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head.  “I can’t tell you in minutes, but I can get DNA from the fluids.”
    That was a huge lead.  Colt and Brock both looked at each other.  “How long will that take?”
    “Can you get me comparison samples?”
    Brock thought about how he’d like to get samples from one woman, but dismissed the idea as completely unethical no matter how much fun it might be.  “Yeah, we can get you DNA samples tomorrow.  How soon will you be able to see if it’s a match?”
    Joe sighed and leaned against the table.  “Usually in about five to ten days , but if you guys are willing to sign for the additional expense, I can get something back to you within seventy-two hours.”
    Colt nodded his head.  “We’ll get the comparison samples, and if we need a push, we’ll let you know.  I’m pretty sure our captain will let us run with that.”
    Brock agreed, but his mind was still on various ways he’d like to capture one woman’s DNA.  Too bad he probably needed a pure sample.  All the ways he was considering would contaminate the sample with his own DNA. 
    Colt and Brock moved back to Brock’s office, where Sam and Walker were waiting in ambush. 
    “We he ard you pulled a shooting,” Walker said, leaning against the wall and tossing the “stress” ball in the air, catching it with his other hand.  “What’s going on?”
    Sam was reading a text message, smiling.  That could only mean that Hannah, his fiancée, had sent him a message.  Brock snorted, Colt rolled his eyes and Walker took the stress ball and tried to ping Sam’s head.  It was a wasted effort.  Sam might be madly in love with his woman, but he hadn’t lost any reaction time. Without missing a beat, his hand shot up and caught the ball before it even came close to his head.  “Nice try,” Sam said and tucked his cell phone into the case.  “Payback is hell.”
    Walker didn’t appear to be overly concerned.  Turning to Brock, he said, “Tell us what’s going on.  We just solved our case, so we’re ready to help.”
    “I thought yours was a double homicide,” Colt perked up. 
    Sam shrugged.  “Drug violence,” he said and those were the only two words he needed to say.  Drug violence meant that there were too many people who were more than happy to brag about the vio lence.  Some idiots even posted their confessions on social media sites to up their “street cred” – or their influence in the neighborhood.  They all thought police were too stupid to turn to the Internet to find their answers.  Once they had a suspect, it was just a matter of getting a search warrant and finding the weapon. 
    Amazingly, many drug dealers also didn’t have the common sense to get rid of the clothing they were wearing when they committed the murder. That meant that there was gunshot residue all over their clothing, the vehicle (if it was a drive-by), and even their skin.  Usually it was a simple matter of finding the suspect, matching up the gun, and connecting the gun to the perpetrator.  Most of the time, the murders weren’t even a challenge.  Other times, they were a complete mystery with too many people claiming responsibility.  Those were a conundrum. 
    Brock and Colt went over their findings so far while Walker and Sam listened in.  The four of them brainstormed about the leads they’d gotten to date.
    Colt’s eyes lasered in on a statement.  “What were your thoughts on this Nina woman?  You said she was hiding something.”
    Brock thought about her blue eyes, that pale skin , and her long, silky dark hair – it should never be constrained in a tight bun like she wore today.  He glanced at the clock on the wall behind Sam and realized that she was probably home, most likely kicking off those sexy heels, pulling the pins out of her hair, just like he’d like to be doing right about now if he were with her. 
    Yeah, the woman definitely had hit all of his pressure points. 
    “Earth to Brock!” Sam called out,