“I’ll be back to get you in a few minutes,” the producer said.

“Thank you,” the chief said. To Sam, he said, “Coffee? Donut?”

“You go ahead. I’m all set.” She was too nervous to risk more coffee making her stomach ache during the interview. A TV mounted in the corner showed the on-air anchors delivering the morning’s headlines, including an update about the mother of Detective Sergeant Gonzales’s son being found dead days after she went public with the conflict of interest in their custody case. Of course there was no mention of how seriously injured he’d recently been in the line of duty.

“It’s infuriating,” the chief said quietly.

“For him too. All those years of decorated service disregarded like they mean nothing.”

“Say that today. As often as you can.”

“It won’t look like I’m defending my friend?”

“So what if it does? It’s true.”

“You’re feisty today,” she said, smiling at him.

“I’m pissed off with the way my department is being portrayed in the media lately.”

“Do the Public Affairs people know they’re sending out a pissed-off chief today?”

He winked at her. “We’ll let that be our little secret.”

Laughing, she said, “Until you take it to the airwaves.”

Farnsworth shrugged. “What can they do? Smear me in the news? Check. Already done.”

“Have you heard from the mayor?”

“She’s called a couple of times. I might’ve forgotten to call her back.”

Sam snorted. “See why I love you so much? You’re awesome.”

“I could say the same about you, Lieutenant. No one has made me look better during my tenure as chief than the firebrand who runs my Homicide Division and also happens to be my niece.”

Though she was touched through and through by the compliment, she nudged him with her elbow. “Stop being so schmoopy. Next they’ll be saying we’re having an affair the way Stahl used to.”

“Stahl said that?”

“All the time. How else could I possibly get the chief to do whatever I wanted him to?”

“I hate that bastard. I’m so glad he’s gone for good.”

“Is he?” Sam asked.

“He can’t come back from assaulting you outside your own home. There’s no way he gets out of that with the Secret Service agents prepared to testify to witnessing it.”

“Speaking of witnessing things, Sanborn’s trial starts this week.”

“How’s McBride handling that?”

“She’s handling it. Sort of.”

“I hate that she has to relive that nightmare in open court.”

“So do I, but it was way too much to hope for that Sanborn would take a plea deal and spare her having to testify. I worry that it’s going to set her back to day one.”

“Do whatever you need to as her commander to get her through it.”

“I will, thank you.” Her phone dinged with a text from Captain Malone. Peter Gibson rented another apartment near the old one and was in Florida for the holiday. Cross him off the list. He’d included Peter’s new address for Sam’s information.

She breathed a sigh of relief to know that whatever was going on, it had nothing to do with her ex-husband. Thanks, she wrote back to the captain. Now about Stahl.

Still looking for him.

Farnsworth checked his watch. “What the hell is taking so long? They told us to be here at seven and it’s seven twenty.”

“I’m sure we’ll be on soon. How many do we have after this one?”

“Four.”

“Four?”

He shrugged. “Can I help it that everyone wanted us when they heard you were coming?”

“Shit fuck damn hell.”

“Language, Lieutenant.”

“I’d apologize except I meant every word. Don’t they know I have a murderer to catch?”

“Oh, they know, but according to the Public Affairs people they were, and I quote, ‘Creaming their jeans’ when they heard you were part of the package.”

“That’s just nasty.”

“Don’t kill the messenger.” He was still laughing at his own joke when the producer returned to lead them onto the set, which was like half of a fancy living room. The other side was filled with cameras and wires and people wearing headphones. A young, extremely thin Asian woman fitted them with wireless microphones.

“It’s super cool to meet you, Mrs. Cappuano,” she said after she clipped the mike onto Sam’s lapel.

“Thanks, you too.” She caught the chief’s glance and noted he was trying not to laugh. He was in an awfully jolly mood for a guy who’d been skewered on a daily basis for weeks now. And hey, if her notoriety helped to ease some of his tension, she was happy to be the butt of his jokes.

During a commercial break they were shown to the sofa. Monica Taylor, one of the bottle blondes from the media scrum that covered the police department, shook hands with both of them, welcoming them like they were old friends. “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to have our nation’s second lady joining us this morning.”

“I’m here as Lieutenant Holland,” Sam said, wishing now she’d thought to clip her badge to her jacket before she left the house. “Not as the second lady.”

“Yes, of course.” Monica flashed a blinding white smile that had Sam wondering if she gargled bleach to make that happen.

“We’re live in five, four, three...”

“Welcome back to Good Morning D.C., I’m Monica Taylor, and we’re delighted today to welcome two very special guests, Metropolitan Police Chief Joseph Farnsworth and Lieutenant Cappuano.”

“Holland,” Sam said with a glare at Monica. “Lieutenant Holland.”

“Oh, yes, of course. My bad.”

Right, Sam wanted to say. Sure it was.

“It’s just that we’re all so excited about our new second family, and naturally there’s curiosity—”

“Is that why we’re here? To talk about the curiosity about my family? I thought we were here to talk about the baseless accusations Bill Springer has been making about the chief and the department since his sons were killed in November.”

“That’s what I thought too,” the chief said.

Visibly rattled, Monica said, “Yes, of course, we want to talk about all of that.” Thankfully, she seemed to get that grilling Sam about being the vice president’s wife was a no-go. “Let’s talk about the accusations Bill Springer has made and give you a chance to respond to some of them. Let’s start with his claim that his older son, Billy, is dead today because of you.”

“I know Mr. Springer would like to be able to blame it all on me,” Farnsworth said. “If I were in his shoes, I’d be looking for someone to blame too. I mean, how does a man deal with the knowledge that a child he brought into this world is capable of murdering his own brother and eight other innocents? How do parents ever accept that their son was a big-time drug dealer who’d been on our radar for more than a year before he was killed? Do I regret that Billy Springer died at the hands of my officers? Of course I do, but do I blame anyone but Billy Springer for creating a situation in which it was necessary for my officers to shoot him? No, I don’t.”

“Lieutenant, how do you feel about Mr. Springer’s allegation?”

“Like the chief said, I believe he’s looking for someone to blame, because without that, he’s forced to accept that his son was a murderer.”

“Mr. Springer blames you, directly, Chief, for his son’s death because you put the homicide investigation on hold so your officers could complete the narcotics investigation. Does he have a point there?”

“He is correct in stating that I put the homicide investigation on hold—briefly—in order to give my Vice detectives, who’d been undercover with Billy Springer, twelve hours to complete a six-month investigation. He is incorrect in placing the blame for Billy’s death on me. It was Billy Springer’s decision to take his grandmother and cousins hostage that day. It was Billy Springer’s decision to shoot at my officers, gravely wounding one of them. If neither of those things had happened, Billy would still be alive today and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”