Running her fingers over hair that she’d corralled into a clip, Sam considered taking a pass on the case. It was up to her, after all. She could put Gonzo in charge, send him to Florida and stay in D.C. with Nick. But he’d rebuffed all her efforts to comfort him.

“Sam.”

She turned to find Christina studying her intently. “He’ll understand if you go. He knows it’s your job, and he has to go do his today. We need his vote.”

Sam nodded. “Don’t leave him alone.” And then she remembered Christina wasn’t one of her detectives. “Please.”

“You have my word.”

“Thank you.” She went into the living room and bent to kiss Nick’s forehead. “I’ll see you tonight.”

If he heard her, he gave no indication.

Only when she was outside did she realize he hadn’t told her to be careful.

Sam approached the car where Gonzo waited for her. With every step she took away from Nick, she became more conflicted. Pacing the sidewalk, she tried to figure out what to do. Unused to being paralyzed by indecision, she examined every angle and kept coming back to the same conclusion. Before this, before Nick, there’d never been a decision. The job came first. Always. Now it wasn’t quite so simple.

Gonzo waited patiently, watching her as she moved back and forth.

Finally, Sam stopped and turned to him. “Go to Florida.” From her pocket, she withdrew the slip of paper Laine had given her, handed it to him and filled him in on what she knew about Duncan Quick. “He was with Sinclair for twenty years, so be gentle in how you deliver the news. I want to know where Quick has been for the last twenty-four hours. I want confirmation from anyone he names as an alibi.”

“You aren’t coming?”

Sam glanced at the front door to Nick’s house. “No.”

Gonzo’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Don’t say it,” she growled.

His expression one of total innocence, he said, “Say what?”

“Call me the minute you have anything.”

“I’m on it.”

She watched him walk to his car and drive away, and then she kicked the living shit out of one of the tires on her own car.

“Sam?”

Looking up, she found her father and Celia watching her.

“What’s wrong?” her father asked, directing his chair around a patch of ice on the sidewalk as he came toward her.

“Did you hear about Sinclair?”

“The chief called your father,” Celia said. “We’re stunned. How’s Nick?”

“Horrible.”

“Is that why you’re abusing your car?” Skip asked.

“I need to go to Florida to interview Sinclair’s ex-lover, but how do I do that when he’s practically catatonic?” Sam asked, gesturing to Nick’s house.

“Is anyone with him?” Celia asked.