“I figured that would be a fun one to give the new girl.” Cameron paused on her way out the door. “Feel free to stop by my office anytime. My door is always open.”

After she left, Rylann peered down at the mug shot of Kyle that was paper-clipped to the top of the file. Not surprisingly, he looked serious and chagrined in the photograph, a far cry from the devil-may-care charmer who’d once walked her home on a warm May night in Champaign.

She wondered if he would even remember her.

Not that this mattered much, obviously. She had no doubt that Kyle Rhodes had kissed many a woman in the last nine years—and done a helluva lot more than that—so she considered it quite probable that he wouldn’t so much as blink when she walked into the courtroom tomorrow. Which was just fine with her. After all, what she remembered about that night was that her first impression of him hadn’t been all that favorable.

And if her second and third impressions had been any different…well, she would forever plead the Fifth on that one. Because a serious federal prosecutor like herself did not get all hot-and-bothered over the criminal defendants she faced off against in court.

Not even a criminal defendant who’d once said he would drive two hours to take her out for chicken wings.

Luckily, that was ancient history. Yes, the circumstances of their “reunion” were ironic, perhaps even laughable, but at the end of the day she would treat Kyle Rhodes no different from the many other felons she’d encountered during her career as an assistant U.S. attorney. She was a professional, after all.

And tomorrow, she would prove just that.

Six

“KYLE! KYLE! WHAT are your plans for the future now that you’re a convicted hacker?”

“Have you spoken to Daniela since your arrest?”

Seated at the defense table in the front of the courtroom, Kyle ignored the questions and the flashes of the cameras behind him. They would get bored with him eventually, he told himself. In less than an hour, he would have his freedom, and then this would all be over.

“Do you plan to make Facebook your next target?” another reporter screamed out.

“Would you like to make a statement before the judge comes in?” someone else yelled.

“Sure, here’s a statement,” Kyle growled under his breath, “let’s get this show on the road so I don’t have to listen to anymore dumbass questions.”

Sitting next to him, one of his lawyers—inexplicably, there were five of them today—leaned over and spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we should handle all inquiries from the press.”

The courtroom door suddenly opened, and cameras began flashing wildly. A low murmur spread through the crowd, and Kyle knew it could mean only one thing: either his sister or his father had walked in.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Jordan walking up the aisle in her oversized sunglasses and cashmere coat. She wore her blond hair—which was several shades lighter than his—pulled back in some sort of knot or bun thing and coolly ignored the reporters as she took a seat in the front row of the gallery, directly behind Kyle.

Kyle turned around to face her and blinked at the multitude of flashes that instantly exploded in his eyes. “I told you not to take off work for this,” he grumbled.

“And miss your big finale? No way.” Jordan grinned. “I’m all atwitter to see how things turn out.”

Ha, ha. Kyle opened his mouth to retort—five months ago he’d given his sister free license to make jokes and, boy, had she ever run with that—when she took off her sunglasses, revealing a big, ugly yellow bruise on her cheek.

Aw…hell.

No way could he say anything sarcastic now. Kyle doubted he would ever stop feeling guilty over the fact that his sister had gotten that bruise and a broken wrist—and had nearly been killed—while working with the FBI as part of a deal to get him out of prison.

His fingers curled instinctively into a fist, thinking it was a good thing that the dickhead who’d caused those injuries was behind bars. Because a bruised cheek and a broken wrist would be the least of Xander Eckhart’s problems if Kyle ever got five minutes alone with the guy. Yes, Jordan was a pain in the ass, but still. Kyle had clearly set the rules back in sixth grade, when he’d given Robbie Wilmer a black eye for de-pantsing Jordan on the playground in front of the whole school.

No one messed with his sister.

So he humored Jordan’s Twitter joke with a smile. “That’s cute, Jordo.” Then he frowned as a dark-haired, well-built man wearing a standard-issue government suit walked into the courtroom.

“You invited Tall, Dark, and Sarcastic?” Kyle asked Jordan as Special Agent Nick McCall approached them. Despite the fact that his sister was now practically living with the guy, he and Nick were still circling each other warily. Since Kyle had been in prison the entire time Jordan and the FBI agent had been dating, he hadn’t been around to see their relationship develop. All he knew was that Nick McCall was suddenly there, in their lives, and Kyle was therefore being a little…cautious before welcoming him into the family.

“Be nice, Kyle,” Jordan warned.

“What?” he asked innocently. “When have I ever not been nice to Tall, Dark, and You Can’t Be Serious About This Guy?”

“I like him. Get used to it.”

“He’s FBI. The guys who arrested me, remember? Where’s your sense of family loyalty?”

She pretended to think. “Remind me again—why was it that they arrested you? Oh, right. Because you broke about eighteen federal laws.”

“Six federal laws. And it was Twitter!” he shot back, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Seeing his five lawyers exchange if-this-guy-implodes-do-we-still-get-our-five-thousand-an-hour looks, Kyle sat back in his chair and adjusted his tie. “I’m just saying that we could all use a bit of perspective here.”

“Hey, Sawyer—I’d recommend not using the ‘It was Twitter’ argument when the judge comes out,” Nick said with a confident grin as he took a seat next to Jordan.

Kyle looked up at the ceiling and counted to ten. “Tell your FBI friend that I don’t answer to that name, Jordo.” In fact, he hated that nickname—one he’d earned in prison because of a resemblance he supposedly bore to a certain character on Lost.

“But the ‘Rhodes’ nickname was already taken,” Nick said. He took Jordan’s hand, the one with the cast, and gently stroked her fingers as their eyes met.

When Kyle saw Jordan smile at the FBI agent—some sort of secret, inside-joke-type smile—he reluctantly had to admit that the two of them appeared very into each other. It was weird to have to watch them being all affectionate—and kind of gross, actually, seeing how she was his sister—but sweet nonetheless.

Just then, another murmur flowed through the crowd, and everyone stopped and stared as business entrepreneur and billionaire Grey Rhodes strolled in wearing a tailored navy suit.

He took a seat on the other side of Jordan. “Hope I didn’t miss anything. I’ve been twittering with excitement all morning.”

Jordan laughed. “Good one, Dad.”

Shaking his head, Kyle turned around in his seat and faced the front of the courtroom. Seriously, there were times when he thought that his family would actually be disappointed when this whole debacle was over. He half-expected to see them pull out popcorn and Cokes while they waited for the That Kyle Sure Is a Funny Asshole show to get started.

Speaking of assholes, Kyle checked his watch and looked over at the empty prosecution table. “Where’s Morgan?” he asked his lawyers, referring to the assistant U.S. attorney who’d called him a terrorist and demanded the maximum sentence. Not that Kyle had expected a mere slap on the wrist for his crimes. But he was no fool—the U.S. Attorney’s Office had sensationalized his case, seizing on the chance to make a name for themselves by dragging his name through the mud. He highly doubted they would’ve demanded the maximum prison sentence if he hadn’t been the son of a billionaire—and his lawyers had said the same exact thing.