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be Samantha Cappuano at home, which had taken him completely by surprise.
    As she sifted through the hundreds of congratulatory cards, letters and messages, Sam continued to be amazed by how popular she and Nick had become throughout the Capital region during their whirlwind romance.
    “May your life be filled with all the love and joy that brought you together,” one message read.
    “Amen,” Sam said. She was onboard with a lifetime of the love and joy she’d experienced with Nick over the last few months. She could, however, do without the spate of drama that began with the murder of his boss, Senator John O’Connor, continued with Nick’s appointment to complete the last year of John’s term, the murder of O’Connor family friend and Supreme Court nominee Julian Sinclair, Nick’s decision to run for the Senate in the fall election, and the investigation that led to the abduction and assault of Sam’s colleague, Detective Jeannie McBride.
    Life, she had assured Nick during the blissful days of their honeymoon, surely couldn’t continue to be as crazy as it had been lately. He’d been skeptical, but he had good reason to be.
    She followed her nose to a pink envelope that reeked of cheap perfume. When she opened it, she scowled at the confetti that spilled onto her desk. Why did people think anyone wanted a card full of shredded paper to clean up? “As you begin your married life, may you know good luck, good health and good fortune,” the card proclaimed.
    Under the printed message, the sender had handwritten in block letters, “Dear Sam, So happy to hear you now have everything you’ve ever dreamed of—a job you love, a family you love and a man who loves you as much as you love him. No one deserves such happiness more than you do. I hope you both live long enough to enjoy all that good luck, good health and good fortune.” It was signed, “An Old Friend.”
    She dropped the card onto her desk and scooted her chair back from the desk. Rising, she went to the door and signaled to Cruz in the pit. “Bring me an evidence bag,” she said.
    Freddie came into the office holding the bag in one hand and a half-eaten candy bar in the other.
    “Find some gloves, will you?”
    “What’re you up to?”
    “Just get them, will you?”
    Shooting her a puzzled look, he left the office.
    Sam stared at the card on her desk, her mind whirling with possibilities. In twelve years on the police force, she’d made her share of enemies. In a matter of seconds she compiled a long list of possible suspects.
    Freddie returned with the gloves. “What’ve you got?”
    “A thinly veiled threat.” She relayed what the card had said. “Or so it seemed to me.”
    “Let me see.”
    She nodded to the card lying open on her desk.
    He took a bite of his candy bar. “I don’t get it,” he said, his voice muffled by caramel and nougat.
    “Read it again.”
    “Okay. So what?”
    “They hope we ‘live long enough’ to enjoy our happiness? Is that something people normally write in a wedding card?”
    “Hmm. You may have a point.”
    “Gee, really? And here I thought you were one of my best and brightest.”
    He scowled at her and took another bite of candy.
    Donning the gloves, she lifted the card and envelope into the evidence bag. “Get that to the lab and tell them I want a full workup ASAP. Don’t get chocolate on the bag.”
    He rolled his eyes at her. “What about the rest of it?”
    Sam glanced at the huge pile of unopened cards on her desk. “Until we have more to go on with the Carl’s killings, I guess we glove up and go through each one.”
    “You think Nick got one too?”
    Sam sucked in a sharp deep breath. “Christ, I never thought of that. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” As he scowled at her for using the Lord’s name in vain, she reached for the phone to call her husband. Thinking of him that way made her buzz with happiness even if the reason for the call was unsettling.
    “Hey, babe,” he