His eyes dared anyone to challenge him on this.

CAMERON SANK AGAINST the ambulance, needing a moment.

Collin’s hand touched hers. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Just thinking.” And trying not to throw up.

The killer had been hiding in her bedroom closet.

Oddly, more than anything else that had happened that afternoon, that left her feeling violated. And the thing she kept coming back to was this: she’d left work unexpectedly early that afternoon. She wasn’t supposed to have been home at that time.

The cops and FBI had examined the doors and windows of her house and found no visible signs of his entry, which meant the killer knew how to pick a lock without leaving evidence behind. During the entire attack, he’d been terrifyingly cold and in control and had never spoken once. Bottom line: he was not an amateur. He knew what he was doing.

But Cameron would’ve thought that a professional would break into her house at night. Four in the afternoon was a much riskier time—people walked their dogs, picked up their kids from school, and started to come home from work.

Which meant the killer knew that she was being watched. He was aware that his only opportunity to get inside the house was while she was at work. Once she returned home, she was under constant police surveillance.

Cameron thought back to the moment she’d first seen the man coming down the stairs for her. The creepy black mask and gloves, the gun he’d pressed against her temple and under her chin. The sound of the gun going off. She’d have nightmares for weeks, of that she had no doubt. And now the thought that he had been watching her, that he knew her daily routine . . . well, she liked to think she was a strong woman, but this was almost too much.

Almost, she emphasized to herself. She might have nightmares for weeks, but she would not let this ass**le, whoever the hell he was, turn her into a helpless wreck. And if he did, well, she would just have to find a way not to show it.

After finishing what looked like a pretty heated discussion with Slonsky, Jack approached her. “I’m going to ride with you in the ambulance. Wilkins will follow in his car. We’ll get statements from you both at the hospital.”

“At least mine will be short, seeing how I slept on the floor through the whole thing. How clever and brave of me,” Collin said, his voice tinged with disgust. He climbed into the ambulance.

“I spoke to Davis,” Jack said to Cameron. “After we’re finished at the hospital, he wants to see you, me, and Wilkins in his office.” His gaze fell to her shoulder. “I heard you might need stitches.”

He looked so serious right then.

“Oh no—not again,” Cameron said. “If you keep up this whole nice routine, there’s a good chance I’ll lose it right here. And personally, I was hoping to postpone all freak-outs over the attack until later, in the privacy of my own home.”

Jack studied her for a moment. “You are something else, Cameron Lynde.”

He held out his hand to help her into the ambulance.

Nineteen

CAMERON AND WILKINS waited in the chairs outside Davis’s office. It was nearly 9:00 P.M., and the FBI agents stared at her curiously as they trickled out of the office after putting in long days.

Davis had asked to speak with Jack first. Alone. Wilkins stood up and paced the room, and Cameron could tell he did not like being left on the sidelines. Frankly, neither did she. With a feigned yawn, she leaned her head back against the glass window of Davis’s office. The curtain was drawn, so she couldn’t see anything, but if perchance she happened to overhear a word or two . . .

“I already tried that,” Wilkins said. “They’re speaking too quietly.”

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“You.”

“Well, I know me, but what about me specifically?”

Wilkins glanced at the door. “I don’t know.”

Cameron picked her head off the glass. “Do you think Jack in is trouble?”

Wilkins answered after a pause. “I should be in there.”

The door suddenly flew open and Davis stepped out. He nodded at Wilkins, then gestured to Cameron. “Ms. Lynde, if you would please join us in my office.”

She followed Wilkins inside. Jack was perched against a table in the corner of the room. His face was unreadable.

Cameron took a seat in front of Davis’s desk, in the chair closer to Jack. Wilkins sat on her other side. Davis folded his hands as he sat down. Like the other time she’d been in his office, three years ago, he wore a serious expression.

“Ms. Lynde, as the special agent in charge of this office, I would like to give you my most sincere apologies. For what it’s worth, I’ve put a call into the CPD superintendent. I plan to see that the officers who had been handling your surveillance this afternoon are disciplined appropriately. I’m furious about what happened. I promise you that it will not happen again.”

“Thank you. Luckily Agent Pallas was there. He deserves to be commended for his actions today. I can’t imagine what might’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did,” Cameron said.

“Jack and I have spoken. I agree with him that the FBI needs to take over your protective surveillance. In light of today’s attack, we’re going to assign an agent who will be with you at all times. He’ll move into your house, follow you to work, go everywhere you go. I’ve asked Jack, as the lead investigator in this case, to take on this assignment. He has agreed.”