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Christina asked from the doorway.
    Nick had to think about that. “Not since the bagel I puked up this morning.”
    “There’s pizza left from before. Want me to get you some?”
    Not at all sure he’d be able to get it down, he said, “Sure, thanks.”
    “Coming right up.”
    She returned a few minutes later with two slices that she had warmed in the microwave.
    “Thank you,” he said when she handed him the plate and a can of cola. Her blue eyes were rimmed with red, her face puffy from crying. “How’re you doing?”
    With a shrug, she collapsed into a chair on the other side of his desk. “I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs, and I can’t seem to breathe.”
    “I know you cared for him a great deal,” Nick said haltingly. They’d never discussed Christina’s feelings for John.
    “For all the good it did me.”
    “He loved you, Chris. You know he did.”
    “As a friend and colleague. Big whoop.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “So am I because now I have to live the whole rest of my life wondering what might’ve happened if I’d had the courage to tell him how I felt.”
    “I’m kind of glad you didn’t.”
    “I’m sure you are,” she said with a laugh.
    “Not because of work. I loved him like a brother. You know that. But he wasn’t good enough for you. He would’ve broken your heart.”
    “Probably,” she said. “No, definitely.”
    “If it makes you feel any better, I was confronted with a blast from my romantic past today. We spent a memorable night together six years ago, and I haven’t seen her since—until she walked into John’s apartment this morning as the detective in charge of the case.”
    Christina winced. “Awkward.”
    “To say the least.”
    “Do you trust her to handle the case?”
    “Sam’s a damned good detective.”
    “I thought you hadn’t seen her in six years.”
    “Doesn’t mean I haven’t read about her.”
    “Hmm,” she said, studying him.
    “What?”
    “Oh, nothing.” Her eyes widened all of a sudden. “What’s her last name?”
    “Holland.”
    “Oh my God! She’s the one who ordered the shoot-out at that crack house where the kid was killed!”
    “Yes.”
    “But, Nick, do we really want her investigating John’s murder? Couldn’t we get someone else?”
    “I trust her,” Nick said. “She has one blemish on an otherwise stellar career. And think of it this way, she’s got something to prove right now.”
    “I guess you’re right,” she said, still wary. The phone on Nick’s desk rang, and Christina reached for it. “Nick Cappuano’s office.” Once again her eyes widened, and she stammered as she said, “Of course. One moment please.”
    “Who is it?” Nick asked.
    “The president,” she whispered.
    Nick quickly swallowed a mouthful of pizza and reached for a napkin and the phone at the same time. “Good evening, Mr. President.” He had met President Nelson on several occasions—mostly in receiving lines at Democratic Party fundraisers—but a phone call from him was unprecedented.
    “Hello, Nick. Gloria and I just wanted to tell you all how sorry we are.”
    “Thank you, sir. I’ll pass that along to the staff. And thank you for the statement you issued to the press.”
    “I’ve known John since he was a little boy. I’m heartbroken.”
    “We all are.”
    “I can only imagine. I also wanted to make myself available for anything you might need over the next few days.”
    “I appreciate that. I know Senator and Mrs. O’Connor would be honored if you could speak at the funeral.”
    “ I’d be honored.”
    “I’ll work with your staff on the details.”
    “Let me give you my direct number in the residence. Feel free to use it.”
    Nick took down the number with a sense of disbelief. “Thank you.”
    “I spoke earlier with Chief Farnsworth and made the full resources of the federal government available to the Metropolitan Police. I’m sure you’ll be close to the investigation. If there’s