She’d asked him to stay at her house for a while—teasingly saying she needed an assistant while she got used to the cast on her wrist—and he’d agreed. Frankly, he’d planned to stay with her all along. Now that she’d sucked him into this boyfriend thing with those tricky feminine wiles, she’d better believe that he was going to do it right.

The person on the other end of the line answered after three rings. Her tone was dry. “So you do remember this phone number. Imagine that.”

Nick grinned. Some things never changed. “Does this mean you’re speaking to me again?”

His mother sniffed reluctantly. “I suppose. They still keeping you busy at the Bureau? Working on any important cases?”

Nick felt a tug of emotion. Sure, his mother could be a lot to handle at times, but her pride in the work he did never wavered. “Actually, I just made an arrest today. Took down a hotshot restaurant owner in an investigation that’s connected to the Roberto Martino case you’ve probably read about in the papers. Which means that my undercover assignment is over.”

“Do you know what they’ll assign you to next?”

“No clue. But I’m going to ask to be taken off undercover work.”

His mother’s shock could be heard through the speakers. “You’re giving up undercover work? Why?”

Nick took a deep breath and braced himself for the interrogation. “Well, Ma, see . . . there’s this girl.”

Silence.

He checked to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped. “You still there, Ma?”

A sniffle.

“You can’t be crying already,” he said. “I haven’t told you anything about her yet.”

“It doesn’t matter, Nick,” his mother said through her tears. “Those are the three words I’ve been waiting thirty-four years to hear.”

Thirty-three

AROUND SIX O’CLOCK the following evening, at the end of Nick’s first day back in the office, he knocked on Jack Pallas’s door and stuck his head in. It’d been a long day, complete with an arrest and paperwork and statements pertaining to Eckhart (shooting a suspect, even a dickhead one, had its bureaucratic drawbacks), and he was ready for a break.

Pallas eased back in his chair and beckoned with his hand. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“We found Trilani holed up with one of his ex-girlfriends in a studio apartment on the south side,” Nick said. “With Eckhart, that makes twenty-nine arrests for me in the last four weeks.”

“I’m still winning at thirty-four.”

“I wouldn’t count on holding that lead for long.” Nick cocked his head. “You free to grab a drink? I’m buying.”

Pallas regarded him curiously. “Sure, as long as it’s not some trendy wine bar. I heard about the crowd you’re running with these days.”

“Does the U.S. attorney know you spend your workdays listening to office gossip?”

Jack grinned in satisfaction. “The U.S. attorney is thrilled that there’s finally someone else for this office to gossip about.”

They headed out to a sports bar located across the street from the FBI offices. They ordered their drinks and discussed work for a while, mostly the Eckhart investigation and the upcoming Martino trial. Having worked undercover for so long, Nick realized that he’d missed the camaraderie between agents that arose when one was in the office on a regular basis.

Which brought him to the reason he’d wanted to speak to Jack. He’d figured out a potential way to manage his own cases and remain at the top, yet still be with Jordan every night. Or at least, the vast majority of them. “So I told Davis that I want to take a break from undercover work,” he led in.

Jack took a sip of his Grey Goose on the rocks. “I wonder why that might be.”

“Let’s just call it an adjustment of priorities.” Nick saw no reason to beat around the bush about this next part. Pallas was a good guy, and an excellent agent. “There’s more. You and I both know that Davis has been thinking about retiring. I told him today that when that happens, I’d like to be considered for the special agent in charge position. I wanted you to hear it from me first. Thought you might be eying the job, too.”

Jack considered this. “I’ve given it some thought,” he admitted. “But politically, I doubt it would go over well if the special agent in charge of Chicago and the U.S. attorney of the same district were involved in a personal relationship.” His expression was one of pride. “And since Cameron got there first, it looks like I’m adjusting my priorities, too.” He paused. “Plus, I hear that people think I’m cranky.” He rubbed his jaw, musing. “Not sure why that is.”

“Maybe it’s all the brooding and glowering.”

“No one complains when you break out the don’t-fuck-with-me face.”

“True. But I have natural charm that wins people over.” Nick turned serious again. “So we’re good?”

“Nick McCall, special agent in charge.” Jack slapped him on the shoulder. “I suppose there are worse things that could happen to this office.” His eyes moved up to a television on the wall behind Nick. “Now there’s a sight I never get tired of seeing.”

Nick turned around to look. On the television, U.S. Attorney Cameron Lynde was holding a press conference about Xander Eckhart’s arrest, the hostage situation at DeVine Cellars, and the connection to the Roberto Martino trial. The two agents watched as Cameron easily fielded the reporters’ questions. Then the news piece cut to video footage of the hero of the day, “billionaire heiress and businesswoman” Jordan Rhodes. On the screen flashed an image of Jordan, looking as sleek and sophisticated as ever despite the cast on her wrist, as she stepped out of the Maserati.