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  “Good thing, because any other husband would want to shoot me most of the time.”

  “I don’t want to picture you with any other husbands. You’re stuck with this one.”

  “There goes my plan for a quickie Dominican divorce if Nelson is forced to resign.”

  He stared at her, seeming stunned that she’d joke about such a thing. “That feels rather premeditated.”

  Sam laughed and shook her head. “Just a joke. I swear.”

  “Now you’ve got me worried.”

  “Nick, come on. What would I ever do without you to keep me sane and sated?”

  “I do keep you rather sated,” he said with a smug grin.

  She brought his head back to rest on her chest. “You certainly do. I never knew it was possible to be so completely sated until I had you.”

  “I don’t want you completely sated. I want you always hungry for more.”

  “I believe my wanton behavior in the first year and a half of our marriage is indicative of my endless need for more.”

  “You said indicative.”

  She snorted with laughter. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “This. All of it. The laughter, the slow, the sultry, the fast, the furious. You were just what I needed.”

  “I always want to be just what you need.”

  “You’re doing a great job so far.” She patted him on the head. “Keep up the good work.”

  “I’ll do my best, Lieutenant.”

  She fell asleep with her arms wrapped around him and a big smile on her face.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SAM WOKE TO the phone ringing shortly before her alarm would’ve woken her. “Mmm, Holland.” She tried to shake off the cobwebs. Her body would’ve liked five more hours of sleep, but the vacation was over, and it was back to reality.

  “Are you awake, Lieutenant?” Malone asked in a booming voice that told her he’d already had several cups of coffee.

  Sam hated morning people. “I am now.”

  “We had another shooting overnight. I wanted to give you the details before your shift.”

  That news had her wide-awake. Nick slept right next to her, on his back, arm thrown over his head. She tore her gaze off his gorgeous face, got out of bed, put on a robe and took the phone across the hall to her closet, closing the door so she could focus on what the captain was telling her without disturbing Nick.

  “This one was in Woodley Park.”

  Sam gasped at the mention of Freddie and Elin’s neighborhood.

  “Twenty-six-year-old Caroline Brinkley was picked off on Woodley Road Northwest at about three-thirty this morning.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “None. She was alone, and no one else was on the street at that time.”

  “Where was she coming from? Do we know?”

  “Detective Cruz is at the scene trying to find out more.”

  “I’ll meet him there.”

  “And then come back here. We’ve got to get our heads around this before the shooter has a chance to strike again. The press is clamoring for information.”

  “I can only imagine. I’ll see you soon.” Sam took a fast shower and got dressed in shorts and a lightweight top, preparing for another long, hot day pounding the pavement. She put her hair up in a messy bun and slathered on sunscreen.

  Fifteen minutes after she ended the call with Malone, she had kissed her sleeping husband, retrieved her weapon and cuffs from the bedside drawer and was on her way downstairs. She was surprised to find their assistant, Shelby, in the kitchen with her newborn son, Noah, attached to her in some sort of elaborate harness thingie. She’d rescinded her earlier resignation and returned like nothing had ever happened, which had been a relief to Sam and Nick.

  As always, the sight of a baby did funny things to Sam’s insides, and reminded her that she needed to procure a pregnancy test without alerting the world to her suspicions. Difficult task, that.

  “What’re you guys doing here?” Sam asked Shelby while taking a second to play with the baby’s foot. He had a light dusting of blond hair and pudgy cheeks. “You’re supposed to be on leave.”

  “We were awake and feeling kinda cooped up, so we decided to come see what’s going on over here. You’re up early.”

  “I’m going to work.”

  “I heard about the shootings and wondered if they’d called you back.”

  “Yep, I went back yesterday.”

  “It’s so awful that someone is driving around shooting at innocent people. I hope you catch them before anyone else is hurt or killed.”

  Sam grabbed a banana from a bowl on the counter. Even during her maternity leave, Shelby made sure their weekly grocery delivery arrived on schedule. “That’s the plan.” After a pause, she said, “So, um, I need a favor, and I don’t want you to say a single word other than ‘okay’ if you’re able to help me, because I can’t talk about it. If I talk about it, I’ll lose my shit, and I can’t lose my shit right now. You know?”

  “Umm, I think so,” Shelby said hesitantly. Who could blame her for being hesitant after that lead-in?

  “I need a pregnancy test. You got an old one lying around anywhere?”

  Shelby’s lips parted and her eyes grew wide, but she didn’t say anything other than, “I have at least ten of them at home. I’ll put a couple in the cabinet under your bathroom sink today. Would that work?”

  Sam nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Sam—”

  “Please, Shelby. I can’t.”

  Shelby nodded as she blinked rapidly, probably trying not to cry. Ever since she’d gotten pregnant, she cried over everything, even dog food commercials, according to her fiancé, FBI Special Agent in Charge Avery Hill. “I understand.”

  Sam knew she did and appreciated it. “I gotta go.” She kissed baby Noah’s cheek and squeezed Shelby’s arm. “You guys have a good day.”

  “You too. Good luck with the case.”

