Cort looked him up and down, his lips pressed together as if he was fighting memories too, but he wasn’t smiling this time. His eyes looked troubled, and he didn’t seem to have had any more sleep over the weekend than Cam. “No, it was definitely real,” he said, but then he looked away. “But we need totalk.”
Cam frowned. God, he was beginning to hate that phrase. Nobody ever said it when they had good news to relay. Plus, Cort’s voice was off. It wasn’t warm and deep, but crisp and businesslike. For the first time, Cam noticed Cort was carrying a briefcase. Instinctively, Cam pushed off the door and walked back around his desk, needing the physicaldistance.
He wants something fromme.
Of course hedoes.
Bone-chilling cold replaced the heat he’d felt earlier, and he heard the voice in his head, taunting him.Did you really think he was interested in you? Grow up, Cam.Cort was gorgeous, daring, witty, sexy-as-hell. All the things Camwasn’t.As quickly as hope had bloomed in his chest, it nowwithered.
“How may I help you, Mr. Cortland?” Cam asked as he took his seat, scooting his chair under the desk. He schooled his features in much the same way he did when talking to the board or the media. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk that Margaret had recently vacated and scooted his stapler a mere quarter-inch to theleft.
Would Cort blackmail him? Recalling everything he’d divulged Friday night, the things they’d done together, the pain in his heart and the shame in his gut were almost paralyzing, but one worked to cancel out the other. He couldn’t sink into the floor while adrenaline was buzzing through hisbloodstream.
Cort seemed slightly startled by his businesslike tone, but recovered quickly. He strolled toward Cam’s desk and Cam watched as he took his seat.I will not notice the size of his shoulders, or his thighs, or the way he moves from his hips like a wave rolling over thebeach.
How could he be scared, pissed, and turned on all atonce?
“Actually, I think the better question is how may I helpyou?” Cort set his briefcase on thefloor.
“Oh, dear God. You sound like a bad salesman or a politician,” Cam blurted. “I’m not contributing to your campaign, but I’d be delighted to tell your constituents, your oral skills are absolutelyincredible.”
Cort laughed, and then stopped as though he’d surprisedhimself.
Cam remembered him doing that the other night. It had seemed so cute at thetime.
Cort sucked in a breath, and Cam dug his fingers into his thighs beneath the desk. Whatever Cort was going to say was gonna break him, he could feel it. “I didn’t introduce myself fully the other night. I’mAgentKendrickCortland.”
“Agent. Like, Secret Agent?” Cam’s heartraced.
“Like, FBI Agent.” Cort reached into his jacket pocket and produced a business card which he slid onto Cam’s desk. Cam didn’t even glance at it as his stomachsomersaulted.
Liar!he wanted to scream.But no, Cort hadn’t lied at all, had he? He just hadn’t told the truth. He’d let Cam spill all his secrets, like the most trusting idiot on earth, and hadn’t given a single piece of information on his own life. Hadn’t volunteered he worked for theFBI.
And then realizationstruck.
The FBI, who might be investigating Bas for hacking a server. His mind churned trying to recall exactly what Drew had said the other night, how much Cam had revealed to Cort, and just how thoroughly he might have screwed up Bas’s life. Cam had wanted one night ofeasy, but he’d forgotten the simple truth - nothing in life came easy. There was always paymentrequired.
“Alright,” Cam said, striving to sound bored even as his heart was beating out of his chest. “And?”
“And—” Cort toyed with Cam’s stapler, twisting it over and over in his hand - those hands which had beenonCam just two days ago. Cam shuddered. “I think you’re already aware from the letter we sent, there are some concerns about illegal activities. Your brother didn’t answer our request for aninterview.”
“I heard about it from our legal team. I understood the FBI had chosen not to pursue aninvestigation.”
Cam stared at Cort who didn’t meet his gaze. His jaw was hard. “The FBI chose not to pursue an investigationat this time.” Cort’s eyes flitted to Cam’s. “It’s always subject tochange.”
And here itcame.
“Ah. So, what is it youwant?”
Cort shrugged, his voice tight. “It’s simple, really. We’d like your assistance with a different investigation.” He set Cam’s stapler down exactly where it had been and bent to retrieve a single paper from his briefcase. “Do you know thisman?”
He set a photograph on the desk in front of Cam. It was a shot taken from above, like through a surveillance camera. It showed a man with shoulder-length blondish-gray hair and a scruffy beard, dressed in cargo shorts, flip flops, and an old-school heavy metal t-shirt. He was completelyunfamiliar.
Cam shook his head. “Should I? He looks like a surfer. One with dubious musicaltaste.”
Cort’s head shot up. “Hey, Slayer is goodshit.”
“If you sayso.”
