Sam's fingers snapped in front of her face. "You in there?"

"Barely." Faith reached for the door to the building just as he did. She let him open it for her. "I've got a lot on my mind."

"About last night—"

"It was two nights ago, actually."

He grinned. "Yeah, but I wasn't really thinking about it until last night."

Faith sighed as she pressed the elevator button.

"Come here." He pulled her toward the alcove on the other side of the elevator. There was a vending machine with three rows of sticky buns, which Faith knew without having to look.

Sam stroked her hair behind her ear. Faith pulled back. She wasn't ready for intimacy this early in the morning. She wasn't sure she was ever ready for it. Without thinking, she glanced up to make sure there wasn't a security camera watching them.

He said, "I was an ass the other night. I'm sorry."

She heard the elevator doors open, then close. "It's all right."

"No, it's not." He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back again.

"Sam, I'm at work." She didn't add the rest of what she was thinking, which was that she was in the middle of a case where one woman had died, another woman had been tortured and two more were missing. "This isn't the time."

"It's never the time," he said, something he'd often told her years ago when they were seeing each other. "I want to try this again with you."

"What about Gretchen?"

He shrugged. "Hedging my bets."

Faith groaned, pushing him away. She went back to the elevator and pressed the button. Sam didn't leave, so she told him, "I'm pregnant."

"I remember."

"I don't want to break your heart, but the baby's not yours."

"Doesn't matter."

She turned to face him. "Are you trying to work out some ghosts because your wife had an abortion?"

"I'm trying to get back into your life, Faith. I know it has to be on your terms."

Faith balked at the backhanded compliment. "I seem to recall one of the problems between us, other than you being a drunk, me being a cop, and my mother thinking you were the AntiChrist, was you didn't like the fact that I had a son."

"I was jealous of the attention you gave him."

At the time, she had accused him of this very thing. To hear him admit to it now left her nearly breathless.

"I've grown up," he said.

The elevator opened. Faith made sure the car was empty, then held the door open with her hand. "I can't have this conversation now. I've got work to do." She got into the elevator and let the doors go.

"Jake Berman lives in Coweta County."

Faith nearly lost her hand stopping the doors. "What?"

He took his notebook out of his pocket and wrote as he talked. "I tracked him down through his church. He's a deacon and a Sunday School teacher. They've got a great website with his picture on it. Lambs and rainbows. Evangelical."

Faith's brain couldn't process the information. "Why did you find him?"

"I wanted to see if I could beat you to the punch."

Faith didn't like where this was going. She tried to neutralize the situation. "Listen, Sam, we don't know that he's a bad guy."

"I guess you've never been in the men's room at the Mall of Georgia."

"Sam—"

"I haven't talked to him," he interrupted. "I just wanted to see if I could track him down when no one else could. I'm tired of Rockdale squeezing my balls. I much prefer it when you do."

Faith let that comment go, too. "Give me the morning to talk to him."

"I told you, I'm not looking for a story." He grinned, showing all his teeth. "It was an exercise in faith."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I wanted to see if I could do your job." He tore off the piece of paper, giving her a wink. "Pretty easy stuff."

Faith grabbed the address before he changed his mind. He held her gaze as the doors closed, then Faith found herself staring at her mirrored reflection on the back of the doors. She was sweating already, though she supposed in a pinch that could pass for a pregnant glow. Her hair was starting to frizz because, even though it was only April, the temperature was inching up the thermometer.

She looked at the address Sam had given her. There was a heart around the entire thing, which she found annoying and endearing in equal parts. She didn't quite trust that he wasn't looking for a story in Jake Berman. Maybe the Atlanta Beacon was doing a down-low exclusive, outing married churchgoers who were trolling glory holes and finding raped and tortured women in the middle of the road.

Could Berman be Pauline's brother? Now that she had an address, Faith wasn't so sure. What were the odds that Jake Berman had hooked up with Rick Sigler, and both men just happened to be on the road at the same time the Coldfields' car hit Anna Lindsey?

The doors opened, and Faith walked out onto her floor. None of the hall lights were on, and she flipped the switches as she walked toward Will's office. No light seeped from under his door, but she knocked anyway, knowing from his car that he was in the building.

"Yes?"

She opened the door. He was sitting at his desk with his hands clasped in front of his stomach. The lights were off.

She asked, "Everything okay?"

He didn't answer her question. "What's up?"

Faith shut the door and opened the folding chair. She saw the back of Will's hand, and that some new scratches had been added to the cuts he'd received while beating Simkov's face. She didn't mention this, instead going to the case. "I got Jake Berman's address. He's in Coweta. That's about forty-five minutes from here, right?"

"If the traffic's good." He held out his hand for the address.

She read it off to him. "Nineteen-thirty-five Lester Street."

He still had his hand out. For some reason, all Faith could do was stare at his fingers.

Will snapped, "I'm not a fucking idiot, Faith. I can read an address."

His tone was sharp enough to make the hair on the back of her neck rise. Will seldom cursed, and she had never heard him say "fuck" before. She asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just need the address. I can't do the interview with Simkov. I'll go find Berman and we'll meet back here after your appointment." He shook his hand. "Now give me the address."

She crossed her arms. She would die before she gave him the piece of paper. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but you need to get your head out of your ass and talk tome about this before we've got a real problem."

"Faith, I've only got two testicles. If you want one, you're going to have to talk to Amanda or Angie."

Angie. With that one word, all the fight seemed to go out of him. Faith sat back in the chair, her arms still crossed, studying him. Will looked out the window, and she could see the faint line of the scar going down the side of his face. She wanted to know how it had happened, how his skin had been gouged from his jaw, but as with everything else, the scar was just another thing they did not talk about.