idea on the way home.”
It took Cameron a second to catch that. “I’m not going home with you.”
Jack nodded. “I already called Kamin and Phelps and told them to meet us at your house.”
“Why?”
“I told you, we’re not finished with our conversation.” He smiled slightly. “What’s wrong? Don’t trust yourself around me?”
Cameron raised an eyebrow. Hardly. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. Where’s your car?”
“Parked on the street in front of my apartment.” He pointed behind her. “We’re taking that.”
Cameron turned and saw a motorcycle parked in front of the building. She was no expert on motorcycles—far from it—so later when Collin interrupted her at this point as she recounted the details of the evening to ask her five thousand damn questions about what kind of motorcycle Jack drove, the best she could tell him was that, no, it wasn’t a Harley, and no, it wasn’t one of those crotch-rocket sport bikes either.
It was silver and black, and it was definitely a bad-boy bike, she decided as she looked it over. But bad-boy in a refined, understated sort of way. It suited Jack well.
But still. It was a motorcycle.
“I’m not getting on that,” she told him.
“Never been on a bike before?” he guessed.
“Ah, no. Not my thing.”
“How do you know they’re not your thing if you’ve never been on one?”
“For starters, they’re dangerous.”
“Not in the right hands.” Jack walked over to the motorcycle and climbed on.
Cameron had a retort ready, but it died on her lips. Holy shit, he looked ridiculously hot on the bike.
Jack nodded. “Come on—let’s go.”
She walked over. “How am I supposed to ride that thing in a dress?”
He didn’t so much as blink. “That slit at your thigh should do the trick.”
So.
He’d noticed the slit of her dress.
Cameron hiked up her dress and climbed on, showing a lot of leg in the process. Oops. She adjusted her jacket to cover up, wondering how much Jack had seen. From the look on his face when she glanced up, he’d seen plenty.
“Oh yeah—the dress works just fine,” he said with a warmer gleam in his eyes than she was used to seeing.
Cameron looped her purse around her wrist and settled it into her lap. She searched around the seat for her handles. “What do I hold on to?”
“Me.”
How convenient. “Maybe I should just stick with Phelps and Kamin,” she said nervously.
“Too late to back out now.” Jack reached around her and pulled a helmet off the back of the seat. “You never know, maybe you’ll surprise yourself and actually like it.” He handed her the helmet. “Put this on.”
