“Don’t be a smart-ass.” He chuckled. “Look, before I promoted, this job almost cost me my marriage. But no more. My balance is my family—Susan and the kids. And I’ve also taken up running. Now I know you don’t have a family yet, but you need something outside of here, okay? Not because you got shot in the line of duty, but because you’re a good detective and also a good person. Don’t let this job steal your joy.”

“I won’t, sir,” she said. “I’m heading out now, I promise. And I’ll take it slow and easy.”

“Do that,” he called after her as she left the break room.

She sighed and looked at her phone again.

Nothing.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking what to do next. So long as Jed was uncooperative, she couldn’t execute her mission. And Victor was anything but a patient man—or whatever he really was.

Maybe it’s time to shift to the backup plan.

She tapped a message into her phone.

Hey, Rachel. With Jed tied up, I’m feeling lonely. Wanna grab coffee or lunch tomorrow? Would love to catch up with you and hear how Sarah Beth is doing.

Maria smiled. If Jed was tied up with work—or that tramp Nisha—then she’d have to get to Sarah Beth another way. And once the little brat was taken care of, Victor would finally be happy and she could focus her full attention on infiltrating the Shepherds.

Her phone chimed.

Love to but busy early tomorrow. David and I have a meeting with SB’s school. David working after. How about lunch? You pick the place.

Perfect . . .

She sent a reply, picking a place that was nice but out of the way from prying eyes and ears. Feeling better, she slipped her phone in her suit pant pocket and smiled. Originally Jed had seemed the easier conduit, but Rachel was lonely—a woman in need of a friend. Someone she could laugh with but also ventilate to. That’s exactly who Maria had modeled herself to be. But there was something about Rachel that was hard to crack. Also, she had an unnaturally strong connection with her daughter, which could be a problem. Maria worried that Sarah Beth could get inside her head, like Victor. Once she’d thought she’d even felt the little brat rooting around in her memories, but she’d had a couple of glasses of wine that night and dismissed it.

Probably just my paranoia at work.

She pulled her Glock service pistol from the lockbox in her top desk drawer and slipped the weapon into the holster on her hip. Then she grabbed her shoulder bag from the bottom drawer and headed out of the precinct to her Nashville MPD car and fired the beast up. She’d work out, drink some wine, and revise her strategy.