Jack pulled her camisole lower, his mouth on the hunt for her other breast. Cameron moaned, knowing which voice had just gained the upper hand.
Then a loud knock on the other side of the door startled them. Both she and Jack jumped.
They heard Amy’s voice. “Cameron? Are you in there?”
Cameron and Jack froze as the door handle turned at her hip.
Amy called through the door again. “Cameron? Are you all right?” She spoke to someone out in the hallway. “You said they were supposed to meet us back at the VIP room, right?”
Wilkins’s voice. “That’s what Jack said.”
“Try him on his cell phone again.”
Jack’s cell phone began to vibrate from the blazer Cameron had thrown onto the floor. She peered up at him. Something passed between them . . . then slipped away.
They unwound and separated. Jack grabbed his blazer off the ground to answer his phone. As he told Wilkins that they were fine and would be out momentarily, Cameron grabbed her purse off the floor and moved away from the door, pulling up the front of her camisole and adjusting her bra. She walked over to the window, grateful for the darkness that covered the awkwardness of the situation.
She was belting her sweater when Jack spoke from across the room.
“The strap of your shirt is torn,” he said softly.
“I know.” She tucked the strap inside her shirt, hoping the other one would hold. If not, Amy and Wilkins were going to get quite an eyeful. Her lips felt bruised and swollen, not that there was much she could do about that. She moved to the door.
“You’re ready?” Jack asked.
“Sure, I’m fine.” Actually, that wasn’t true, but with people waiting outside there wasn’t time to analyze her emotions. She knew it was the perfect time for a quip or a joke, anything that would get her feeling like herself again and bring her and Jack back to familiar ground. But she couldn’t do it right then. “We should get out there.”
Jack seemed to hesitate at first. Then he switched over to all-business mode and opened the door. She passed by him to step out into the hallway and for a fleeting second their eyes met—the only recognition of what had happened between them.
Amy waited in the shadowy hallway with Wilkins. They both looked confused at first, then amused.
Cameron tried to play it casual as she walked over. “We were waiting to make sure everything was safe.”
Amy pulled her to the side. “I was worried when the two of you didn’t show up downstairs.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Amy looked her over. “That’s a new way of wearing that shirt.”
Cameron glanced down and saw her exposed shoulder. Now missing one gray silk camisole strap.
She was going to burn the stupid sweater as soon as she got home.
Sixteen
CAMERON HEARD THE knock on her door and looked up from her computer. Rob Merrocko, an assistant U.S. attorney with the office next to hers, opened the door and poked his head in.
“How’d the arraignment go today?”
“He pled not guilty, as expected,” Cameron said. “That’ll change. A jury would convict this guy in all of about two seconds.” The defendant, a youth soccer coach from one of the northern suburbs, had been charged with receiving child p**n ography on his computer. If his lawyer had an ounce of sense in him, he’d never let the case go to trial.
It was an ugly case, and one of the few she found difficult to keep a cool head about. Just being in the same courtroom as the defendant had left her feeling disgusted and emotionally drained.
“Why do you still take these kinds of cases?” Rob asked her. “Pawn it off on one of the new guys.”
Not really her style of doing things, but Cameron managed a smile, appreciating the sympathy. “I’ll be all right.” She ran her hands through her hair tiredly and eased back in her chair. “How are things on your end?”
“I just indicted an alderman for bribery.”
“Nice,” Cameron said approvingly. “Let’s talk about that instead.”
For the next few minutes, they swapped caseload horror stories, gossiped about a particularly ill-tempered judge in their district, and discussed which law clerk they should assign the ignominious task of cleaning the trial prep room. They were interrupted by a call from Cameron’s secretary.
“Collin’s here to see you,” she said when Cameron answered. No last name was necessary; in the last four years, her secretary had become familiar with Collin’s frequent visits.
“Thanks, send him back.” She nodded at Rob, who waved good-bye on his way out. About twenty seconds later, he was replaced by Collin.
“You sounded terrible on the phone,” he said from the doorway, referring to the quick conversation they’d had about an hour ago. “I’m here to kidnap you.”
“I had a tough day in court.” Cameron checked her watch. “It’s four o’clock. I can’t leave work now. It would be . . . indecent.”
Collin laughed. “You’re running yourself ragged these days between work, Amy’s bachelorette party, and that other business we can’t talk about here. You need a break. Come on, counselor—I’ll treat you to a flight at 404 Wine Bar.”
It was tempting. Cameron eyed him knowingly. “You just finished a column, didn’t you?” She could always tell.
“Is it so wrong to want to spend quality time with my best friend when she’s had a rough day?” Collin asked innocently. “As for whether I also happened to be particularly insightful and witty while writing today, well, you’ll just have to see for yourself in tomorrow’s paper. It’ll be the big column about sports stuff under my picture.”