What had happened with Cameron at Manor House had left him feeling unsettled. Off his game. He didn’t often let his guard down around people. That made a man . . . vulnerable.

Somehow, she had gotten behind his defenses. And now, every instinct told him to stay as far away from her as possible, to harden himself against her even more than he had in the past. He would ride out the remainder of the Robards investigation, and then walk away without a second glance.

Except for one thing.

You saw what you wanted to see.

That slip-up of hers had been in the back of his mind, nagging him, ever since she’d first said it. Who knew what she meant by that? But if there was some other explanation for her being in Davis’s office that morning—the day he’d been transferred by the DOJ—he wanted to know about it.

He needed to know.

So this time, he wasn’t leaving until she talked. He would get the answers he wanted. Today.

Jack strode up the steps to her front door. He rang the doorbell and waited.

No response.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Jack looked back at the undercover car parked on the street behind him.

In the passenger seat, Officer Regan rolled down the window and shrugged. “Maybe they’re in back. McCann said something about having a drink while we were checking out the house. They’re probably sitting on the deck or something.”

Officer Harper stepped out of the car. “You want us to check it out with you?”

She probably was just sitting on the deck, having a drink.

But probably was not good enough.

Jack took the steps two at a time. “One of you guard the front and keep trying the doorbell. The other of you should go around the east side of the house.” There was a gate that blocked access to the back of the house from that side, but it was still worth checking.

Drawing his gun, Jack went the opposite direction and cut around the side of the house. All the windows appeared undisturbed, and as he carefully peeked in each one, he saw nothing. Nor did he hear anything.

He moved cautiously around the house and into the backyard. Seeing that Cameron and Collin weren’t there, he crept up the steps that led to the deck and pressed his back against the house. On his one side was the door, on the other a window. The door was nearly all glass except for a solid oak border. The window at least had curtains that would provide some cover. Being careful to remain as concealed as possible, he peeked through the window.

Nothing.

The kitchen and great room were empty.

She wouldn’t leave without the police escort.

Jack tightened his grip on his gun. His eyes searched the house as he tried to stay out of view.

Then he saw it—something that made his pulse race.

On the other side of the kitchen, a large decorative mirror hung on the wall opposite the stairwell. He could see Cameron in the mirror—she was standing on the stairs.

A man wearing a black mask stood behind her, holding a gun to her head.

The front doorbell rang and the masked man looked in that direction, clearly using the gun to keep Cameron quiet.

From the east side of the house came a sudden clanging sound, and Jack ducked out of the window. The sound had come from the gate, and he silently cursed whichever of the two cops had been careless enough to make so much noise. He peeked back into the window.

Cameron and the masked man were gone.

Knowing they had to have gone up the stairs, Jack ran for the fire escape that led to the upstairs balcony, being careful to move stealthily enough so as to not make a sound. He reached the second floor and headed to the French doors outside the master bedroom. He reached out with one hand and quietly checked the handle of the door. Locked. Staying out of sight as much as possible, he looked through the glass.

He watched as Cameron entered the bedroom, the gunman right behind her. The man gripped her neck with one hand, pushing her, and held the gun to her head with the other.

“I never saw your face,” Cameron was saying. “You don’t have to do this.”

Hearing the fear in her voice, a fury took hold of Jack. He raised his gun to take a shot through the window.

But the man must have seen the flash of movement. He looked over, saw Jack through the glass, and yanked Cameron in front of him, blowing the shot. Refusing to leave Cameron alone with the gunman one second longer, Jack reared back and fired his gun twice at the glass French doors.

He dove through.

Jack burst into the bedroom, barely aware of the glass shattering all around him. He hit the ground on one knee, slid across the floor, and hurtled himself up with his gun aimed at the masked man—

—who had his arm wrapped around Cameron’s neck. His own gun pointed at her head.

“Let her go,” Jack growled.

The masked man tightened his grip around Cameron’s neck. Using her as a shield, he backed out of the bedroom, into the hallway.

Jack followed, his gun trained on the man and ready to fire the moment he had a clean shot. “There are cops on every side of this house. You’re trapped. Put down your weapon and release her.” Without shifting his gaze, he did a quick assessment of the guy. Five feet eleven, roughly one hundred and seventy-five pounds. Cameron’s physical description had been nearly spot-on. And through the slits of the mask, Jack gained one additional piece of information: the man had brown eyes.

The masked man paused at Jack’s warning. Then he pressed the barrel of his gun harder against Cameron’s temple, digging into her skin.

Jack got the message, loud and clear.

Back off.

He kept his eyes and gun on his target. “You shoot her and you lose your shield.” He stole a glance at Cameron. Her face was white. She blinked, and tears ran down her face.

Jack forced himself not to show any emotion. But for the first time in his life, he felt real fear.

The masked man backed toward the stairs, and out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Collin laying motionless in the hallway. The man dragged Cameron with him up the stairs, nearly choking her as he forced her to keep up with him. Jack followed, his mind running through the mental floor map he’d made of Cameron’s house during his two security checks.

“If you want out of this house, you’ll have to let her go,” Jack warned. “You can’t run with a hostage.”

The man showed no reaction. At the third floor, the stairs ended in an open-air balcony with pitched ceilings and a skylight. To Jack’s left was an office. To the right was a large, unfurnished room. Although he couldn’t see it from his position, he knew there was a door on the north wall that led out onto the rooftop deck.

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.