“True.” He seemed to know exactly where he was going as they entered an area of the ballpark that looked more like the lobby of a fancy office building than a baseball stadium. At the reception desk, he gave his name and asked to see Ray Jestings.

“He’s not accepting visitors at the moment,” the young woman at the desk said. “I’d be happy to give him a message for you.”

Hill glanced at Sam, and in a moment that was far more in keeping with her groove with Cruz, they placed their badges on the counter, right next to each other.

The woman’s eyes darted between the two badges.

“FBI and Metro PD,” Hill said. “Let us up.”

“I need to make a call first.”

“Make it snappy,” Sam said. “We don’t have all day.”

The receptionist scurried into a back room, keeping her gaze fixed on them through a plate glass window as she placed the call.

While they waited, Sam looked around a reception area decorated with life-sized photos of Federals players as well as the ballpark and a large portrait of the team’s handsome young owner.

“What if we discover that your childhood friend ordered Vasquez killed when he blew the biggest game in franchise history?”

Hill chuckled. “Are you impugning my professionalism, Lieutenant?”

“Never.”

“Right... Do you want my help or not?”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, I need all the help I can get with this one.”

The receptionist returned about two seconds before Sam was going after her. Sam’s body was about an hour from full shutdown mode. She needed to get as much done as she could before her gas tank hit empty.

“You can go on up to Mr. Jestings’ office.”

“Gee, thanks,” Sam said. “It took ten minutes to arrive at that foregone conclusion?”

“I’m sorry,” the young woman said, her chin quivering. “We’re all very upset today. No one more so than Mr. Jestings.”

Oh for crying out loud, Sam thought as she followed Hill onto an elevator with no buttons. Apparently, it had one destination only.

“That poor girl,” Hill said as the elevator whisked them upward. “You turned her into a quivering wreck.”

“I hate receptionists. They’re always standing between me and the people I want to talk to.”

“You’re endlessly amusing, Holland.”

“Need I remind you that you’re not allowed to be amused by me?” If he was going to be around again, Sam wanted to set the boundaries early on.

His smile faded. “No reminders necessary. I’m painfully aware of your blissful marital status.”