“Good morning to you too, love,” Nick said as he yawned.

“It’s work.”

“Shit.”

She sat up in bed and let the covers fall to her waist. “Holland.”

“Lieutenant, we’ve got a homicide on Constitution Ave near West Potomac Park. The victim is located inside a parked vehicle.”

“I’m on my way. Call Cruz.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Shit, fuck, damn, hell,” Sam said as she got out of bed and headed for the shower. So much for a holiday weekend off duty.

Nick laughed at her string of swears. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t the fucking murderers know it’s my weekend off?”

“They’re very inconsiderate that way.”

Over her shoulder, she said, “Shower. Now.” She loved the way his eyes widened with surprise at her command. The sound of his footsteps behind her made her heart beat faster with anticipation. She stepped into the shower and turned up the heat, filling the stall with steam as she quickly washed her hair.

He came in behind her, his arm encircling her waist. “Allow me,” he said, taking the bottle of conditioner from her and working it through her long hair.

Sam pushed her rear against his erection, which earned her a sharp slap on the ass that made her cry out with surprise and shocking desire. She’d never forget the first time he’d done that or how much she’d liked it.

He did it again, on the other side this time, before bending her at the waist and taking her hard and fast from behind. It was over almost before it began, but every inch of her body tingled with aftershocks as he washed between her legs and sent her on her way with yet another well-placed spank. “Be careful out there, babe.”

“Always am.”

“Let me know what’s going on when you can.”

“Will do. Thanks for the morning wake-up call.”

“Anytime.”

Sam kissed him and left him to finish his shower. She put on a robe to walk across the hall to get dressed, trying to ignore the agent who was positioned outside Scotty’s room as he made an equal effort to ignore her. How long would it take before she became accustomed to having people crawling all over her house?

She threw on jeans, a heavy sweater and the fleece-lined snow boots that Nick had given her for Christmas. Her wet hair would make her cold on the crime scene, so she put on a knit hat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. She went downstairs, grabbed an apple and a bottle of water before bolting past the agent at the door and stomping down the ramp, checking the time on her phone as she went.

Twelve minutes from phone call to car with shower sex. Not bad.

As she drove, she ate the apple and yawned her head off, jonesing for the diet cola she’d been forced to give up when her stomach revolted against the acid in the soda. While she wouldn’t have traded a minute of the evening she’d spent wrapped up in her gorgeous husband, she wished now that she’d spent a tiny bit more of it actually sleeping.

She parked illegally on Constitution Avenue and stepped under the yellow crime scene tape that a patrolman held up for her. “What’ve we got?” she asked Officer Beckett, who stood next to the car.

“Female vic, approximately thirty years old. Waiting for Dispatch to get me the details on the car.”

“Have you touched anything?”

“I gloved up to open the car door and check for a pulse. I also checked the glove box for a registration, but it wasn’t in there. That’s as far as I went on my own.”

“Good job.”

She pulled latex gloves from her coat pocket and snapped them on before leaning into the car for a closer look. The woman had long brown hair and pale skin. Sam noted bruising around her neck and throat, indication that she’d been manually strangled. She reached across the front seat for the purse that sat on the passenger seat and went through it looking for a wallet, which was at the bottom.

Sam pulled it out and stood upright, relying on the first light of day to get a read of the name and address on the Maryland license. Lori Phillips. A bolt of shock traveled through Sam, drawing a gasp from her tightly clenched lips as she took a second look at the woman and recognized her as the mother of Gonzo’s son—the same woman he’d faced off against in court, the same one he’d said he wanted to strangle.

“Fuck,” Sam whispered.

“What’s got you swearing before the sun is even up?” her partner, Detective Freddie Cruz, asked as he joined her.

Sam turned to him, not surprised to see him bed-headed and rumpled as he always was when he responded to calls late at night or first thing in the morning. “It’s Lori Phillips.”

Freddie’s mouth opened and then closed. “As in Gonzo’s Lori Phillips?” he asked in nearly a whisper.

“One and the same.”

“Shit.”

“Thus the swearing.” Sam didn’t tell him—and wouldn’t tell anyone—what Gonzo had said to her the night before. But she’d be having a conversation with her detective sergeant the second she could break free from the crime scene.

Freddie zipped his coat all the way to the top. A whipping wind made it that much colder than it already was. “How do we play this?”

“I don’t know. I just got here myself. I need a minute to think.” Sam took Lori’s phone out of her purse and handed it to Freddie. “How do we see what’s on this?”

Freddie took it from her and pushed some buttons. “It’s password protected. We’ll need to get it to Archie for a dump.” He glanced at something over her shoulder. “Here comes the ME.” Then he looked down at her, concern etched into his handsome face. “You don’t think—”

“No! I don’t think that. And neither do you.”

“Right. Of course I don’t think that.” After a long pause, he said, “But everyone else will.”

“Shit, fuck, damn, hell,” she muttered, staring down at Lori and thinking of the shitstorm that would erupt when the media caught wind of the fact that she’d been murdered. In any homicide investigation, Sam’s first thoughts were always for her victim and getting justice for both the victim and the victim’s family. In this case, however, she couldn’t help but think of her close friend and how this particular homicide would turn his life upside down.

“What you said.” As a rule, Freddie left the swearing to her, but even he was known to break loose in the most extreme situations, and this certainly counted as extreme. “What’s the plan?”

“Work the scene and keep a lid on our vic’s identity until I can get my head around this. Don’t tell anyone her name. See about getting video surveillance footage from around here. Surely we have cameras in the area. And the minute you can, get that phone to Archie at HQ.” Sam dropped Lori’s wallet into her coat pocket. “Beckett!”

The patrolman came over to them. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You hear back from Dispatch on the car?”

“Just now.” He handed her a slip of paper on which he’d written, George Phillips with an address in Bowie, Maryland.

“Thanks. I’m putting a gag order on every detail of this investigation. Got me?”

“Yes, ma’am. No one will hear anything from me.”

“Good. Where’s Crime Scene?” she asked of the detectives who would go through the vehicle with a fine-tooth comb.

“On their way.”

“Thanks, Beckett.” After she and Freddie did a visual search of the car and found nothing obvious to aid in the investigation, Sam waved for Lindsey McNamara, the District’s chief medical examiner, to come forward. “All yours, Doc.”

“Do we know who she is?”

“We do.”

Lindsey secured her long red hair into a ponytail. “And?”

“For right now she’s a thirty-one-year-old Jane Doe. Got me?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll brief you as soon as I can.” To Freddie, she said, “Keep an eye on things, get Patrol to begin a canvas of the area and keep me posted on anything that transpires. As soon as you can, get the phone to HQ.”

“Got it. Where are you going?”

“To Gonzo’s.”

“Sam. You gotta know, he would never...”