“Long-ass day.” Sam sat in the chair next to the hospital bed and propped her feet on the frame under the pressurized mattress that minimized bedsores. “But it feels good to be doing more than pushing paper again.”

“What’ve you got?” he asked, reverting to his former role as the department’s detective captain.

She ran through the whole thing, from the meeting with Chief Farnsworth to reviewing the tapes the Watergate had finally produced. “We only got traffic in the lobby. Nothing jumped out at us, but I’m going to show them to his chief of staff in the morning to see if he can ID anyone.”

“That’s a good idea. Why do you get a funny look in those blue eyes of yours when you mention the chief of staff? Nick, right?”

“I went out with him once.” She spared her father a deeper explanation of what “going out” had meant in this case. “A long time ago.”

“But it was hard to see him?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I found out he did call me after that night. Guess who took the messages and never gave them to me?”

“Oh, let’s see, could it be our good friend Peter?”

“One and the same, the prick.”

Skip’s laugh was strained. “You able to be objective on this one with your Nick from the past part of the mix?”

Surprised by the question, she glanced up at him and found him studying her with sharp, blue eyes that were just like hers. “Of course. It was six years ago. No biggie.”

“Uh huh.”

She should have known he would see right through her. He always did.

“You need to get some sleep,” he said.

“Whenever I close my eyes, I’m back in that crack house with Marquis Johnson screaming. And then I break out in a cold sweat.”

“You did everything right, followed every instinct.” He gasped for air. “I wouldn’t have done it any differently.”

“Do you ever think about the night you got shot?” She had never thought to ask that until she’d been haunted by her own demons.

“Not so much. It’s all a blur.”

Her cell phone rang. Sam reached for it on her belt and checked the caller ID. She didn’t recognize the 703 number. “I need to take this.”

“Go on.”

She kissed her father’s forehead and left the room. “Holland.”

“Sam, it’s Nick. Someone’s been in my house.”

Her heart fluttered at the sound of his deep voice. This was not good. “Has it been ransacked?” she asked, making an effort to sound cool and professional.

“No.”

“Then how do you know someone’s been there?”

“I know. Stuff’s been moved.”

“Where do you live?”

He rattled off an address in Arlington, Virginia.

Even though it was out of her jurisdiction, she grabbed her coat. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter 7