Xander shouldered his M4 and pulled a small brown suede case out of his back pocket. His lock picks. Sam the FBI consultant looked the other way. Moments later, the lock disengaged, and Xander slipped inside. She followed, the gun warming in her hand.

Kruger’s home was dark, the milky glow of the streetlamps on Connecticut their only source of light. The furniture was minimalist, modern, black leather with white accents. The walls were covered in tribal masks and wooden sticks. A large black-and-white painting of the Buddha took up nearly the entire living room wall.

It did not look like the home of a terrorist.

Sam put on a pair of purple nitrile gloves. Xander had already pulled on his thin supple leather shooting gloves. At least they wouldn’t contaminate anything.

Xander made a motion with his right hand, which Sam knew meant spread out. He started toward the bedroom. She went directly to the refrigerator. If they were going to get lucky, it might start here.

She swung open the stainless doors. A gust of cool air enveloped her. Aside from a knocked-over bottle of ketchup, some hard cheese and bologna, a four-pack of Innis & Gunn, the fridge was empty.

A hardworking man like Jason Kruger would certainly spend little time at home cooking. Worse, there was no sign of the vaccines.

She felt her earlier hope dissipate. Fletcher had been so sure there was something here. She’d bought into it, feeling the same way. She thought there would be some sort of resolution, something to put a period on this awful day. But there was nothing visible. Their only hope was the computer.

She did a perfunctory search of the rest of the kitchen and dining room, pushing on panels and hoping for the same kind of surprises they’d found in Cattafi’s apartment. Nothing.

The unit was small, only a single bedroom and bath off the living room. Xander rounded back into the living room, shaking his head. His voice was low.

“You need to come see this.”

She followed him into the bedroom. The closet door was ajar. The left half was filled with two rows of hanging clothes, pants and suit coats and shirts, with a double rack for shoes below. Very neat, very organized. The right side held a small, stackable washer and dryer. Xander played his light over the edge. “What’s that?”

Sam got closer. “Blood.” She opened the washer. The contents were wet. Inside was a pair of running shoes, pink-and-orange running shorts, a dark shirt and a dark jacket.

The girls who’d been headed to Cattafi’s apartment said they’d seen a jogger, a woman. The witness Hart had spoken to, the weirdo in the gray Honda, also said he’d seen a woman jogging.

These clothes had to belong to Maureen Heedles. She was the jogger.

“Xander, we have three witnesses from this morning who saw a woman jogging in our neighborhood around the same time as the murder. I think Heedles was telling the truth. She’s our killer. Let’s tear this place apart. Where’s the computer?”

“Over in the corner. I’ve already copied the hard drive.” He dangled a flash drive in front of her.

They started a thorough search of the bedroom. Sam hit pay dirt five minutes in.

“Xander, I’ve got something.” Kruger had a European-style bed with drawers underneath for storage. “There’s a false panel in here. Look what I’ve found.” She held up a cell phone, a thin MacBook Air and a black leather bag. “Wanna bet these are Amanda’s?”

“All the proof we need to tie Heedles directly to Kruger. It’s a thread we need to unravel, though. They were supposed to be in New York. How did she get to D.C. and back without Denon noticing?”

“It was night. Unless they were sharing a bed, I assume she had her own room. It’s a little over three hours by train, and Amtrak has overnight runs between the two cities. Train down, kill Amanda, dump her clothes and the laptop here with Kruger, back on the train up to New York. Boom. You could do the whole shebang in less than eight hours, and it’s faster than driving. Rather elegant, actually.”

“Smart. So what’s Kruger’s role in this?”

“I don’t know. Other than he works for Girabaldi, who used to be Robin’s boss. I think Heedles was meant to appear to be Robin Souleyret. It’s all a big setup, with her as the scapegoat. We need to let Fletcher’s people process the entire place. But we have to take this with us. Let’s go call him, let him know what we’ve got.”

“Sounds good.”

They started back toward the door. Sam noticed light bouncing in the hallway and froze. She grabbed Xander’s hand, pulled him to a stop. Leaned close. “Someone’s out there.”

The light went off, and they heard the distinct sound of a key being inserted into the lock.

Xander moved quickly, blended into the shadows by the door, pulling Sam behind him. He raised the M4 toward the breach.

The door opened gently, silent on its hinges. Someone else was breaking in, trying to be quiet about things. But this person had a key, and it wasn’t Fletcher’s people from Metro.

Xander waited for the bulk of the body to be in the apartment, then reached out with a hand and grabbed whoever was coming in the door.

The world exploded into action.

No longer worried about making noise, Xander yanked the person into the apartment and slammed the door behind them. The battle raged on for a few minutes, the two thumping and pulling and scrabbling, trying to gain purchase on the slick hardwood floor. Sam saw the intruder was small, dressed in black, fists moving at a rapid pace. Fighting, fighting hard. One punch caught Xander on the nose, another in the jaw. Sam felt a warm spray of blood across her hand. She stepped forward into the scrum, caught a kick in the shin.

But Xander was on top now, wrestling the person to the ground. After a breathless curse, Sam realized it was a woman. She saw a flash of blond hair, realized who this must be. Before she could intervene, the woman was pinned on her back, breathing hard. Xander was sitting on her chest, a large K-Bar knife to her throat.

“You broke my nose, you bitch.”

“You shouldn’t have attacked me, then, you stupid oaf. Get off me.”

Sam flashed the light across the woman’s face, which gave her the last bit of confirmation she needed. She sighed heavily.

“Xander. You can let her up. But watch yourself. It’s Robin Souleyret.”

* * *

Seeing the sister gave Sam chills. It was always hard talking to family members of the dead, but when they bore such a striking resemblance to the corpse she’d just worked on, it made things much more difficult.

All her imaginings about Amanda Souleyret went out the window when her sister Robin stood up. It was almost as if Sam could suddenly see the corpse animate, and it gave her the creeps. Eyes that sparkled with life, even in their grief, a dancer’s stride, blond hair in a long bob past her shoulders. Robin was taller than her sister, and a few years older, but the resemblance was uncanny.

Robin had also been through the ringer. She had a well-formed black eye, and new injuries from her altercation with Xander. Her right eye was swelling, her knuckles were abraded. A bruise peeked out of the top of her shirt.

“Had a rough day, I take it?” Sam asked.

Xander was still holding the knife on her, ready to use it if she bolted. She eyed him with distaste. “You could say that.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning. Explain to me why I shouldn’t call Metro and have them come arrest you for murder.”

“I didn’t kill anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me. And I don’t owe you an explanation. I have my own reasons for being here, and now that I see what I’m looking for isn’t available, I’ll be going.”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Sam replied coolly. “I can link you to three crime scenes today. Not to mention your sister’s murder. There’s a stack of women’s clothes in the washer, which has blood on it. I don’t doubt that it’s your sister’s. You want to tell me what your connection is to Kruger?”