They arrived at a public housing complex on Southern Avenue. As Sam and Freddie made their way from the parking lot to a first-floor unit, they caught the attention of those gathered outside. The residents of the crime-riddled neighborhood knew cops when they saw them. Before Sam could knock on Roberto’s door, a gorgeous young woman with long dark hair and eyes opened it. She eyed Sam suspiciously.

“What do you want?” she asked. “We got no trouble around here.”

“I’m not looking for any trouble,” Sam said. “Is Roberto around?”

She looked Sam up and down. “Who wants to know?”

Sam showed her badge. “Lieutenant Holland. MPD.”

“Let her in, Angel,” came a voice from inside the apartment.

Giving Sam a glare, she stepped aside to let Sam pass but put up a hand to stop Freddie. “He said her.”

“She doesn’t go in there without me,” Freddie said.

Sam turned to see Freddie and Angel locked in a battle of wills. Just as she was about to tell him to wait in the hallway, Angel backed down and let him by. He gave Sam a satisfied grin.

“Long time no see,” Roberto said. He held up a closed fist to Sam.

Sam returned the fist bump, looking down at the good-looking young man in the wheelchair whom she had befriended during the Johnson investigation. As one of the lower-ranking members of the Johnson organization, Roberto hadn’t much registered on Marquis Johnson’s radar, which is how Sam had been able to get close to him. He had short dark hair and world-weary eyes. He’d seen far too much far too soon. “How goes it, Roberto?”

He shrugged. “Good days, bad days. Today’s been a good day. You ain’t gonna change that, are ya?”

“Nope. I’m wondering what you know about Trace Simmons and Darius Gardner.”

Roberto let out a low whistle. “What’s a nice girl like you asking about a couple hard-core bangers like them for?”

Sam smiled at him. The shootout in the crack house had changed his life too—in some ways for the better. While the bullet wound had stolen his legs, it had also given him a way out of a life that was going nowhere fast. Sam had helped him get a job as a clerk with the city.

Sam filled him in on what’d happened at Reece’s house and the possible connection to Simmons and Gardner.

“I read about that dude taking you hostage. You like to keep it real, huh?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “A little too real lately.”

“For what it’s worth, I ain’t never heard either of them brag about shooting no cop—and those two? They woulda talked.”

Sam kept her expression neutral to hide the rush of disappointment. She knew she should be used to it by now after so many dashed leads, but the letdown never got easier to take.