Something About You
Page 65
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“You just seem to be on a roll, taking charge with everything this morning.”
“Perhaps we need to set the record straight, then. No matter what happened last night—”
“Oh, but nothing happened last night, remember?”
“—when it comes to your safety, this works like any other protective surveillance situation. Which means that I’m in charge, this entire weekend and for however long it takes until we catch this guy.” Considering that settled, he picked a pink Post-it pad off the counter. “Now—I spoke to your friend Amy about the wedding.”
Cameron glanced at the clock on the oven. “You talked to Amy, too? It’s only eight thirty.”
“I got the number off your cell phone. I needed to ask her to email me the guest list. The FBI team meeting us at the hotel will set up a security checkpoint at the wedding. Only people on the list will be able to get in.”
“I bet Amy was thrilled about that.”
“Actually she was—she said it would make the wedding seem ‘ultra-exclusive.’ ” He rifled through the Post-it notes. “She had a few messages that she asked me to pass along to you, word-for-word. First, she says not to forget the special maid of honor jewelry she gave you, because you know how much time she put into shopping for it and how important it is that you stand out from the other bridesmaids. Second, she asked that you remove all references to college drinking stories from the rough draft of the wedding toast you sent over last week. Third, she said that you shouldn’t interpret her first two messages about the jewelry and the toast as a sign that she wasn’t really, really worried about everything that happened to you last night, and how touched she is that you’re still coming to the wedding. Finally, she asked if you wouldn’t mind pretending that I’m your date for the weekend, because she doesn’t want the other wedding guests thinking that the FBI is protecting you because you’re some Mafia mistress-turned-snitch.”
Jack set the notepad down. “I told her we were okay with that last part.”
The part where they pretend to be a couple. “So we’re a ‘we’ now?”
He grinned. “At least this weekend we are, sweetie. Shouldn’t be too hard of a cover to pull off, considering we’ll be staying in the same hotel room.”
Oh boy.
THEIR FIVE-HOUR car ride passed quickly.
Things had changed for Jack, ever since he’d found out the truth about what had happened three years ago. Because of that he asked a lot of questions, wanting to learn more about Cameron. He also asked a lot of questions because he needed to keep his mind off how incredible she looked with her snug-fitting jeans tucked into knee-high brown suede riding boots and ivory V-neck sweater. The outfit was a definite driving hazard—at the first lull in the conversation he’d started thinking about her naked wearing nothing but the boots and riding him and had nearly driven the car onto the highway median.
Around the halfway point of the drive, they finally got around to a subject Jack was very curious about. He’d been trying to figure out a way to subtly back into the conversation, when she beat him to it.
“Why did you ask if I used to be married?”
Jack chose his words carefully. “Your house seems big for one person. I thought maybe someone used to live there with you.”
She stretched her legs out in front of her, getting more comfortable. Jack kept his eyes on the road and not on the naughty boots. Mostly.
“You’re dying to know how I afford it, aren’t you?” Cameron asked, amused.
“Given that I accused you of accepting bribes the last time we talked about finances, you’ve certainly earned the right to tell me it’s none of my business. But if you are inclined to share that particular information, I would be happy to listen.”
Cameron laughed. “You could be a lawyer, with an answer like that. It’s nothing scandalous. I inherited it. My grandmother lived in the house for years—it was the house my dad grew up in, in fact. My dad was an only child, so when my grandmother died, the house would’ve gone to him. But he died before her, and since my parents had gotten divorced years before that, the house went to me, as my father’s only child. I thought about selling it at first, but it didn’t feel right. My grandmother’s death was somewhat unexpected . . . she just sort of gave up after my father was killed. After losing her and my father back-to-back like that, I couldn’t stomach the thought of giving up the house. I think they’d both be happy that I kept it.”
Jack glanced over, trying to decide if they were at a point in their relationship where he could ask the next obvious question. Given everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours, he thought they were. “How did your father die?”
Cameron paused, and at first he thought she wasn’t going to answer. “He was a cop here in Chicago. Four years ago he was killed in the line of duty. He and his partner responded to a domestic disturbance call at an apartment building—another tenant had called to complain. No one answered the door, but they could hear a woman yelling inside, so my father and his partner got the landlord and had him unlock the door. Once they got inside, they found drugs everywhere and realized it wasn’t a domestic disturbance, but a doped-out woman screaming that the dealers were trying to cheat her. As soon as the dealers—there were two of them sitting at the kitchen table—saw my dad and his partner, they started shooting. My dad’s partner was hit in the leg, and the landlord took a bullet in the shoulder. My dad followed one of the perps into the bedroom where a third guy was trying to escape through the window. He panicked and shot my dad in the chest and stomach.”
