“The Candace Swain homicide.”

“Give me a minute.”

She nodded, walked around the lobby looking at the photos—two officers lost in the line of duty since FPD had been founded more than a hundred years ago. She knew one of them: they’d gone to the same high school, and he was a year behind her. He’d only been twenty-eight when he was killed. Risk was part of the job they signed up for, but his murder was completely senseless. She had adjusted to her dad leaving every morning with the idea that he might not come home. He’d once told her that no matter what, when you leave your family, tell them you love them.

“It doesn’t matter if you had a disagreement, a fight, if you’re still angry even after a good night’s sleep. Tell them you love them and you’ll work it out, no matter what. Because tomorrow is never guaranteed.”

She understood more than she wanted to. She had accepted that she might lose her dad in the line of duty. She’d accepted that she might lose her own life in the line of duty. She had never conceived of losing her son.

She still didn’t know how to accept it. She could face the truth: Chase was dead. But accepting the facts was a world different than accepting that she would never hold her son again, watch him play ball, hear his laugh.

Raul called over to her. “Young is coming out.”

She breathed deeply, controlled her emotions, turned to face her friend. “Thank you.”

Five minutes later, a man she suspected was Steven Young turned down the hall and walked toward the lobby. He was tall with dark eyes. Late thirties, early forties. Well-dressed. He wore black-framed eyeglasses and a gun in his shoulder holster.

“Merritt?” he said.

“Detective.” She extended her hand. He hesitated, then shook it.

“Follow me.”

He knew why she was here. His poker face was good, but the tension in his grip revealed him.

She followed him down the hall to a small conference room, the first on the right, and he motioned for her to sit, which she did. He closed the door and sat across from her.

“You know why I’m here,” she said.

“I listened to Vega’s podcast,” he said.

That didn’t surprise her. If she were in the same position, she would have listened as well.

When she didn’t say anything, he added, “I was surprised that a former US Marshal would participate in something like that.”

“Like what?”

He frowned, leaned back. Assessed her. “A sensational program like that podcast.”

“My former advisor from NAU asked me to talk to Lucas. I was intrigued by his program so agreed to be interviewed.”

“I wish you had talked to me first.”