Scotty’s footsteps were heavy on the stairs. He came back with his hair wet down and tamed into submission. Ignoring the runaway trembling that continued to rack her body, Sam held his backpack for him and turned him to face her, hands on his shoulders. “You’re going to be fine.” Despite the pain it caused her, she forced her voice to remain normal. “Right?”

He nodded. “Why are you wearing Shelby’s scarf? You hate pink.”

“Shhh,” Sam said in an exaggerated whisper. “She gave it to me as a gift. I’m pretending to like it.”

Scotty’s lips curled with amusement.

“Let’s see the death stare one more time.”

His eyes narrowed into a positively sinister expression.

“That’s my boy.” She hugged him tightly. “Love you. If anything happens, use your cell phone to call me.”

“We’re not allowed to use them in school.”

“Go in the bathroom and text me. I’ll be there so fast they won’t know what hit them.”

His smile lit up his face and touched her heart. “Thanks.”

She cuffed his chin. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Sam waited until he’d left with Shelby and the detail to let herself fall apart a little. She sat at the table and dropped her face into her hands, fighting back tears she refused to allow. Stahl had scared her. There was no doubt in her mind that he could’ve killed her. Her strength was no match against his rage, and in his addled mind, he had nothing left to lose.

She experienced a powerful longing for her husband’s strong arms. In light of how angry he’d be over what’d happened on their doorstep—with Secret Service agents in close proximity—it was probably better for all of them that he was winging his way across the globe at the moment.

When the trembling finally subsided, Sam got up to collect her badge, gun and cuffs from the locked drawer in the kitchen where she kept them now that Scotty lived there. She went through the motions of securing her service weapon in the hip holster she wore on her belt and clipping her gold shield to the waistband of her jeans.

Because she knew her dad would be wondering what had happened to bring a police car screaming on to their street so early in the morning, she went down the ramp from her house and up the ramp to her childhood home, rapping on the door as she walked in. “Anyone home?”

“Back here,” her dad called from the kitchen.

Seated in his wheelchair, he was scanning the headlines in the morning paper. His wise blue eyes took a perusing look over her, settling on the pink scarf and widening with surprise. He hadn’t seen her in pink since her toddler years.