Sam rested her head on Nick’s chest and listened to the soft cadence of his breathing. They had shared the leftover lobster and a bottle of wine, inaugurated the new Jacuzzi and done some serious power snuggling. He hadn’t tried to make love to her, and she had been relieved that he seemed to know she needed something else tonight: A shoulder to lean on. His shoulder.

Touching her lips to his chest, she sighed with contentment. An odd sense of peace had come over her after she shared her deepest, darkest secret with him. That he knew the worst of her and loved her anyway was such a special gift in the midst of everything else he had brought to her life.

“Why are you awake at four a.m.?” he whispered, startling her.

“Why are you?”

“Insomnia.”

“How come I don’t know that after a month of sleeping with you?”

“Because you’re usually sawing logs when I’m awake.”

“I do not ‘saw logs,’” she said indignantly.

“Um, yeah, you do.”

“Want me to rub your back?” she asked.

“Really?”

“Turn over.”

They shifted into position so she could caress his back.

He released a long deep breath. “Feels good.”

“What’s the deal with the insomnia?”

“It comes and goes, usually depending on the stress level at the moment.”

“And you thought being a senator would be good for that?”

He laughed into his pillow. “It was a concern. One of many.”

“You should see a doctor about it.”

“As soon as you see Harry about your stomach.” He referred to his friend, the internist, who’d agreed to sneak her in.

“I have an appointment on Friday.”

“Good. Want me to go with you?”

“You’ll be knee deep in nomination hearings on Friday.”

“I can be there if you need me.”

“I’ll be fine.” She kissed his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

He put his arm around her and drew her in close to him. “Only if you do.”

“Deal.”

They were both on their way when the phone rang.

“It’s mine.” She reached for her cell on the bedside table. “Holland.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lieutenant,” Detective Jeannie McBride said. “We’ve got a homicide, and you asked us to let you know.”

“Where?”

“Lincoln Park.”

“I’m on my way.” She got up and reached for the clothes she’d worn the night before and realized they were inappropriate for a middle-of-the-night winter crime scene. “Crap. I’ll have to go to my dad’s to change.”

“You know, if you lived here, your clothes would, too,” Nick muttered.

“Ha ha.”

He got out of bed.

“What’re you doing?” she asked.

“Saving you some time.” He stepped into his closet and emerged with a sweater of his that he tossed to her. In his other hand, he held up a pair of running shoes. “You left these here last week.”