They’d released multiple warnings about a sexual predator targeting Rock Creek Park, but that hadn’t stopped Ling or other women from continuing to live their lives despite the threat. Sam didn’t blame them. Why should they live in fear? It infuriated her that anyone in their city had to live that way, and she was more determined than ever to stop this guy.

A short time later, they made their way back to the cars, stopping to question everyone they encountered, asking if they’d seen or heard anything.

“Someone has to have seen something at one of these scenes,” Gonzo said.

“Since I can’t do stairs, I’ll go back to brief the media and make an appeal for info,” Sam said. “You guys track down her people.”

“I’d rather brief the media,” Freddie said.

“So would I,” Sam said.

Vernon helped Sam back into the SUV. “Where we headed?”

“To HQ please.”

“You got it.” When he was in the car, he glanced at her in the mirror. “Is this one related to the other?”

“We won’t know for certain until we get DNA, but it looks to be.”

“Damn it.”

“You said it.” Sam called Malone. “We’ve got another sexual assault-murder.”

“Shit. Where?”

“South end of the park this time, by Adams Morgan. We need to put out yet another alert to the community, and I want to talk to you and the chief about using FDS to try to track this guy down.”

“That’s gonna be a tough sell, Sam. The mayor is adamantly opposed to it.”

“And for good reason. I agree there’s a disproportionate number of minorities in the system, but if there’s something we can do to catch this guy before he rapes and kills another woman, why wouldn’t we at least try?”

“You’re preaching to the choir. She’s the one you have to convince, along with the U.S. Attorney.”

“I’ll work on that.”

“Word on the street is that the FBI report is coming tomorrow. Avery asked if he could have a few minutes with us at the end of the day today. Can you be there?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back soon,” she said, even as worries about what would be in that report had her anxiety spiking.

Nick had called the meeting of his closest advisers—Terry, Derek, Christina, Trevor and George, his speechwriter—to reveal the first cut on the State of the Union speech he wanted to give. He’d kept his cards close to the vest on the speech, intending to write most of it himself so he could give it the tenor and tone he wanted. He handed out the copies he’d asked one of the administrative assistants to make for him.

“This is what I’d like to do,” he said, sitting back while the others reviewed the draft.