Throughout the intervening years, he had observed Sandra’s dedication and work with what he hoped was a dispassionate objectivity. They had clashed and tangled on several occasions—whenever one of his cases evolved into one of her cases.
Sandra had always maintained the highest level of professionalism and the strictest moral and ethical code of behavior—as, in fact, he did himself.
In Cameron’s opinion, Sandra was not just one of the best attorneys he knew but also one of the best human beings. He admired her, and genuinely liked her, more than a little—which was why he kept a professional barrier between them.
But, at the same time, he also kept close tabs on her, following her career and cases.
And her last case had been a real beaut.
Sandra had represented the mother in a childcustody battle. The divorced combatants had been equally determined to attain sole custody of the innocent party, a lovely little girl of five.
The father, one Raymond Whitfield—a man Cameron personally and secretly considered an arrogant and overbearing bastard—had been confident of winning the battle, due to his wealth and his position in the city.
The mother—made timid and fearful by years of marriage to a psychologically abusive man—had somehow worked up the courage to seek help from Carlson and Carlson, after reading an article in a national magazine about the successful record of the firm, and the skill in the courtroom of Sandra Bradley.
Sandra had not only accepted the woman as a client, she had marshaled all her formidable intelligence and talents to bring them to the case.
Sandra, the mother and, most importantly, the five-year-old child had won. The bastard had lostwith much huffing and puffing, and not a whiff of dignity.
But the battle had obviously taken a great toll on Sandra—although there was little evidence of it in her appearance or demeanor.
“He didn’t lose graciously, did he?” he said, referring to the man’s public harrumphing.
“No, he didn’t.” Sandra lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Probably because he genuinely believed he couldn’t possibly lose.”
“Seeing as how he comes from a very old and well-established family, with friends in high places, I suppose that’s understandable.”
“More like predictable,” she murmured, grimacing. “He is really not a very nice man.”
“Did he make any threats, open or veiled?” Cameron demanded, alerted by a hint of something in her tone, her expression.
Sandra flipped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “He was just blowing off steam.”
“What did he say?”
“It wasn’t important, all big—”
He cut her off, repeating his hard voiced question. “What did he say?”
“Cameron—”
He again cut her off. “Sandra. Tell me.”
She heaved a sigh, but answered, “He muttered something about getting me, winning out in the end.” She made a face, looking both wry and bored. “I’m sure he meant that he’d see me in court again, maybe even the Supreme Court.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, making a mental note to keep tabs on the man, just to be on the safe side.
“At any rate, it’s over, at least for now,” she said, giving him a faint smile. “And I’m tired. I’ve earned a break, and I’m going to take it.”
“Well, at the risk of repeating myself, it doesn’t show. You don’t look tired.”
She responded with a spine-tingling laugh.
While absorbing the effect of her laughter on his senses, Cameron couldn’t help but wonder if his own weariness and uneasy sense of pointlessness were manifesting themselves in his expressions or his actions.
After more than ten years as a special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, he was experiencing more than disillusionment; he was feeling jaded and cynical.
He didn’t like the feeling.
Cameron sprang from a family with a history of involvement in law enforcement. Pennsylvania was his birth state. His father had been a beat cop in Philadelphia, and had been killed in the line of duty by a strung-out dealer during a narcotics bust several years ago. Cameron still ached inside at the memory.
The eldest of four sons, he was proud of his younger brothers, all three of whom were in law enforcement. The one nearest to him in age, Royce, was a sergeant with the Pennsylvania State Police. The next brother, Eric, was on the Philadelphia police force, working undercover in the narcotics division, which he had transferred to after the death of their father. His youngest brother, Jake, after years of worrying Cameron with his rebellious attitude and footloose-and-fancy-free life-style, had finally come to terms with himself.
To the relief and delight of the entire Wolfe family, Jake had recently joined the police force in their hometown of Sprucewood, some fifteen miles from Philadelphia. In addition to settling into law enforcement, Jake had further surprised the family a short time ago by being the first one of the brothers to fall in love—really in love, seriously in love.
Baby brother Jake was getting married.
While Cameron was delighted that his brother had apparently found his niche in life and, according to their mother, whose judgment none of them ever doubted, the perfect woman to share his niche, there was a growing niggling sense of dissatisfaction inside that was beginning to concern Cameron.
Over the years, he had had some strange, even some weird, cases to contend with in his work for the Bureau. The last one in particular, which also had been wrapped up two days ago, had been both strange and weird. Disquieting, as well, since it had seemed to indicate, at least to him, the fragile mental state of the world in general, and some individuals in particular.
For weeks, while Sandra fought her case in court, Cameron had been on the trail of a real wacko, a wild and daring young man who believed himself the reincarnation of some legendary Western outlaw.
Instead of a horse, the man—who called himself Swift-Draw Slim—had jockeyed a four-wheel-drive Bronco. Slim got his kicks from holding up smalltown banks throughout the Midwest and the Southwest. Which was bad enough, and reason enough to involve the FBI.
Cameron had been drawn into the case when Slim abducted a fourteen-year-old girl and took her across state lines, from New Mexico into Colorado.
Although Slim had led all the local, state and federal authorities on a merry chase, by the time he finally caught him, literally with his pants down, Cameron hadn’t been laughing. In fact, he’d been mad as hell, disgusted, and about ready to throw in the towel—or throw up.
Gazing into the somber brown eyes of Sandra Bradley, Cameron suddenly decided that he needed a break, too. A sabbatical. If you will.
And he had accumulated vacation time due him—six weeks’ time, to be exact.
He had been planning to use some of the time, two weeks or so, to fly East for his brother Jake’s wedding. Jake had done him the singular honor of asking him to be his best man. The wedding was scheduled for the beginning of June, just four and a half weeks away.
But if he requested and was granted his time beginning the end of this week, which was the last full week in April, that would give him four weeks to play around with before Jake took the marriage plunge, and two weeks after the celebration to recover from the festivities.
Hmm.
His brooding gaze fixed on the delectable woman seated opposite