Page 9 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

“Ahh, that’s sweet, baby,” she said as she washed herself. “I feel the same way.”

He got out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and yawned hard. “What’s on your plate today?”

“Got to meet Elena ASAP,” Bree said. “She just texted me. Said it was urgent.”

“Be safe, whatever it is,” he said. “Good night, and can you try to keep Ali quiet?”

“As quiet as is humanly possible with your youngest child,” Bree said, turning off the shower. She got out and grabbed a towel. “I’ll be slinky-quiet going out of here.”

“I like you slinky,” he said. He trudged to the bed, dropped his towel, and climbed in.

He was asleep five minutes later when Bree left the bathroom after applying her makeup. She tiptoed into the walk-in closet, closed the door behind her, chose one of the navy-blue pant-suits she’d lived in as a police detective, and quickly dressed.

Alex was snoring, a pillow over his head, when she crept out, shoes and bag in hand. She closed the bedroom door and made it down the stairs without a sound.

Nana Mama, Alex’s ninety-something grandmother, was already in the kitchen, breaking eggs for omelets. Coffee dripped into the pot.

“Was that Alex just coming in?” Nana asked.

Bree nodded. “He looked like a punching bag.”

Nana’s face fell. “I hate that he has to see all these things up close. Especially after everything that’s happened to him.”

“That’s the job,” Bree said.

“I know. I know, and he’s good at it.”

“One of the best.”

“I worry about the toll it takes on him to be one of the best.”

“I do too, Nana,” Bree said, hugging her. “We just have to be there for him when he hurts.”

Alex’s grandmother hugged her back. “Is he hurting?”

“He’s sleeping right now,” Bree said, pulling away. “But he was, yes.”

“What do you want in your omelet?”

“Just having coffee this morning, Nana,” Bree said, going to a cabinet for a go-cup.

“You should eat.”

Before Bree could reply, her phone buzzed again with an address across the river in Rosslyn, Virginia, and the wordsWill meet you there in twenty.

Bree’s car was parked three blocks away; she decided she’d get there faster if she took an Uber. She ordered it and headed to the door.

“Where are you going now?” Nana asked.

“Just over to Rosslyn.”

“When does Alex want to get up?”

“Let him sleep in. He needs it.”

CHAPTER 11

ELENA MARTIN WAS PACINGin front of a high-rise in Rosslyn, alternately sipping nervously from a coffee and smoking a cigarette.

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