“Excellent,” she said, as she pushed her arms into the sweater. “Mmm, smells like you.”

“Do you need socks?”

Pulling on her black dress pants, she flashed him a sheepish grin. “Um, yeah.”

He handed her a pair.

“Thanks.” Wrapping her arms around his warm, naked body, she went up on tiptoes to kiss him. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Be careful out there, babe.”

“I always am.”

Sam raised the yellow crime scene tape and stepped into Lincoln Park. The blustery winter wind smacked at her face as she worked to shake off the stupor of a sleepless night. She shivered, yearning for Nick and the warmth of his bed.

The first hint of sunrise graced the horizon. Across the park, under the glare of lights that had been brought in, two patrol officers stood watch over the victim.

“What’ve we got?” she asked Detective Jeannie McBride.

McBride consulted her notebook. “Victim is male, Caucasian, late sixties. Killed with a single gunshot wound to the back of the head. His hands and feet were bound.”

“Execution style?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“ID?”

“None on him, but he’s well dressed.”

“Start a log of everyone who’s here now or comes in later.”

“Got it.”

“Where’s Cruz?”

“Not answering his phone or pager.”

Startled, Sam glanced at Jeannie. “That’s odd.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Wondering where in the hell her partner was, she jammed her hands into her coat pockets. “Try him again.” Sam’s long-legged stride ate up the distance to where the victim lay crumpled on the ground.

Nodding to the patrol officers, she tugged on latex gloves and squatted down to examine the twine that had been used to bind his hands and feet. His shoes, she noted, were missing. Blood pooled at the site of the gunshot wound. With her hand on his shoulder, she turned him and gasped as she looked down at the dead face of the man they’d dined with the night before.

“Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh poor Nick.” Standing over the lifeless body of Supreme Court nominee Julian Sinclair, all Sam could think about was the day she and Nick had gone to Leesburg to tell the O’Connors their son had been murdered. And now their longtime friend was dead, too. She couldn’t imagine how any of them would withstand this new blow on top of the one they’d so recently sustained.

“Lieutenant?” Detective McBride said from behind her.

“It’s Julian Sinclair.”

McBride gasped. “The Supreme Court nominee?”

Sam nodded. “Contact Malone and Farnsworth. Let them know that Senator Cappuano, Senator and Mrs. Graham O’Connor, and myself were among the last people to see him alive.”

McBride stared at her for a long moment.

“Make the calls, Jeannie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”