He was laughing when he ended the call, and Sam immediately felt bad for not saying it back to him. After a year of marriage, she was still navigating the work-home dynamic, and telling her husband she loved him in front of a colleague, especially this particular colleague, was a challenge for her. Maybe she should make saying it any time she damned well wanted to a goal for year two.

“The White House is unglued over Hamilton’s murder,” Sam said.

“You can see why they would be.”

“They’re also screaming about jurisdiction when we all know that’s a nonstarter.”

“You can’t blame them for trying.”

“Sure I can,” she said with a cheeky grin.

Sam and Avery approached a yellow ranch house with a well-kept yard and mulched flower beds that were dormant now but would probably be extraordinary in the spring and summer. Avery rang the doorbell.

A woman in her mid to late fifties came to the door. She was petite with short dark hair and a friendly, if wary, smile.

They held up their badges. “Special Agent Avery Hill, FBI, Lieutenant Holland, Metro D.C. Police. Could we please have a moment of your time?”

She did a double take when she heard Sam’s name. “You’re the second lady!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh my goodness! Come in. Please!”

Sam rolled her eyes at the grin Avery sent her way. It was too much to hope that she’d go unrecognized twice.

“What an honor to have you here! My husband and I are huge fans of your husband. We hope he goes all the way.”

It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to say he goes all the way quite regularly, but she kept the thought private. “Thank you.”

“And what you did at the parade! Oh my Lord! You’re like a superhero!”

As the woman went on and on, Sam began to sweat while Avery became more amused.

Sam cleared her throat. “So the reason we’re here—”

“Where are my manners? Can I offer you something? Some coffee or tea or iced tea or anything?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” Sam said as Avery said, “Some coffee would be wonderful.”

She wanted to stab him through the heart with her famous rusty steak knife. The bastard was enjoying this far too much.

“Coming right up! My friends are never going to believe this! Can we take pictures while you’re here? If we don’t take pictures, everyone will think I made it up!”

“We’d be happy to do that,” Avery said, pouring on the Southern charm.

Squealing, she went into the kitchen to make his coffee while Sam stared daggers at him. “Really?”

“Sorry. This has been such a shit day. I couldn’t resist some comic relief.”

“At my expense.”

“I’m very sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not!”

“My apologies.”