Page 100 of The Saint

Seconds ticked by. Was “on his own” like hacking it?

“Fuck it. Yeah. Go for it—Cam, we’ll call you back once we get into the file.”

The line disconnected.

“Get into the file as in…?” she asked.

“I don’t ask how Parker gets the job done.” Camden shrugged again and tossed her the football. “We should stay in and keep a low profile until we know more information. They’re not showing up here, so Beth’s not our leak.”

“I’d rather do something more proactive.” She tossed the ball to herself like he did. Concentrating on it was enough of a distraction that she didn’t toss it back.

“We don’t have anything to do yet. Going out in public does nothing but put a bull’s-eye on you—you know what we could do?”

Jumping back into bed was her first immediate thought. Her cheeks blazed. “What?”

“Figure out why the hell they’re following you.”

His cell phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. “Esme Van Alstyn.”

Amelia’s stomach dropped. She didn’t want to face the upset dominatrix, but they probably owed her an apology for starting a fire.

Camden stood to take the call. He paced and listened and ignored Amelia’s request for speakerphone. Finally, he tossed the phone onto the couch, held up his hands for the football, and easily caught her bad toss. “She wants us to come back.”

“Is she mad?”

“At us? No. Actually, pretty sure she was embarrassed.” He spun the ball between his hands. “No one could identify the two men or, for that matter, us.”

“Really?”

He shook his head. “Doubtful. But probably, no one wants to be involved in any part of an investigation that would require them to be on the record.” He dropped onto the couch. “The only thing she’s certain of is no one got into her party without one of her invitations.”

“So she knows them.”

“They could each have been a plus-one, which isn’t vetted as carefully. Apparently, the Sapphire Accord’s rules on guests allow them to anonymize their dates so long as they take responsibility for their actions.”

“Bet no one did that.” She pouted. “So, Esme isn’t helpful. Why would we visit her?”

“She and Beth spoke. There’s another party. A Night in Paris. Actuallyin Paris—”

A knock sounded at the front door.

Amelia turned toward the door. “Who’s that?”

Camden dropped the football and quickly opened an end-table drawer. He pulled out a handgun and ammunition. “Sit on the couch.”

Her heart slammed into her chest.

He crept to the window and peeked out the shade then quickly moved to the door. He flattened himself to the wall and checked the peephole. Nobody seemed to be out there, but he pressed his fingers to his lips and urged her to duck. He checked the peephole again then glanced between the blinds of the closest window. Finally, he cracked the door.

A loud noise exploded. Smoke and chaos filled the entryway. Camden slammed the door and deadbolted it before she could scream. “Amelia. Here. Now.”

The balcony door at the back of the condo exploded open as if a SWAT team had bashed it in. Smoke bombs clattered toward them. Her eyes and throat burned. “Camden!”

Amelia couldn’t see anything. She tripped over the coffee table. Heavy boot steps thundered toward them.

“Amelia.”

She crawled toward his voice. His arm wrapped her to his chest. Gunfire exploded. Bodies fell by their feet. She screamed.

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