Chapter One

      Standing on the Cook County Federal Courthouse steps, special agent Russ Voight decided Penny Hennings deserved a star on the Perfect Posteriors of America wall of fame.

      Maybe that was sexist, but since his meeting with Penny had been put on ice while she and Gerald Hennings—her legendary defense-attorney father—held an impromptu press conference, Russ needed a way to distract himself. And Penny’s rear provided a great distraction.

      Months ago, his coworkers at the Chicago FBI field office had dubbed her Killer Cupcake for her aggressive cross-examination skills, but to Russ’s way of thinking, she might be Killer Cupcake for other reasons. Those reasons having nothing to do with a courtroom and everything to do with her, his bedroom and lots of free time.

      Ah, distractions. How he loved them.

      Bang. A gunshot cracked the air.

      Gerald ducked. Penny didn’t. Blood roared to the front of Russ’s brain. He snatched his sidearm from his holster, pushed off the iron railing he’d been leaning on and spotted Penny—not ten feet away—frozen on the steps as the reporter in front of her crumpled. Hit.

      Loud, ear-blasting screams erupted. Pedestrians dived to the ground—dead-last thing they should do—or ran like hell, exactly what they should do. Russ sprinted toward Penny, still glued to her spot, and did a quick recon. Where’s the shooter?

      Bang.

      Across the street. High up.

      “Run!” Russ shouted.

      But Penny didn’t move. She just stood there in the streaming sunshine while her red power suit made one hell of an amazing target. One step below, her father had dropped. Whether he’d been hit or not, Russ couldn’t tell. Get there. Three more steps. He latched on to Penny’s arm, dragging her behind him. Gerald Hennings lifted his head. Alive. “Move!”

      Penny turned back to her father. “Dad.”

      “You’ve got to move,” Russ yelled.

      But Penny dug in, yanking free to go to her father. “I can’t leave him.”

      Bang.

      Another shot pierced the step next to Gerald and a hunk of cement flew.

      Penny’s perfect porcelain skin went white. Game over. If he didn’t do something, she’d be dead on the next shot.

      His brain in full overload, he plowed into her, wrapping his hand around the back of her head to break the landing. They hit the cement and a rush of air exploded from his lungs.

      “Oofff,” Penny said.

      Bang.

      Right side. Find the shooter. With Penny trapped under him, he lifted his head an inch and glanced across the street. Parking garage.

      The shooter had to be on one of the top floors of the parking garage.

      Onlookers continued to scatter, their shouts clanging together.