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capacity as legal counsel for Sterling. Which meant she was his responsibility.
    But he had to give credit where credit was due: there were very few people who could essentially tell an assistant U.S. attorney to kiss her ass with quite that exact mix of sarcasm and charm. She’d even had Vaughn and Huxley cracking smiles with that one.
    Traitors.
    “Does that mean you won’t be asking for her phone number when this is all over?” Vaughn asked.
    “Ah, no .” When Vaughn said nothing further, Cade turned around in his seat to face him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually being serious.”
    “Well, somebody should ask for it. Smart, gorgeous, no wedding ring, no pictures of kids or a guy in her office. That is one very fine, very single woman.” Vaughn held out his hands when Cade threw him a get-real look. “What? Like I’m the only one who noticed those things?”
    “I don’t think I’m comfortable discussing Brooke this way while she’s assisting us in an investigation,” Huxley lectured from the driver’s seat.
    Cade stifled a smile and turned back around to face the road. Here we go again . Huxley was a good agent—a very thorough, organized, by-the-book special agent—who hailed from Harvard Law School and was never anything less than immaculately dressed in three-piece suits. A direct contrast to Vaughn, who was far less interested in playing by the rules, frequently sported a five o’clock shadow and a wrinkled suit, and often looked like he’d just rolled out of some strange woman’s bed. And probably had.
    It was no secret that the two agents, partners for the last year, drove each other nuts. They bickered and bitched about each other like the Odd Couple of the FBI, yet Cade knew that deep down (perhaps deep, deep down) they respected each other’s methods in the field.
    “Fine. We can talk about something else,” Vaughn said faux amiably. “Like your big date Sunday night, Hux. With Agent Simms.”
    Cade watched as Huxley’s lips twitched in a slight smile at the mention of the redheaded female agent’s name. Still, Huxley refused to rise to the bait. “It’s an undercover op, Roberts. Not a date. Unlike you, I’m perfectly capable of having dinner with a woman without obsessing all night about getting in her pants.” He shot Cade a look, clearly seeking to change the subject. “And why is he asking you about getting Brooke’s phone number? Did something happen with Jessica?”
    Crap . Leave it to Vaughn to bring that out into the open. Although Cade supposed the subject of the demise of his relationship would inevitably come up at some point. He and Huxley had gotten to know each other well over the last five months while working on the Sanderson investigation and were familiar with each other’s personal lives.
    Nevertheless, he kept his answer short and sweet. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
    Huxley looked over. “Sorry to hear that.” He treaded lightly with his next question. “Any particular reason?”
    Sure. According to Jessica, the problem was that he was “emotionally unavailable.” They’d been having dinner last Friday night at Sunda, a sushi restaurant located in the River North neighborhood, when she’d laid that one on him. They’d just finished dessert, and she’d said something about him being distracted, and he’d mentioned offhandedly that he’d had a crappy day at work. He’d had a cooperating witness go south on him that morning in a motion to suppress, a witness who’d already pled guilty and had cut a deal for a lesser sentence in exchange for providing complete and truthful testimony. On the stand, however, the witness—who’d been key to Cade’s motion—had suddenly become hazy about certain important facts and deliberately evasive and uncooperative.
    It had been a frustrating day, to say the least.
    “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Jessica had asked.
    “Sometimes cooperating witnesses rise to the occasion, and