Chapter 4

Cameron’s bloodpressure surged as he closed in on his quarry.

One taunting eyebrow from the lobbyist. That’s all it had taken to knock tonight’s plan off its rails.

He’d intended to mingle, to slowly make his way to her side. Split her off from the pack. Tease out a believable denial or a night-altering confession with a promise to mend her stupidity.

Simple. Clean. Unemotional.

Right.

He cursed himself for allowing her to get under his skin as he wove through a kaleidoscope of primped and tittering high-profile guests.

The lobbyist’s taunting expression never wavered.

The agent in him boiled at the sight of her. If not for her behind-the-scenes witchery, Eileen Tao would never have been appointed as FBI director, and he wouldn’t be pivoting every couple weeks because the director tweaked a policy or modified a procedure or made an unannounced visit to his office. And let’s not forget the damn forms.

But the man in him burned for her any time they were in a room together. He felt her presence first. She all but vibrated with intelligence, confidence, and unmatched beauty. Her habitual amusement regarding everything around her, no matter how serious, intrigued him as much as it infuriated him.

Tonight, she wore her long blond hair down, the sides clipped high at the back of her head by a sparkling barrette that probably cost more than his vehicle. She looked stunning in a strapless, shimmering powder-blue dress and silver stilettos that did amazing things to her toned calves.

Realizing the direction of his thoughts—and his sight line—he jerked his attention up and caught the slight twitch in her smile. His normal response would have been to avert his eyes, throw back a searing gulp of his drink, or deliver a scorching death stare.

He did none of these.

He was here to gather intelligence. In order to do that, he had to play nice. He had to engage her in cordial conversation. So he softened his features and locked eyes with hers.

A stocky man stepped in front of him, eclipsing the lobbyist’s faltering smile. “Special Agent Blackwell?”

Cameron hesitated, reflexively scanning the room. “Who’s asking?”

“Evan Barclay.” He thrust out his hand. “Close friend to the Krownes.”

In his mid-thirties, the man had a ruggedness about him that some women might find appealing. Coal black hair shaved tight at the sides, square jaw, thick torso, lean hips. But the absence of a neck eliminated him from any Top Ten lists.

Cameron cared less about his looks and more about how he knew him and just how close Mr. No-Neck was to one particular Krowne.

He shook his hand. “Name isn’t familiar. Have we met?”

Instead of answering, Barclay produced a card. “If you’re ever interested in doing some side gigs. Give me a call.”

He read the card. “Gradient Enterprises. Private security?”

Something sparked in the man’s eyes. “That’s right.”

“I’m not in the market, but thanks.” He pocketed the card. Babysitting high-profile, wealthy people was not how he’d ever spend his free time.

“The pay is top-notch. Would be a nice supplement to your government salary.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Arrogant prick. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He took the fifteen feet separating him from his quarry to shrug off his encounter with Mr. Ultra-Networker. Rather than take a position on Phin’s free side, he paused just behind his brother and the lobbyist.

“There you are.” Phin shifted to the left to make room for him, as he knew his little brother would. “Let me introduce you to our hostess.”

Cameron rearranged his features once again. This time conveying polite anticipation, while Phin made the introductions.

When his brother nodded toward the tall beauty next to the lobbyist, he recognized Kayla in her features a second before he heard her name. He noted the keen way the older woman assessed him as she shook his hand.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Blackwell,” Jillian said. With an elegant, slim hand, she introduced her two friends, then indicated Kayla. “You know my daughter, I assume?”

Drawing on acting skills he’d honed onstage with the Montford Park Players for two summers in high school along with his Bureau undercover work, he infused warmth into his features and looked at the lobbyist for the first time since joining their circle. “We’re acquainted, yes.”

The laugh lines around Kayla’s eyes curled tighter, and Cameron realized he’d moved the congeniality needle too far in the opposite direction. She was used to his scowls and barely contained civility. Anything approximating friendliness would, of course, draw her suspicion. And increase her damn amusement.

He cursed his rookie move. Why did he always feel off-balance around this woman? Why did every cell in his body nudge him closer to her, while his brain slammed on the brakes and threw him in reverse?

For the thousandth time, he cursed Zeke for forcing a promise on him and Lawson for backing him into a corner. Nothing he’d learned at the FBI Academy could have prepared him for Kayla Krowne.

The likelihood that she would divulge anything of substance to him was next to nothing. He flattened his features.

A master at reading body language, Phin turned the conversation toward the event. “With such a full house, I suspect you’ll hit your fundraising goal.”

While his brother did damage control, his mind worked through different scenarios on how to get Kayla alone, so he could question her about the board member’s accusations. He had the sensation of responding to inquiries, while his mind kept working the problem.

Right when he decided the direct approach was his best option, the back of a large hand smacked his bicep.

“Where the hell did you go, bro?” Phin said in a low, irritated voice.

Blinking, he glanced around and realized with some shock that the three older women had moved on. Feeling a shift in the air beside him, he turned to find the lobbyist walking away, her head bent toward her phone.

In two giant steps, he was at her side. “I need to talk to you.”

When she lifted her head, her eyes had that faraway look a person gets when their mind was still engaged elsewhere. Phin muttered something beneath his breath before leaving them alone.

Kayla lifted a blond brow. “That’s not the impression I got while you were standing next to me, aloof for ten full minutes.”

“I was . . . thinking.”

Her lips twitched, and he braced himself for one of her sharp barbs. But she surprised him by putting on her professional hat instead.

“Call my office tomorrow and my assistant will get you on my calendar.”

“Why not find a quiet spot now?”

She rocked her phone back and forth between her thumb and middle finger. “I have to meet with someone.”

Irritation bubbled, and his pleasant fa?ade slipped. He held out his business card. “Text me when your meeting is over.”

Her amusement disappeared, as she accepted it. “What’s this about, Ash?”

“Cameron.”

An expression he couldn’t quite name flashed across her features. If it had been anyone else, he might have thought his correction had hurt her.

He shook off the thought. This was Kayla Krowne. He knew from experience that the lobbyist’s skin was as thick as a rhino’s.

She raised an inquiring brow, waiting for an answer.

“I’d like to get your opinion on a piece of art,” he improvised.

“I’m sure your expertise far exceeds my own. What could my input add to the equation?”

He tamped down another surge of irritation. “Meet with me and find out.”

“Such mind game tactics don’t work on me, Mr. Blackwell. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must go.” She glided away, exiting through a set of French doors that led to what he assumed was an outdoor veranda.

Mr. Blackwell.

“Way to build trust, G-man,” he growled before socking back the rest of his drink.

He stared at the multipaned glass doors. It was dark outside. All he could see was his own pensive reflection staring back at him. Was she meeting a client? A politician? Evan No-Neck Barclay?

He clinked his empty glass down on a passing server’s tray.

“Only one way to find out.”

He slipped through the French doors.