  “Thanks. We’re going to need it.”

  On her way out, Sam nodded to Melinda, the agent she called Secret Service Barbie.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Cappuano.”

  “Good morning.” Sam brushed by her and down the ramp, eager to get to the scene and help Freddie. She felt a tiny bit guilty for being less than friendly to the agent who was only doing her job. Something about her bugged Sam. Probably the fact that such a stunningly gorgeous woman was paid to watch her smoking hot husband. “You’re an idiot,” she muttered to herself as she got in the car and headed for the checkpoint.

  The agents waved her through, and she directed the car toward Woodley Park, giving thanks to whoever invented Labor Day and gave the federal workforce the day off. Traffic was all but nonexistent as she drove and brooded over why she couldn’t stand Melinda. That was better than brooding over the remote possibility that she could be pregnant. Again.

  If it were true, this would be the sixth time. Five miscarriages later, she’d learned to manage her expectations. The last one, which had been Nick’s baby, had been the worst of all. She wanted nothing more than to give him the family he’d never had. He said that she and Scotty were all the family he needed, but she still held out hope that maybe, just maybe, they might get lucky one more time.

  She breathed her way through the emotions this topic always roused in her—sadness, disappointment, despair and inadequacy. That last one particularly rankled, as she was known for being more than adequate at her job yet was unable to carry a baby to term. The thing that came so naturally to women all over the world was seemingly impossible for her.

  “You can’t spend the whole day obsessing about this.” Sometimes saying it out loud made it easier to take her own advice. “You’ve got too much to do and a city on edge with someone shooting at innocent people. If you spend all day obsessing ab
out this, you won’t get anything done. That’s not an option today.”

  By the time she arrived on Woodley Road Northwest, she had her emotions more or less under control and her focus on the task at hand. There’d be time later to fall apart over the other thing, which probably wasn’t even a thing anyway.

  She parked on the pretty, leafy street lined with restaurants and walked the short distance to where Freddie and Gonzo were conferring on the sidewalk next to a bloodstain that had been taped off. Lindsey’s team had already removed the body.

  Outside the tapeline, the large group of curious bystanders watching the proceedings began to buzz when they saw Sam approach. People were always so curious about other people’s misfortune. It made her sick.

  She ducked under the tapeline. “Morning,” she said to Freddie and Gonzo.

  “Morning, LT,” Gonzo said. He looked tired and stressed.

  “Did you guys get any sleep?”

  “Couple hours,” Freddie said. “They called me on this because I was closest.”

  “What do we know about the vic?” Sam asked, her gaze shifting to the bloodstain that told part of the story.

  Freddie consulted his notes. “Caroline Brinkley, age twenty-six, a waitress at a K Street lounge, was on her way home from work when she was shot in the back.”

  “Where’s home?” Sam asked.

  Freddie pointed to a four-story building on the corner. “She lives on the second floor with a roommate named Delilah. We’ve notified her, and she gave us the contact information for Caroline’s family in Minnesota. We asked her to let us make the call. We were waiting for you to see how you wanted us to proceed.”

  “Ugh.” Sam realized she’d probably have to handle the call that no cop ever wanted to make. And they said rank had its privileges. Whatever. She took the piece of paper with the parents’ names and phone number written on it from Freddie and stuffed it in her pocket. “Canvass?”

  “We’ve been up and down the entire block,” Gonzo said. “No witnesses. Archie is pulling the footage from our cameras in the area.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Lindsey thinks she didn’t die immediately.”

  “Goddamn it,” Sam whispered. “How long was she out here before someone called us?”

  “Thirty minutes or more. She was dead by the time the first Patrol officer arrived on the scene.”

  Sam blew out a deep breath full of frustration. “I want these guys. I want them bad.”

  “Patrol is stopping every black sedan they encounter,” Gonzo said. “So far, they’ve pulled over nine different cars, but no sign of a nine millimeter or any other weapons.”

  “Let’s head back to the house and regroup,” Sam said. “I’ll make the call to her parents on the way.”

  “You want me to do it?” Freddie asked.

  She gave him a wan smile, appreciating that he’d offer to do something no one wanted to do. In fact, she ought to let him do it because he was way better at those sorts of things than she’d ever be. But she couldn’t ask him to do something just because she didn’t want to. Not something like this anyway. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. Finish up here, and meet me at HQ.”

  “Right behind you, LT,” Gonzo said.

  Biting back the feeling of dread over the call she needed to make to parents who had no idea their world was about to implode, Sam got in the car, dialed the number and pressed Send before she could lose her nerve. As the call connected, she shifted the car into Park and drove to the intersection.

  “Hello?” a friendly sounding woman said.

  “Mrs. Brinkley?”

  “Yes, who’s this?”

  “This is Lieutenant Sam Holland, Metro PD in Washington, D.C.”

  Mrs. Brinkley inhaled sharply. “Caroline?”

  “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to tell you—”

  The woman’s piercing screams brought tears to Sam’s eyes. God, she hated this.

  A man came on the line. “Who is this?” he asked sharply.

