One after the other, her squad members replied with relief to hear that Freddie was okay and to say they’d be there in the morning. The only one she didn’t hear from was Gonzo, but at least she knew why.

Confident that Freddie was in good hands and that a plan was in place to manage the case, Sam went to find Nick. He was sitting in the waiting room with the chief. They stood when they saw her coming.

“How is he?” Nick asked.

“He’s got one hell of a headache, and they’re keeping him for observation, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Thank God for that,” Farnsworth said.

“Yes, thank goodness,” Nick said.

Every set of eyes in the busy waiting room was on them. It was still unnerving the way they were recognized everywhere they went. Of course the Secret Service agents sprinkled throughout the room didn’t help to lower their profile.

“We can go home,” Sam said, eager to get away from the prying eyes.

“Look,” the chief said, pointing to the TV in the corner. Malone was briefing the press, and they moved closer so they could hear.

“At approximately eighteen-thirty, Troy Hamilton, director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, was found dead in his Northwest home. The MPD is working the case in cooperation with federal authorities. We’ll release more information on the director’s murder as it becomes available.”

“How does this relate to the APB that was issued earlier for Hamilton’s son?” one reporter asked.

“We’re looking into the connections,” Malone said.

“What happened with Detective Cruz?” Darren Tabor asked.

“How does he know everything?” Sam asked.

“Detective Cruz and a passenger were taken hostage by a group of armed men who are now in custody. Detective Cruz has been located and is receiving medical attention.”

“Was this related to the director’s murder?”

“We don’t know.”

“And the passenger?” Darren asked.

“Dogged little bastard,” Sam muttered.

“We’re looking for the passenger.”

“Who was the passenger?” another reporter asked.

“We’re not releasing that information at this time. I’ll have more for you in the morning. That’s it for now.”

When the local anchors came back on, the FBI director’s murder was the top story.

“Mr. Vice President,” Brant said. “We’re ready.”

“Sam?”

She took his outstretched hand. “Let’s go.”

They rode home in silence, the comfortable kind of silence, the kind in which no words were required. She needed only the heat of his body next to hers to feel grounded, to clear her mind, to think through the case from all angles. There were times, especially on days like this one, when she wondered how she’d managed to function before she had him and his calming effect in her life.

“Thanks for coming with me to the hospital,” she said.