Then the strangest thing happened.

Cameron blushed.

“I’m perfectly capable of keeping my clothes on around him, thank you,” she said, her cheeks tinged rosy pink.

Collin was intrigued. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Cameron blush because of a guy.

The plot thickened.

“He’s even better looking in person,” Collin said, seizing the opportunity to probe deeper. “No wonder you nicknamed him Agent Hottie.”

Cameron threw him the evil-eye. “He’s in the next room. We are so not going to have this conversation right now.”

Collin looked her over. “You seem pretty tense. Are you getting any sex these days?”

“My God, Collin . . . time and place.”

He grinned. “Fine. We’ll continue this conversation later. I should get going anyway—leave you and the boys to discuss whatever it is you need to talk about.”

Cameron frowned. “But you made breakfast—you should at least stay to eat. It smells fantastic.”

Collin leaned in and kissed her forehead affectionately. “There’ll be more for you this way. You need a home-cooked meal a hell of a lot more than I do.”

She chucked him under the chin. “You were poking around in my freezer again, weren’t you?”

“It’s pathetic, babe. Truly pathetic.”

AS CAMERON HEADED back into the kitchen with Collin, the first thing she noticed was that Jack looked uncomfortable. Probably not particularly thrilled to be spending his Sunday morning with her.

“I apologize if we’re interrupting,” he said.

“Actually, it’s fine—I was just leaving,” Collin said. “Got some work to catch up on.”

Wilkins’s face lit up. “Next week’s column? Can you give me a hint? I’m a huge fan,” he explained to Cameron.

Because Wilkins was such a nice person, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Guys geeked out over Collin all the time and, frankly, his healthy ego was a testament to that. “He’s a very talented writer,” she agreed diplomatically.

Collin snorted. “Like you would know. When’s the last time you read one of my columns?”

She pooh-poohed this with a wave. “I read your column all the time.”

“Oh? What was last week’s about?” he asked.

“Sports stuff.”

Collin turned to Wilkins and Jack. “This is why I stick to men.”

Cameron watched as Jack and Wilkins processed the meaning of Collin’s remark. Wilkins blinked. “Holy shit, I didn’t realize you were . . .” he trailed off uncomfortably.

“A Sox fan? I get that a lot,” Collin said teasingly. He gave Cameron a quick peck on her cheek. “Thanks for the hospitality, Cam. If you can handle a second drowning of the sorrows, I’ll call you later and let you know how it went with Richard. Hopefully when he moved his things out of the apartment, he at least took his CDs. I mean, we might be g*y, but . . . Enya? Really?” With a nod in farewell, he addressed each of the two men. “Wilkins—it was a pleasure; it’s always nice to meet a fan. I hope the other agents don’t make fun of you too much when your partner here tells them about the Carrie Bradshaw comment. And as for you Agent Pallas—man-to-man, if you ever insult my girl on national television again, I’ll . . .” he stopped.

Everyone in the room waited, hanging. Jack raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Collin turned to Cameron with a look of astonishment. “I’ve got nothing. I had this whole exit speech going and I was gonna end with some big macho threat but when I got there, it was like—bleh—nothing. That’s a pisser.” He appeared disgusted with himself, then shrugged it off. “Oh well. Catch you guys later.”

He strode out without a second glance.

Seven

AFTER COLLIN SHUT the front door behind him, Cameron shrugged at the two FBI agents.

“He gets a little protective sometimes.” She said this not as an apology, more an explanation. Although in truth, it would take a lot more time than any of them had that morning to fully explain the wonder that was Collin.

“How long have you two been friends?” Wilkins asked.

“Since college. We lived together our senior year, along with our friend Amy.” Cameron eyed the frittata and realized she was starving. She glanced over at Jack, who stood against the counter looking as though he didn’t plan to leave anytime soon. She sighed. Apparently she’d be having a side of scowling FBI agent with her eggs that morning.

“I assume this has something to do with the Hodges investigation?” She walked over to the overhead cabinet to the left of the sink and pulled out three plates. She handed one to Wilkins and gestured to the frittata. “Help yourself. If it’s half as good as Collin’s omelets, you won’t want to pass this up.”

She offered a plate to Jack, catching his look of surprise. Sure, she had her share of flaws, but being rude to guests in her home wasn’t one of them. Correction: being obnoxiously rude to guests in her home wasn’t one of them. When said guest had declared on national television that she had no balls, she still considered vague aspersions and semitransparent snubs to be within bounds.

“No, thanks,” he said awkwardly. “I . . . ate earlier.”

Cameron grabbed forks and napkins for her and Wilkins, feeling Jack’s eyes on her. She ignored this and paused for a moment at the utensil drawer, debating over what one might use to slice a frittata. A pizza slicer? A pie cutter?