Sam nodded to Jeannie, who set the pocket-sized recorder on the coffee table. “I’m sorry to have to inform you that Julian Sinclair was found murdered early this morning in Lincoln Park.”

Nick took a step back, shook his head and whispered, “No.” He shook his head again and then dropped into a chair when his legs seemed to give out beneath him.

“I’m very sorry,” Jeannie said.

“But he was just here.” Nick looked up at Sam, his eyes shiny with tears. “How?”

“He was shot,” Sam said, deciding quick and dirty was the best strategy. “His hands and feet were bound.”

Nick buried his face in his hands and wept, all the while continuing to shake his head.

Jeannie shot a nervous glance at Sam and tipped her head, silently imploring Sam to go to him.

Desperate to maintain her professional edge but aching for him, she moved over to perch on the arm of the chair. She put her arm around his shoulders.

He turned into her embrace and shook with sobs. “How could this have happened? First John, and now this. Oh God, Graham and Laine. This’ll kill them.”

“I know it’s a terrible shock for you, but I need to ask you a few things.”

Wiping his face, he nodded. “Whatever I can do.”

“What time did Julian leave here last night?”

“It was just after eleven,” he said, quickly adding, “I was watching the clock, because I wanted them to leave so I could go find you.”

Sam glanced at Jeannie, who hung on their every word. “Did he say or do anything to indicate he was worried about something or had been threatened by anyone?”

“No, nothing like that. He was anxious about the confirmation hearings, but he didn’t mention anything else.”

“Would he have? If he was anxious or worried, would he have said something?”

“I think so. Especially after you left and it was just the four of us. He and Graham are the best of friends, and he knew he could trust me, too.”

“How did he get back to the hotel?”

“Since he had taken a cab over here, Graham and Laine dropped him off.”

She glanced at Jeannie. “I need to talk to them.”

“I’ll go with you,” Nick said, standing up.

“You don’t have to,” Sam said. “We can take care of it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t ask me to sit here while you’re in Leesburg crushing them—again. Don’t ask that of me, Sam.”

They stared each other down in a fierce battle of wills.

“I could have Tyrone pick me up here,” Jeannie interjected. “We can go to Sinclair’s hotel, interview the doorman, get the security tapes and go through his room.”

When Sam realized it wasn’t necessary to win this stand off, she glanced at Jeannie. “Do it.” She turned back to Nick. “Why don’t you go get dressed?”