“I’d put everything I’ve got on that,” Malone said.

“Let’s do this.” Sam hated that she had to stay back while the rest of her team followed SWAT and SRT into the home, but she wouldn’t do anything to compromise the integrity of the investigation.

After Malone gave the order, the sound of glass breaking shattered the quiet in the neighborhood as one officer after another reported in.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“We’ve got Vincent.”

Sam exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

“Security neutralized.”

“We got him,” Sam said, filled with overwhelming relief and anguish for the pain this man had caused her family and so many others.

“You got him,” Malone said. “You did this.”

“Any word from the DEA?”

“Not yet.”

Cruz and Green escorted Vincent out of the house in handcuffs. He wore only a pair of boxer briefs and was much younger than Sam had expected him to be. His hair stood on end, and his eyes were wild as he seemed to realize his game was over.

Carlucci and O’Brien followed with a half-naked woman, who was equally disheveled and also in handcuffs.

They’d been instructed to arrest everyone in the house. They would sort out the details back at HQ.

Next came the security people in various states of undress, fighting the officers escorting them every step of the way.

Malone took a call from the chief. “DEA has taken control of the warehouse. No one was there.”

Hubris, Sam thought. They hadn’t banked on her.

“You should go home,” Malone said. “Get some rest. Be with your family tomorrow. We’ll take it from here.”

“Don’t worry about coming to the funeral. Angela would want you guys working the case.”

“We’ll do both.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

While others dealt with the paperwork following the raid at Vincent’s home, Jake Malone slipped out in the predawn to pay a visit to Paul Conklin. He was out on bail awaiting trial on charges related to Skip’s homicide and that of Skip’s former partner, Steven Coyne. For four years, Conklin had withheld information that could’ve solved both shootings while serving as the department’s deputy chief and pretending to be Skip’s good friend.

Normally, Jake wouldn’t show up at someone’s house at five in the morning, but he needed to get this done, and Conklin had lost the right to any sort of human decency. People like him and Stahl made Jake sick. Stahl was hideous, but Conklin was worse because he’d been their friend, or so they’d thought.

Jake swallowed his revulsion as he rang the bell and knocked on the door to the Northern Virginia townhome Conklin shared with his wife.

The man who came to the door bore no resemblance to the Paul Conklin that Jake had known for decades. He’d put on weight, his hair was messy, and he hadn’t shaved in days. His face registered surprise at seeing Jake on his doorstep as he pushed open the storm door.