Then she told him everything else: Silas’s attempts to get him fired, her contact at the DOJ, her meeting with Davis to fill him in on the situation, even her response to Davis when he’d asked why she wanted to help out Jack.

“Your transfer to Nebraska wasn’t a great result, I realize, but it was better than being dismissed from service entirely,” she said. “It was the best I could do under the circumstances.”

When she’d finished, Jack said nothing. A moment passed and . . .

He still said nothing.

Then he fixed his gaze on her and stalked across the room.

Cameron braced herself. With that kind of look in his eyes, he was either going to kill her or—

He kissed her. Hot, demanding sweeps of his tongue against hers. When he dragged his mouth away they were both out of breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me this three years ago, before I left?” he asked.

“You told thirty million people I had my head up my ass. Funny how that turns a girl off from having any meaningful conversation.”

He smiled. “True. So where does that leave us now?” As if she had a clue. “I guess we should probably talk about the rules of our situation here. You living in this house. With me.”

Jack pulled back. “Right. Boundaries. Good idea.” He ran his hand through his hair and stood against the counter next to her. He exhaled raggedly and looked over. “I think the first thing we need to talk about is you not running around in tight T-shirts and yoga pants.”

“Fine. I’ll stop doing that as soon as you shave.”

Jack ran his hand along his jaw and grinned. “You like the scruff, huh?”

Did she ever.

His jaw tightened. “I warned you about looking at me like that.”

Cameron could see both the heat in his eyes and his internal struggle.

Screw it.

She crossed the space between them and kissed him. As if dispensing with the preliminaries—which was just fine with her—he grabbed her bottom and lifted her up. Not breaking their kiss, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“This is probably a bad idea,” Cameron said as she ran her hands over his muscled arms and shoulders, marveling at the ease with which he carried her.

Jack bit her lower lip daringly. “So stop me. Tell me I shouldn’t get involved with you while you’re my witness.”

Cameron tangled her fingers through his thick dark hair. “That does sound complicated.”

At the top of the stairs, he pushed her back against the wall and kissed her neck. “Tell me I should slow down,” he murmured against the base of her throat.

Cameron closed her eyes and nearly moaned. “You probably should.” She shifted as she straddled him, settling the hard bulge in his jeans right between her thighs.

Jack sucked in his breath and carried her into the bedroom. “Tell me this is just some sort of hero-complex with you, because I saved your life today.”

“I suppose that’s entirely possible.”

He laid her on top of the bed and crawled over her. His voice was husky. “Just tell me you don’t want this, Cameron.”

She ran a finger over the cut above his cheek. “Sorry. But that I won’t say.”

Jack kissed her, and something snapped in both of them. Cameron reached for his shoulder harness, having no clue how to get the damn thing off. Jack’s hands roamed everywhere. He grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt, ready to yank it over her head.

“Just watch the stitches,” Cameron mumbled against his mouth.

“Fuck,” Jack hissed and suddenly rolled off her.

“No—where are you going?” If it was anywhere other than to grab a condom, they were going to have some serious words. And lots of them were going to be profane.

“You were shot today,” he said between ragged breaths.

“It’s okay,” Cameron said, reaching for him. “It’s just a point two, remember?”

Jack grabbed her hands and pinned her down on the bed. She looked on approvingly. “Now that’s more like it.”

“Christ, Cameron. I just found out that I’ve been a huge asshole for the last three years. Don’t make me be the asshole tonight, too. Let’s at least get this part right. You’re hurt, you’re emotional—I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

She glared up at him. “What a lousy time for you to start being nice again. I thought we talked about that.”

“Trust me—this isn’t any easier on me.” Jack climbed off the bed. “You need to rest tonight, anyway. And if I don’t leave now, rest is the last thing you’ll be getting.” He held out his hand and helped her up.

Cameron got off the bed and followed him to the door. He hung in the doorway for a moment, watching her. His hair was rumpled, and his eyes were a warm chocolate color. Bedroom eyes, except she hadn’t gotten the damn bedroom part.

She rested against the doorframe, close to him. “You know, in the morning I’ll probably be grateful you were a gentleman tonight.”

“But now?”

“Right now my feelings toward you are a lot less pleasant.”

Jack smiled. “I’m used to that by now.” He turned and headed down the hallway to the guest bedroom. He paused before going in. “By the way, there’s a man’s sweatshirt in my dresser.”

“White Sox?” Cameron asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s Collin’s. He must’ve left it here one of the times he spent the night.”

“Are you sure you two are just friends?” he asked suspiciously.

Cameron laughed at this. “Yes.”

“And are you sure he’s gay?”

“Definitely.”

Jack nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good night, Cameron.”

That was the last she saw of him that night.

JACK CHANGED INTO running pants and a T-shirt, leaving the gun strapped to his calf. He paused at his doorway, listening to the sounds coming down the hall of Cameron getting ready for bed. He unhurriedly went through his own routine, then checked his BlackBerry for any emails from the office. When he finished with that, he propped a couple pillows against the headboard and lay down, tucking his hands behind his head. He thought about cracking open the book he’d brought, but wasn’t exactly in a relaxed frame of mind.

He waited thirty minutes from the time he heard the noises stop, just to be safe.

He got up and walked down the hall. He entered Cameron’s bedroom quietly, pausing just inside the doorway to listen to the soft, steady sounds of her breathing. Satisfied she was sleeping, he moved to the corner of the room and took a seat on the floor next to the boarded-up doors that led out to the balcony and fire escape. He rested his head against the wall.

He sat there in the darkness and watched.

He knew that sleep would eventually overtake him—he’d certainly slept in more uncomfortable places—but it would be a light, dreamless sleep. He would be ready in an instant, if necessary.

God help the man who tried to get past him.

Twenty-two

CAMERON WOKE UP disoriented the next morning. It took her a moment to shake off her bad dreams, to reassure herself that they were, in fact, just dreams.

She sat up, listening for any sounds in the quiet house. She heard nothing, but then again she never heard Jack unless he wanted her to. For a split second she wondered whether she should be worried about him, then realized (a) he was Jack, and (b) if anything had happened to him, she wouldn’t be sitting in her bed wondering anything, seeing how she’d be dead and all.

Feeling strange still being in bed, knowing he was awake somewhere in her house, Cameron got up and padded into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up as she undressed. Her injured shoulder yelled out tiny screams of protest as she stretched her arm over her head to take off her T-shirt. She peeled back the bandage and checked in the mirror to make sure everything looked okay.