Three decades. That’s how long a mother in Tennessee had longed for the child who was being raised by the director of the FBI and his wife and his...whatever Dustin had been to them. It was sickening. When she’d regained her composure, she checked her phone and found a text from Watson letting her know they’d arrive at the hospital around two. The Rollings family was looking forward to meeting their son—and her.

I’ll be there, Sam replied, and just for shits and grins, she’d see if she could bring her husband, the vice president. She fired off a text to him asking if it could be arranged.

I’ll see what I can do, babe. Would love to be there.

A soft knock on the door had her spinning around. “What?”

The door opened and Avery Hill stood there, his face ashen with shock and disgust. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to be said other than case closed.”

“What about Dustin?”

“What about him? We’ve got more than enough to charge him with two counts of kidnapping, murder for hire, assaulting a police officer. The list goes on and on.”

“So we don’t need to talk to him?”

“Sam’s right,” Hope said when she joined them, looking pale after what she’d heard. “We’ve got enough to charge them both.” Of the three identical triplets who served the District as Assistant U.S. Attorneys, Hope was the only one who was a mother, which had probably made Courtney’s sordid tale that much more difficult to hear.

“If no one objects,” Avery said, “I’d like the supreme pleasure of telling Dustin Jacoby that he’s totally fucked.”

“I’m all for that,” Sam said.

The others nodded in agreement.

“Someone will need to brief the media,” the chief said. “I think they’re giving birth to each other outside.”

“I’ll do it,” Sam said, salivating at the thought of shredding the vaunted reputations of Hamilton and Jacoby, “and then I’m going to the hospital to be there when Taylor sees his parents for the first time in thirty years.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SAM WENT WITH Avery to speak to Jacoby, who was pacing the interrogation room when they walked in. He seemed startled to see Avery.

“What’re you doing here?” Jacoby asked, his dark eyes narrowing with displeasure.

“I volunteered to be the one to tell you that you’re being charged with murder, two counts of kidnapping and felony assault of a police officer, among other things. In other words, you’re totally and completely fucked.”

“Mr. Jacoby is willing to cooperate with your investigation in exchange for leniency,” his lawyer said.

“Thanks,” Avery said, “but we’re good. Courtney Hamilton told us everything we needed to know to put the pieces together.”