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 ass**les, 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.

“Actually, Morgan’s not coming today,” said Mark Whitehead, the lead defense attorney, in response to Kyle’s question. “He had a conflict with another trial. A new guy filed an appearance yesterday afternoon; I don’t remember his name. Ryan something.”

“So I don’t get to say good-bye to Morgan in person?” Kyle asked. “Aw, that’s a shame. We had such a special connection—it’s not every day a man calls you a ‘cyber-menace to society.’ “