Cameron took the glasses, surprised that the two of them momentarily had managed to have a normal conversation. Hoping he wasn’t going to say anything about the other night, she turned away and set the glasses onto the center island.

“So, do you and Wilkins often crash bachelorette parties?” she asked as she poured two glasses of wine. If she acted normal, maybe he would, too, and then they could just forget about that odd little encounter on her front stoop.

Jack rested against the counter. “For the record, it was Wilkins’s idea to come inside.”

“Where is Wilkins, anyway?” Cameron asked.

“In the living room, being accosted by eighteen women who think he’s a stripper. I thought it was best to duck in here.”

“So much for never leaving a man behind.”

“If he starts screaming, I’ll lay down a cover fire and go pull him out.” Jack held up the file. “Ready to do this? I don’t want to keep you from your party.”

Cameron nodded and took a seat at the counter. Jack began spreading out photographs on the granite in front of her. He set down the first two photos, then paused, giving her a thorough once-over.

“What?” she asked.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” he asked suspiciously.

“Not enough to be your concern.”

How nice, the scowling was back. Cameron had almost begun to miss it.

“How much?” Jack repeated.

“Just one glass of wine,” she said. “I wasn’t planning on doing a photo lineup in my kitchen tonight.”

“What about the shot?” he asked.

“What shot?”

“You know, for the underwear game.” Jack shifted uncomfortably, as if he’d said too much.

Cameron raised an eyebrow. “What do you know about the underwear game, Agent Pallas?” she asked, mock-interrogation style.

Jack scoffed. “More than I want to. Now—the photographs.”

He placed three more in front of her before pausing again. “What happens to the underwear after the game?”

“The bride keeps them for her honeymoon.”

“Oh.” He continued on with the photographs, about fifteen total. “Now take your time, and look at each one carefully. Maybe it’s somebody you saw in an elevator. Or someone you passed in the lobby or in the hallway. If we could put any of these guys at the hotel on the night of the murder, that would be a huge break in the case.”

“I take it all of these people deny being at the Peninsula on the night in question?”

“At the time of the murder, yes.” Jack pointed to two of the photographs. “These two men are members of Hodges’s staff: Alex Driscoll, his chief of staff, and Grant Lombard, his bodyguard. They both say they went to the hotel early the following morning. According to their statements, Hodges called them after I finished interrogating him.”

Cameron focused first on Driscoll and Lombard’s photographs, then went through each of the others, one at a time. When finished, she set the stack back down. “I’m sorry. No one looks familiar to me.”

“In the past week, have you remembered anything else about the man you saw that night?”

Cameron thought for a moment—there did seem to be something there, something right at the edge of her memory . . . but whatever it was, it remained just out of grasp. “I can’t think of anything else. It all happened so fast.”

Jack ran his hand through his hair and briefly closed his eyes. The gesture suddenly made him seem so . . . normal.

“You look tired,” she said.

He opened his eyes, his expression softer than usual. “Just a long couple of days.”

“There you are.” Amy strolled into the kitchen. “Cameron—what’s this about an underwear game? I don’t recall that being on the list of approved activities.”

“Talk to your cousins—it was their idea.”

“As maid of honor, it’s your sworn duty to take charge of these kinds of things.”

Cameron laughed. “My sworn duty? You do realize how crazy you’ve become with all this, right?”

“Oh, I’m totally off the deep end at this point.” Amy turned her attention to Jack. “Agent Pallas . . . how nice to meet you in person. I recognize you from that time you were on the news, of course. Gee, what was that for? Oh, right—when you told half the world that my best friend had her head up her ass.”

Jack turned to Cameron. “Do you just line them up, waiting to yell at me, on the off chance I’ll stop by?”

“No, but that’s a really good idea for next time.” Cameron explained to Amy, “He met Collin last Sunday.”

“Ooh—who does a better Angry Friend? Me or Collin?”

“Great starts. Then you both fizzled out at the end.”

“Damn.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cameron was pretty sure she saw Jack trying not to smile.

“I should probably go grab Wilkins,” he said. “If he hears the underwear game is starting, I’ll never get him out of here. Cameron—thanks for your time. I can see myself out.”

Amy waited until Jack had left the kitchen. “He could barely keep his eyes off you in that camisole.”

Cameron looked down and saw her sweater had fallen off her shoulder again. The stupid thing had lost its shape after she tried hand washing instead of dry cleaning it. She pulled it up. “I didn’t see him look at me once.”