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Tully would feel it necessary to call.
    “It doesn’t have to be this way,” Emma said, bringing him back to his senses, back to the task at hand.
    She’d flipped her hair back out of her eyes and was turned toward him, giving him that hopeful look of a little girl who wanted to make things right. They had been through a lot together in the last four years and she was right, it shouldn’t result in this current state of animosity. Once again she was the wise one, setting him straight, reminding him what was really important. No, they didn’t have to be arguing with each other and blaming each other. He welcomed a truce.
    He sighed and smiled at her just as he pulled to the curb in front of her school. But before he could tell her she was right and that he loved her, she said, “I wouldn’t have to depend on Andrea if you bought me my own car. It’d be so much easier.”
    So that’s what this was about. Tully tried to keep the disappointment from his face while Emma pecked a kiss on his cheek. She scooted across the seat and was out the door, backpack in one hand, latte in the other, brushing aside any hopes he had of an actual truce.

CHAPTER 3
    Reston, Virginia
    R.J. Tully slammed on his brakes, setting off a screeching chain reaction behind him. The Yukon driver who’d cut in front of him now waved a one finger salute before realizing he’d have to stop for the changing traffic light.
    “This is not my fault,” Tully’s daughter, Emma, said from the passenger seat. She was holding up her Starbucks latte with two hands, the protective spillproof lid intact, not a drip spilled.
    Tully glanced at his own coffee where he had left it in the console’s cup holder with the lid still off from when he had put in his cream. He hated drinking out of those spillproof lids. But maybe cleaning up the car’s interior would be an incentive to use them. Coffee had splashed all over including the knee of his trousers.
    “Why would this be your fault?” he asked her, but he kept his eyes on the Yukon driver who was staring at him in his rearview mirror. Was he goading Tully into a game of road rage? One of these days he’d love to pull out his FBI badge and wave it at an idiot like this. Especially now that the guy was stuck waiting for the red light just like the rest of the cars he had cut off.
    Tully glanced at Emma when she didn’t answer. She was staring out the passenger window, sipping her latte. “Why would you say that?” he asked again.
    “You know, you’re late for work because you have to drop me off.” She shrugged without looking at him. “So you’re in a hurry. But it’s not my fault you’re late.”
    “The idiot cut in front of me,” Tully said, almost adding that this had nothing to do with him being in a hurry. And it certainly wasn’t his fault, either. Thankfully he stopped himself. When had they gotten into playing the blame game? He and his ex-wife played it all the time, but only now did Tully realize he was taking on the same ritual with his daughter as if it were implanted in their genetic makeup, an involuntary reaction to outside stimuli.
    “It’s not your fault, sweet pea,” Tully said. “You know I don’t mind taking you to school. I’m glad to do it. I just need a bit more warning.”
    “Andrea got sick. You knew as soon as I knew.” She shot him a look as if daring him to challenge her.
    He didn’t take the bait. Satisfied, Emma swiped at her long, blond hair that continually fell across her eyes. He stopped himself from saying anything.
    “It’s the style,” she told Tully every time he nagged her about the habit. She had beautiful blue eyes. She shouldn’t be hiding them. Though he didn’t mention it now to avoid the eye-rolling and heavy sigh that usually followed his comments.
    The light turned green. Tully eased his foot off the brake, slowing himself down. Maybe the knot in the back of his neck wasn’t from the rude Yukon driver. Things had been tense between