“President Nelson called the chief earlier,” Malone said. “He wants to know what’s being done to find Sinclair’s killer. They were good friends. He’s beside himself.”

“We’re working the case,” Sam said. “But I’ve directed all available resources toward the search for Reese. For the time being anyway.”

Malone nodded his approval. “We’ll give that everything for a couple of hours, and then we’ve got to get back to Sinclair.”

They encountered a media circus outside the hospital entrance.

“Lieutenant, who was shot?”

“Is the shooter Reese?”

“What’s being done to find him?”

“How close are you to an arrest in the Sinclair case?”

Malone gestured for her to go ahead into the hospital while he dealt with the media.

Thankful for his assistance, Sam entered the hospital and was directed to the surgical waiting room where she found Freddie’s mother and extended family engaged in a prayer circle. With her hands jammed into her coat pockets, Sam waited for them to finish. Thinking about her handsome, sensitive, energetic, junk-food-loving partner, Sam’s throat closed and she feared tears might be next. She fought back the rush of emotion to focus on Freddie’s mother.

Juliette Cruz wiped her face and turned to Sam. “Oh, Lieutenant.”

“It’s Sam.” She hugged the attractive, youthful woman she had met a few times. “What’ve you heard?”

“Nothing more since they took him into surgery.”

Sam led Freddie’s mother to a chair and encouraged her to sit.

“It’s good of you to be here,” Juliette said.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“He’s all I have,” Juliette whispered. “I don’t know what I’ll do if—”

Sam’s stomach clenched with pain as she gripped Juliette’s hand. “He’s going to be just fine.”

The alternative was unimaginable.

Nick sat in his office, staring out the window. John’s bill had passed by ten votes—nine more than they would’ve gotten before he was killed. The O’Connor name was now forever linked to sweeping immigration reform. After more than a year of hard work on that bill, Nick knew he should be euphoric, but all he felt was numb.

In its opening session, the Senate paid glowing tribute to John and held a moment of silence for Julian—two of Nick’s closest friends, both murdered in the scope of a month.

Christina rushed into the room. “Trevor just got word that a cop was shot in the house where that guy killed his family last week.”

Her words cut straight through the numbness, the panic snapping him out of the stupor he’d sunk into after learning of Julian’s death. Nick was out of his chair before she finished the sentence. “Who?” He resisted the urge to grab her shoulders and shake the information out of her. “Who is it?”