  Once again, Sam said, “Lieutenant Sam Holland, Metro PD in Washington, D.C.”

  “Oh God, no. Not Caroline.”

  In the background, Sam could hear the mother’s heartbroken sobs.

  “I’m so sorry to have to tell you she was shot and killed early this morning.”

  The man’s guttural moan had Sam brushing at tears while trying to stay focused on the road. This sucked so bad, worse than any other part of her awful job. She had no idea how people survived receiving this kind of news.

  “Did you… Do you know who did it?”

  “We don’t. Not yet. But we’re working on it. Caroline was the fourth in a string of drive-by shootings throughout the District last night and this morning.”

  “So, it was random? It wasn’t anyone she knew?”

  “We don’t know that for sure yet, but we don’t believe she knew the shooter.”

  “Dear God. How can something like this happen? Caroline was a good girl. She worked hard and was back to school. She was trying to make something of herself.”

  “I wish I had the answer to that question, but I’m going to do my best to find out who did this and bring them to justice for Caroline and the other victims.”

  “What do we do now? Can we see her?”

  At a stoplight, Sam closed her eyes and tried to contain her tears. “We can make that happen if you’d like to come here. I’ll give you my number, and you can call me to arrange it.”

  “I’ll take your number. Hang on a minute while I get a pen.”

  Sam waited for him and took a couple of deep breaths, hoping her heart would stop pounding. When he returned to the line, she gave him her number. “Feel free to call me anytime. I’m sorry that I have to ask if she had any problems with anyone that you knew of.”

  “No, not at all. She has lots of friends. Everyone likes her.”

  “Ask your wife when you can, and if you think of anything that might be relevant, please call me.”

  “We will.”

  “I’ll keep you informed about the investigation. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. We’ll be in touch. I need to see to my wife.”

  “Of course.”

  The call ended with a click, and Sam had to hold back the urge to throw her phone out the window so she’d never again have to make a call like that one. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, infuriated to be such an emotional basket case. A pang of anxiety struck her in the gut. Emotional outbursts were a hallmark of pregnancy for her. At least they had been in the past.

  “We’re not thinking about that today.”

  In the time it took to get to HQ, she got herself more or less under control and felt ready to face what promised to be a challenging workday. The usual media scrum outside the main door had doubled overnight, and since she was in no way prepared to face off with them, she drove around to the morgue entrance.

  Inside, the frigid AC provided a welcome respite from the stifling humidity. Sam went into the morgue to get an update. She found Lindsey presiding over Caroline’s autopsy.

  “What’ve you got for me, Doc?” Sam asked, noting their victim had been a pretty young woman with auburn hair and fair skin.

  “Another nine-millimeter slug to add to our collection.” She gestured to the evidence bag containing the chunk of metal that had ended Caroline’s life.

  “Gonzo said you don’t think she died instantly?”

  “She definitely didn’t. The bullet nicked an artery. I’d say it took about twenty minutes for her to bleed out.”

  “Would she have been conscious?”

  “That’s hard to say.”

  “I’m going to really hope she wasn’t.”

  “She had a can of pepper spray rolled up in her hand.” Lindsey pointed to another evidence bag.
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  “For all the good it did her.” That little detail made Sam so mad—and so sad—for the young woman who’d seemingly done everything right.

  “No kidding.” Lindsey glanced at Sam. “You call the family yet?”

  “Yeah. That was loads of fun. They want to come here to see her. I told them we’d make it happen.”

  “Those poor people. They got their kid to twenty-six. Thought they were in the clear, and then this happens.”

  “I hate cases like this. People killing people simply for the thrill of it.”

  “Is that the theory?”

  “It’s all we’ve got to go on so far. Hopefully, we’ll have more by the end of the day.”

  “Are you okay, Sam? You look a little…red around the eyes.”

  “I…um, yeah, you know. Tough case. That’s all it is.” She’d learned the hard way to keep her suspicions about a possible pregnancy to herself. That way there were fewer people to tell when it either turned out not to be true or when it went bad. And it always went bad.

  “I’m here if you need a friend. I hope you know that.”

  “Of course,” Sam said, appalled when tears threatened again. For fuck’s sake. “Gotta hit it. Shoot me your report when it’s finished.”

  “Will do.”

  Sam headed for the pit, determined to keep her shit together and focus on the case—and only on the case. The four dead bodies in the morgue deserved her full attention, and they would get nothing less.

  “I want everyone in the conference room in five,” she said on the way into her office. “Jeannie,” she said to Detective Jeannie McBride, “update the board with the Brinkley info and get Archie and someone from the Gang Unit down here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sam unlocked her office door and flipped on the lights, immediately turning them off when the fluorescent glare hurt her eyes. She hated fluorescent light almost as much as she hated needles and airplanes.

  A knock on the door preceded Malone into her office. When he closed the door behind him, Sam had a sinking feeling this day was about to get worse—if that was possible. “What’s up?”

  “The chief asked me to talk to you,” he said as he made himself comfortable in her visitor chair.