Cook scowled. “Wait’til the protestors get ahold of him. I hope he’s watching his back. Someone might take a shot at him.”

“Is that a threat?” Nick asked, appalled by the implication.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it isn’t a threat.” Cook took a long drink of his tea before turning hard eyes on Nick. “Son, you haven’t been around long enough to know how much damage a nomination like this can do to the Senate. It’ll split us right down the middle, and the ill will could infect the entire session.”

Nick could tell he startled the older man when he stood up and dropped his napkin on the table next to his half-eaten bowl of soup. “I appreciate you laying out the ground rules for me, Senator, but I’m fairly certain I’ve been around just long enough to know how to get the most out of my year in office.” He took a step away from the table before he turned back. “Oh, and you can feel free to call me Nick or Senator, but I’m not your son. You have a good day now.”

Sam stood in Clarence Reese’s bedroom, staring at the photo of him with his wife and children. They had scoured the city and found no sign of the man who’d slaughtered his family. If Reese’s mother or brother knew where he was hiding out, they weren’t talking. Until they located him, Sam could only wonder what involvement Reese had in her father’s shooting.

“Are we done here?” Freddie asked from the doorway. “This place gives me the creeps.”

Taking another long last look at the man in the picture, Sam turned to her partner. “We’re missing something.”

“Crime scene took this place apart.” The disheveled condition of the house backed up the statement. “There’s nothing else here.”

She rested her hand over her gut, her most trusted ally when it came to situations like this. “There’s something. I know it.”

“What do you want me to do? Where should I look?”

“That I don’t know,” she said, feeling defeated. “I wish I did.”

“Sam, listen, maybe it’s just a coincidence that Reese had those clippings—”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

The clatter of metal in the alley behind the house caught their attention.

“What was that?” Freddie whispered.

Sam drew her weapon and gestured for him to do the same. She pointed him toward the front door and headed for the back of the house.

Moving slowly, her gun leading the way, Sam crept toward the back door. Another clatter rang through the alley, announcing the presence of a cat, a raccoon or a foolish perp returning to the scene of a crime. Sam hoped and prayed it was the latter. The door swung open.