The Embassy Suites
Omaha, Nebraska

Nick knew he should apologize. He had felt it even during their earlier meeting, that he was out of line, acting defensive…well, this morning he needed to act defensive on Tony’s behalf, but now…now it was ridiculous.

“I’m not the one suspecting your friend,” she said. Nick thought she looked exhausted, her eyes searching around. Was she hoping for an escape route? “A friendly piece of advice, tell him to stop being so evasive and answer the OPD’s questions. He’s only hurting himself by making them believe he has something to hide.”

Nick leaned against the wall, a bit exhausted himself, and crossed his arms over his chest, the newspaper still tucked. “I’ve told him,” he said, letting down his guard and allowing his frustration to show. “I’ve told him exactly that. He won’t listen to me, either.”

For the first time her eyes met his and for a brief moment he was reminded of that time four years ago when they were working the Platte City case. Why was it that whenever he slipped and showed her he wasn’t quite in control, she seemed to connect with him most?

“Do you think he has something to hide?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve known Tony Gallagher since we were both five years old. He can be stubborn and he can talk his way out of just about anything. But I know he couldn’t kill someone.”

“Even if he thought it was the right thing?”

“What do you mean?”

Nick waited while Maggie set the ice bucket at her stocking feet and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms to mirror him. He noticed that she had shed her jacket and wore only a white knit blouse still tucked into the waistband of her suit trousers. She looked good, better than ever. Despite looking exhausted at the moment, Nick sensed there was something about her that seemed…content. Had she finally put the demons of her past behind her?

“I’m convinced,” she said, “that this killer thinks he’s doing the right thing. Maybe even that he’s doing the work of the Lord.”

A chill slid down Nick’s back, enough of a chill to make him admit that maybe he was wrong. He had been thinking about what Tony had said earlier—off the record, friend to friend—about his confrontation with Monsignor O’Sullivan. Tony said he had told him—no, he had warned him—that if the allegations were true, he wouldn’t sit back and be quiet. But what did that mean?

Before Nick could say anything another guest came down the hall, ice bucket in hand, and Maggie moved out of the alcove’s doorway. The woman smiled at the two of them, and they made small talk about the weather while she filled her ice bucket. Then she walked between them again with another smile. Nick wondered if she thought she was interrupting a lovers’ spat. She took her time walking down the hall, and when she turned the corner he realized both he and Maggie were listening for the woman’s hotel-room door to open and shut.

“Not the best place to have a serious conversation,” he said with a smile and wanted to offer that they continue it in his suite, but a gentleman waited for the woman to make that offer. Maybe he was hoping she would offer. What would he do then?

He had the suite to himself tonight. Jill was going to be out late with her mother and maid of honor doing something or other. She’d be spending the night at her mom’s. And why was he even worrying about this? Was he that much of an idiot? It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

“I need to go. I have some phone calls to make,” she finally said, picking up the ice bucket, but not making a move to leave.

“Yeah, me too,” he lied.

“Well, good night.” And she started down the hall.

“Good night.”

He tried not to watch her and didn’t want to follow, but then he realized she was going in the same direction he needed to go. God had a weird sense of humor, he thought as he watched her unlock and enter a suite only two doors down and across the hall from his.