“Perhaps we need to set the record straight, then. No matter what happened last night—”
“Oh, but nothing happened last night, remember?”
“—when it comes to your safety, this works like any other protective surveillance situation. Which means that I’m in charge, this entire weekend and for however long it takes until we catch this guy.” Considering that settled, he picked a pink Post-it pad off the counter. “Now—I spoke to your friend Amy about the wedding.”
Cameron glanced at the clock on the oven. “You talked to Amy, too? It’s only eight thirty.”
“I got the number off your cell phone. I needed to ask her to email me the guest list. The FBI team meeting us at the hotel will set up a security checkpoint at the wedding. Only people on the list will be able to get in.”
“I bet Amy was thrilled about that.”
“Actually she was—she said it would make the wedding seem ‘ultra-exclusive.’ ” He rifled through the Post-it notes. “She had a few messages that she asked me to pass along to you, word-for-word. First, she says not to forget the special maid of honor jewelry she gave you, because you know how much time she put into shopping for it and how important it is that you stand out from the other bridesmaids. Second, she asked that you remove all references to college drinking stories from the rough draft of the wedding toast you sent over last week. Third, she said that you shouldn’t interpret her first two messages about the jewelry and the toast as a sign that she wasn’t really, really worried about everything that happened to you last night, and how touched she is that you’re still coming to the wedding. Finally, she asked if you wouldn’t mind pretending that I’m your date for the weekend, because she doesn’t want the other wedding guests thinking that the FBI is protecting you because you’re some Mafia mistress-turned-snitch.”
Jack set the notepad down. “I told her we were okay with that last part.”
The part where they pretend to be a couple. “So we’re a ‘we’ now?”
He grinned. “At least this weekend we are, sweetie. Shouldn’t be too hard of a cover to pull off, considering we’ll be staying in the same hotel room.”
Oh boy.
THEIR FIVE-HOUR car ride passed quickly.
Things had changed for Jack, ever since he’d found out the truth about what had happened three years ago. Because of that he asked a lot of questions, wanting to learn more about Cameron. He also asked a lot of questions because he needed to keep his mind off how incredible she looked with her snug-fitting jeans tucked into knee-high brown suede riding boots and ivory V-neck sweater. The outfit was a definite driving hazard—at the first lull in the conversation he’d started thinking about her naked wearing nothing but the boots and riding him and had nearly driven the car onto the highway median.
Around the halfway point of the drive, they finally got around to a subject Jack was very curious about. He’d been trying to figure out a way to subtly back into the conversation, when she beat him to it.
“Why did you ask if I used to be married?”
Jack chose his words carefully. “Your house seems big for one person. I thought maybe someone used to live there with you.”
She stretched her legs out in front of her, getting more comfortable. Jack kept his eyes on the road and not on the naughty boots. Mostly.
“You’re dying to know how I afford it, aren’t you?” Cameron asked, amused.
“Given that I accused you of accepting bribes the last time we talked about finances, you’ve certainly earned the right to tell me it’s none of my business. But if you are inclined to share that particular information, I would be happy to listen.”
Cameron laughed. “You could be a lawyer, with an answer like that. It’s nothing scandalous. I inherited it. My grandmother lived in the house for years—it was the house my dad grew up in, in fact. My dad was an only child, so when my grandmother died, the house would’ve gone to him. But he died before her, and since my parents had gotten divorced years before that, the house went to me, as my father’s only child. I thought about selling it at first, but it didn’t feel right. My grandmother’s death was somewhat unexpected . . . she just sort of gave up after my father was killed. After losing her and my father back-to-back like that, I couldn’t stomach the thought of giving up the house. I think they’d both be happy that I kept it.”
Jack glanced over, trying to decide if they were at a point in their relationship where he could ask the next obvious question. Given everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours, he thought they were. “How did your father die?”
Cameron paused, and at first he thought she wasn’t going to answer. “He was a cop here in Chicago. Four years ago he was killed in the line of duty. He and his partner responded to a domestic disturbance call at an apartment building—another tenant had called to complain. No one answered the door, but they could hear a woman yelling inside, so my father and his partner got the landlord and had him unlock the door. Once they got inside, they found drugs everywhere and realized it wasn’t a domestic disturbance, but a doped-out woman screaming that the dealers were trying to cheat her. As soon as the dealers—there were two of them sitting at the kitchen table—saw my dad and his partner, they started shooting. My dad’s partner was hit in the leg, and the landlord took a bullet in the shoulder. My dad followed one of the perps into the bedroom where a third guy was trying to escape through the window. He panicked and shot my dad in the chest and stomach.”
