Collins lived in a row of high-end brick-front town houses. Avery parked in front of number 26, behind a black Mercedes SUV with a Feds decal on the back window. He noted that all the blinds were drawn inside the house, as if the occupant wanted to keep out the daylight. He strode up the steps that led to the front door and rang the doorbell.

When no one answered, Avery tried the metal knocker. After that failed to yield results, Avery called Ray Jestings on his personal cell phone.

“Avery? Do you have some news for me?”

“Your GM is ignoring his doorbell. Can you reach out and get him to let me in?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it right now.”

“Don’t tell him about Willie. I want to do that.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks.”

Avery leaned against the wrought-iron rail, arms crossed. As he fought off the fatigue that made him feel dull around the edges, he thought about the way Nick Cappuano had looked at him, as if he’d like to gut him right there on the sidewalk. Avery suspected they might’ve gotten into it if the boy hadn’t been watching his father’s every move.

He ran his fingers through his hair wearily. Despite his best efforts to forget about her, he was just as fascinated with the gorgeous Sam Holland as he’d been the first time he met her, long before he knew she was married to one of the country’s most popular senators.

And now, supposedly, he had a tentative date with Sam’s assistant. Fantastic. Like that wouldn’t further complicate an already complicated situation.

The sound of locks disengaging inside the townhouse had Avery standing up straighter.

Garrett Collins looked like hell. There was no other way to describe his appearance as he opened the door to Avery.

“Mr. Collins, I’m Special Agent Avery Hill with the FBI.” He flashed his badge to Collins, who eyed it warily.

“What can I do for you?”

“May I come in for a minute?”

“Um, that’s probably not a good idea.”

“Why’s that?”

“The place is a bit of a mess.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse.” When Collins hesitated again, Avery said, “You can either let me in, or I’ll take you into custody for a ride downtown. Your call.”

The statement generated the first spark of life Avery had seen yet in the other man’s eyes. “Take me into custody? What the hell for?”

“The murder of Willie Vasquez, to begin with.” Avery tossed that out there, wanting to see what kind of reaction he’d get.

“Willie’s dead?” Collins asked in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

“Can I come in, or shall we do this at my office?”