“Do you concur, Lieutenant?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said. “Billy Springer almost killed Detective Sergeant Gonzales, who was shot in the neck and would’ve bled out if not for the quick action of his partner, Detective Arnold. Mr. Springer doesn’t seem to want to talk about how Sergeant Gonzales was wounded so seriously. He doesn’t want to talk about the eyewitness we have who was able to identify Billy as the person who killed Hugo Springer as well as the other eight young people in the Springers’ basement. None of that seems to matter to Mr. Springer. He would put all the blame on the police who responded to an active hostage situation and acted appropriately in light of Billy’s decision to shoot at us.”

“What I don’t understand,” Monica said tentatively, “is how Billy found out that you were looking at him for the murders of his brother and the other young people?”

“We’d like to know that too,” Farnsworth said. “We’re conducting an internal investigation to determine if any of our people were involved in conveying that information to Billy the night before he was killed. To our knowledge, none of the undercover detectives who’d gotten close to Billy saw him between the time I put the homicide investigation on hold and the time he took his grandmother and cousins hostage in Friendship Heights. We’re working on establishing a timeline and trying to determine the chain of events. When we have answers, we’ll make them public. Until then, all we can say is we don’t know how he found out, but we’d like to know as much as everyone else.”

“Lieutenant, your niece was assaulted at the party at the Springer home. Can you tell us how she is doing today?”

Pissed off by the question, Sam said, “She’s doing very well and completing her senior year of high school.”

“You mentioned Sergeant Gonzales, and I’d like to follow up on that by asking about his possible involvement in the death of his son’s mother, Lori Phillips.”

“Sergeant Gonzales had nothing to do with the death of Lori Phillips,” Farnsworth said sternly, “and it’s irresponsible for the media to be tossing accusations around without any proof to back them up.”

“Well, it’s true that Ms. Phillips has been making waves recently, going public with the sergeant’s connection to the judge who heard their custody case.”

“There’s a huge difference between being at odds with someone and killing them,” Sam said defiantly. “Sergeant Gonzales is one of the best and most capable police officers I’ve ever worked with. He’s a valuable member of my team, and he was nearly killed not that long ago in service to this city. I find it appalling that anyone would insinuate he was capable of murder a few short weeks after you were all calling him a hero. It’s disgusting.”

“It’s a natural assumption,” Monica said, her cool blond perfection beginning to curdle as it became clear to her that she was seriously outmatched.

“We don’t work on assumptions, Ms. Taylor,” Sam said. “We work on facts and evidence, and there’s not a single iota of evidence that ties Sergeant Gonzales to the murder of Lori Phillips, and to imply otherwise is to open yourself and your employer to massive litigation.”

“There’s no need to get hostile, Lieutenant.”

“There’s every need to get hostile, Ms. Taylor. This is a man’s life and reputation you all are playing with. It’s nothing to you to report he’s a suspect when he is absolutely not a suspect. Does it occur to you that you’re ruining someone’s life when you toss around words like suspect and ax to grind or some of the other things we’ve heard in the last twenty-four hours?”

“It looks like we’re out of time. I want to thank our guests for joining me today, and we’ll be right back after this check of the weather and traffic.”

Sam stood and pulled the microphone off, tossing it on the sofa behind her. “Your journalism professors must be rolling in their graves.”

“I didn’t go to journalism school,” Monica said testily.

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell. If Sergeant Gonzales chooses to file suit against you and others for implying he was guilty of murder, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did, I’ll back him up with everything I’ve got.”

“We’re done here,” Monica said. “Thanks for coming in.”

Farnsworth took Sam by the arm before she could tear the bitch’s head off, and half-dragged her out of there. “That was fucking awesome,” he said as soon as they cleared the shell-shocked set. Producers, directors and camera people stopped what they were doing to watch them go by.

“Language, Chief,” Sam said, even though she was amused by his assessment. “She’s a stupid bitch. The minute she dragged my niece into the discussion, the gloves came off.”

“You were awesome. If I’m ever truly in trouble, I want you to defend me.”

“Ha! You’ll go up the river for life.”

“Nah, the jurors would be too afraid of you to convict me.”

“You were pretty damn good yourself,” she said.

“Why, thank you. I paled in comparison to the second lady.”

“Bite me. Do we really get to do this four more times?”

“Yep.”

“Something tells me this day isn’t going to suck as bad as I thought it was.”

Their euphoria lasted until they emerged from the TV station to find Deputy Chief Conklin waiting for them. “Bill Springer was found dead this morning.”

* * *

Shelby awoke sore and disoriented. She was supposed to be somewhere. Scotty. He was back to school today. And Nick. His first day at the White House. She needed to be there.

And then she remembered what had happened the day before and sagged back into the pillows. Avery’s pillows. She was in his bed, in his room, in his house, even after he’d confessed to having had feelings for Sam.

Despite all his efforts to make it right, Shelby still felt sick over what three people she considered close friends, three people she loved, had kept from her.

And yes, she loved all of them—or she had before yesterday. Now she wasn’t sure how she felt about any of them.

Snippets of conversation and odd moments ran through her mind, punishing her with the realization that the signs of something afoot had been there all along. However, she’d chosen not to dig in to them. Like the time she’d asked Sam why Nick didn’t like Avery.

“Who knows?” Sam had said. “Guys are so weird.”

But she’d known why. Everyone had known why—except her. Did Scotty know too? Wouldn’t that make it all perfect?

At some point she’d have to talk to Sam and Nick about this, and the thought of that conversation made her nauseated. How did you bring up such a topic with your employers who were also your friends?

She shifted to find a more comfortable position, and her knees burned from the movement. She wasn’t sure which hurt more—her knees or her heart.

Avery came into the room wearing a D.C. Federals T-shirt and black sweats. It wasn’t fair that he looked as sexy in sweats as he did in a three-thousand-dollar suit. He carried a steaming mug that he deposited on the bedside table.

“What’ve you got there?”

“That lemon tea you like. You can still have that, right?”

“Yeah, it’s decaf.” She didn’t want to be touched by his thoughtful gesture, but she could see he was trying. Reaching for the mug, she took a sip and felt the heat travel through her.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Okay. You?”

“Not so great.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I hate that I hurt you, Shelby. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

“I want to believe that. You have no idea how badly I want to believe that.”

“You can believe it.” He hesitated before he continued. “I was in a bad place when you and I met. I won’t deny that. But you and I, we’ve built something here. Or at least I thought we had.”

“I thought so too.” Trying to keep her emotions in check, Shelby took another sip of her tea. “I’m almost forty-three, Avery. I’m pregnant with what will probably be my only child. For years, I put on weddings for happy couples and all the while I wondered if I would ever get my fairy tale. And then I met you, and I started to entertain the possibility that it was going to happen for me after all. Until I found out you were actually in love with my friend.”