“You’re being an ass,” he said to his bomb-battered reflection in the mirror. Still, he took another ten minutes to make the bed and straighten up the room while marveling that one woman could own so many shoes. When there was nothing left to do, he finally started down the stairs and almost groaned when he found Skip by himself in the kitchen. Couldn’t even Celia have been there to provide a buffer?

“Morning,” Nick said.

“Morning,” Skip muttered. “There’s coffee.”

“Thanks.” As Nick filled a mug that had been left by the pot, he felt the heat of the other man’s eyes on his back. “Sam got an early start.”

“I heard her leave about seven-thirty. Celia’s downstairs doing laundry, but she made bacon and eggs. Plates are up there in the cabinet.”

“That sounds good.” Wondering if he’d be able to eat under the watchful eyes of Sam’s dad, Nick brought the plate and coffee to the table. They sat in awkward silence for several minutes before Nick put down his fork and worked up the courage to look over at the older man. “I love her.”

“If I thought otherwise you wouldn’t have slept in her bed last night. I don’t care how old she is.”

Taken aback, Nick stared at him. “I wanted to go with her today.”

“She wouldn’t have let you.”

“Still, until this thing with Peter is cleared up…”

“They snagged him this morning at Union Station, buying a one-way ticket to New York.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“She’s gonna have a go at him. I don’t know about you, but I’d kind of like to see that.”

“How about I drive you?”

Sam took a series of deep breaths to calm her churning stomach before she picked up the folder of material gathered from Peter’s apartment, opened her office door, signaled to Freddie, and headed for the interrogation room where she’d asked the uniforms to put Peter. The quiet in the normally buzzing detectives’ cubicles told her she’d have a good-size audience watching in observation.

“He’s apt to come at me,” Sam said to Freddie before they went in. “Don’t stop him.”

“Are you out of your freaking mind?”

“Let me handle this my way, Cruz.”

“Fine, but if it appears he’s about to kill you, you’ll have to excuse me if I get in the way of that.”

“Deal.” With a small smile for Freddie, she stepped into the room. Peter had aged since she last saw him. His sandy hair was now shot through with silver, and the face she’d once found handsome was hard and lined with bitterness.

Nodding to release the officer guarding him, Sam stepped up to the table.

“I want someone else,” he said without looking at her.

“Tough.”

“This is a conflict of interest.”