“You’ll want to get with your staff to figure out how to respond from a political standpoint.”

“There’s no way I’m dignifying this with a response.”

“Your communications people will no doubt advise otherwise.”

“This has nothing to do with my job.”

“It has everything to do with it, Nick. We’re talking about the most divisive issue of our time. The public will be looking for your position on this.”

“I love her, I support her right to choose. I support every woman’s right to choose.”

“Then that’s what you say.”

“I can’t protect her, Andy.” The helplessness overwhelmed him. “I hate that I can’t protect her from this.”

“I haven’t met her, but from what I’ve read about her in the papers, I can’t imagine that she’d expect you to protect her.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” Nick said. “Could I offer the tabloid more money than they paid for the story not to run it?”

“No doubt that would get out, too, adding gas to the story’s fire.”

Nick sighed. “I’m really sorry I woke you up.”

“I’m glad you called. I’m heading to the office now. I’ll get that injunction filed first thing and let you know when it’s done.”

“I really appreciate your help. Send me the bill for your time.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be in touch.”

Sam floated somewhere between dreams and nightmares. Victims and perps and hideous crimes cycled through her mind. Scenes from the Sinclair investigation flashed one by one, parts and pieces that refused to add up to a whole. Julian’s body in Lincoln Park, his estranged brother and sister-in-law, the beloved nephews, one of them shot, his roommate killed. Preston Sinclair missing. Where had he gone? Why had he gone? What was she overlooking?

She could feel the answer circulating close to the surface. If only she could find the final pieces to the puzzle. If only she could find Preston.

The pulsing pain coming from the cut on her head interrupted the flow, demanding her full attention. Her eyes fluttered open. “Preston.”

Nick turned from his post at the window. “What’s that, babe?” In obvious pain, he moved slowly to the bedside and lowered himself down.

“It’s Preston.”

“What is? I don’t follow.”

“Preston shot Julian and Devon.”

Nick curled a lock of her long hair around his finger. “What? Why?”

“To protect Diandra. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“But why would he shoot his own brother and son?”