Carter figured that none of them had ever seen a day tougher than this, and although he was over a decade sober, he was tempted to break that streak tonight.

The red light was dark, but the door was locked. He rang the front doorbell, and a weak ding-dong resounded from inside. Nic opened the door. His eyes bloodshot and a little glassy, a bottle of Miller Lite in his hand.

“I’m glad you came,” Nic said. “Where’s the boy wonder?”

“In the car. He needed some alone time.”

Nic led him inside, where officers sat on couches and stood in the connected kitchen, leaning on counters, with a group playing cards at the kitchen table. The walls showed signs of water damage, and the old shag carpet was yellow and stained, but even in disrepair, Carter could tell that the home had once been beautiful. The atmosphere inside was somber, smelling of rot and mildew. The group playing cards did so mechanically without much chatter.

“Beer?” Nic said.

“How about something stronger?”

“I like the way you think.”

Nic retrieved a bottle of ten-year-old single malt from one of the cabinets and sat it on the bar separating the kitchen from the large living room. Nic placed two glasses on the old white-speckled countertop and poured them each three fingers of the brown liquid.

Carter knew his wife would be disappointed with him, but he also knew that she’d understand. He downed the glass in two drinks. Nic gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and downed his own in one long swig before pouring them both another.

“I heard you’ve tried to get into the FBI, but your application was rejected?” Carter asked.

Nic shrugged. “Guess they don’t want Tommy Jewels’s kid corrupting the ranks.”

“I could probably pull some strings for you. I assume you’re wanting to go for HRT. You’d be a prime candidate with your military and SWAT background.”

Nic took a slow sip of his scotch and said, “To be honest, I’m not sure what I want anymore.”

“We lost today, son. Doesn’t mean we have to like it. But that also doesn’t mean we have to give up fighting.”

Nic just shook his head, sighed, and took another drink. Carter noticed the young officer staring across the counter at a large white box. It looked like a cake box, but from the look on Nic’s face, there was some significance to it.

The sound of crunching gravel and lights shining into the window announced the arrival of another vehicle, and a moment later, Sgt. Ortiz came through the front door. He nodded to the officers in the living room, saw Nic and Carter, and joined them at the bar.

“Any news?” Nic asked.

Taz rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “They’ve slipped through. We’ve got the techies running down every camera in Vegas, and we’ve buttoned up every way out of the area. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Drink?”