Cade grinned. They hadn’t spoken for two weeks, yet of course that would be her opening line. “So you’re calling to brag that you were right. Imagine that.”

“Actually, I’m calling about that favor you owe me.”

Interesting. “I still don’t recall ever agreeing to that.”

“Give it a moment,” she said. “I’m sure it will come back to you.”

There was a long pause, until Brooke spoke again. “Hello? Are you there?”

“Sorry. I was giving it a moment. Nope, still no recollection.”

She sighed. “I woefully underestimated how painful this conversation was going to be.”

Cade laughed, realizing he really had missed bugging the hell out of her like this. He could picture her, sitting at her desk with her hair pulled back, all long legs and high heels and sexy I-mean-business skirt.

It was not an altogether unpleasant image.

“What kind of favor?” he asked.

“The kind I’d rather not discuss over the phone, since it’s a sensitive matter. Perhaps if you’re free, we can meet this evening at Bar Nessuno on Grand? Say, six thirty?”

Admittedly, he was curious. For more than one reason. “Did you just ask me out on a date, Ms. Parker?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because I—”

“Still no. I need something, and you’re the one guy who can give it to me.” She cut him off before he could even say the words. “Yes, thank you, I’m aware of how that sounded. I’m hanging up now, Mr. Morgan. Six thirty. Bar Nessuno.”

With a smile, Cade hung up the phone, thinking that she’d sounded a little frazzled when he’d brought up the subject of their having a date.

Good.

* * *

CADE STEPPED OFF the elevator at the twenty-first floor of the Dirksen Federal Building, Starbucks cup in one hand, bag of Mrs. Fields Nibblers in the other. As he rounded the corner that led to the reception area of the U.S. Attorney’s Office, a tall man with light brown hair bumped into him, seemingly in a rush.

“Oh, shoot. My bad,” the guy blurted out.

Cade righted the coffee without spilling it—his shoulder might be shit, but having quick football reflexes still came in handy from time to time—then looked over and saw that the person who’d bumped into him wasn’t a man, but a teenaged kid.

The boy’s blue eyes widened, then he swallowed. “Um, sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Obviously.”

Cade gestured amiably with his cup. “No harm, no foul. Just try to keep it under sixty in the hallways.” Moving on, he made his way through the reception area and into the main office space.

The office was bustling, per usual, with the inner cubicles and desks occupied by secretaries and paralegals. The prosecutors’ offices ran along the perimeter, with the largest corner office belonging to Cade’s boss, Cameron Lynde, the U.S. attorney for the Northern District of Illinois. Cade made a pit stop at his secretary’s desk before heading into his office.

He held open the bag. “Cookie?”

“Yum.” Demi, his secretary, stood up and peeked inside. “Wow. How many did you get?”

“I was in the shop, there were all these good smells, and a cunning salesclerk mentioned something about a sale if I bought a dozen. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Demi looked at him shrewdly. She’d been his secretary during the entire eight years he’d worked for the U.S. Attorney’s Office, and they knew each other well. “You’re in a good mood this afternoon. I take it the hearing went well?”

“I had the defense attorneys sweating. Literally.”

“Nice. By the way, Paul called to touch base with you,” she said, referring to the office’s media representative. “He said his phone’s been ringing off the hook for the last thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, Demi.” Cookies and coffee in hand, Cade went into his office and settled in at his desk. He returned Paul’s call, and briefed him on the arraignment. As soon as he hung up, Demi appeared in his doorway.

“Let me guess. Another cookie?” Cade said.

“Actually, the reception desk called while you were on the other line,” she said. “You have a visitor. A Mr. Zach Thomas.”

“Do I know a Mr. Zach Thomas?”

“Not sure. He says he’s here because he has some evidence related to a case.” Demi lowered her voice. “The receptionist mentioned that he’s a teenager. And apparently, he’s been acting a little odd. When she asked for a photo ID to sign him in, he got nervous and said he doesn’t carry one. She wants to know if you’d like her to say that you’re unavailable for the rest of the day.”

Cade understood the receptionist’s cautiousness—security was tight in the federal building. But he assumed this Zach Thomas was the same kid he’d bumped into earlier, and he was curious to find out why a teenaged boy would be interested in meeting with him. “Tell reception it’s okay. I’ll come out.”

When Cade walked into the reception area, he saw the kid standing off to the side with his hands shoved into the pockets of his zip-up hoodie.

He went over, hand outstretched. “You must be Zach Thomas. I’m Cade Morgan.”

Fifteen or sixteen years old, the kid had a firm grip, although his palm was a little sweaty. “Sorry again about bumping into you earlier.”