With a coffee cup in his hand, Adrian hunched over his desk. Flipping through the pages of his notes, he tried to piece together the clues left in the wake of the two recent homicides. Could they be connected? If so, who or what connected them? He stretched and yawned. His coffee cup needed a refill.

Before he could nudge his chair, warm arms curled around his shoulders and a tender kiss caressed his cheek, making him feel more alive than coffee ever could. "Natalie." He turned his chair just enough to reach her waist and tug her into his lap. He had wanted her touch, her kisses as he laid in bed next to her that morning, but it was too early to wake her. Not being able to sleep, he came downstairs. Now, he gazed at her, still dressed in her blue, satin nightgown, a sheer robe tied loosely over it. The early morning sun came through the window, bathing her in soft light. He exhaled. He had always thought her beautiful like this.

She leaned in for a hug. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sweetheart." When she lifted her head to find his eyes, he cupped her face and drew her closer. They met in a kiss that flooded his senses with an awareness of her presence—the softness of her lips, the vanilla scent of her lotion, the gentle pressure of her fingertips as they wove through his hair. He was also aware of his very need of her, in every way. Like pure oxygen for his soul, he wanted to inhale her and never let her go.

She leaned her forehead against his. "Mmm, what a nice way to start the morning."

"I wanted to wake you like this, but it was too early." He wished he could turn back the clock.

"It's not too early now," she purred in his ear. "Maybe we should go back to bed and you can pretend to wake me."

He flashed a dimpled smile before he captured her lips and wrapped his arms around her back and under her knees. He stood, lifting her petite frame as he did. He made it to the stairs, but before he set a foot on the first step, he heard it. A cry. Timothy was awake and probably hungry.

Natalie dropped her head to his shoulder. "Will you take a rain check?"

"The best-laid plans of mice and men …" He groaned, putting her down.

"And women." She turned, halfway up the stairs. "Can you make more coffee?"

After everyone was dressed, breakfast was eaten, and the dishes were washed, the family gathered together in the living room. At his desk once again, Adrian pored over his notes while Natalie folded laundry on the couch. Sophia laid on a blanket, next to Timothy while they watched Curious George on PBS.

Adrian turned in his chair. "Natalie, do you think I'm barking up the wrong tree with the Adam Gray connection on these cases?"

She placed a white onesie on the coffee table and turned to him. "Do you think there's a connection?"

"Yes, and it's the only one I can find right now."

"I think if you see a connection, you should pursue it." She picked up a crocheted baby blanket to fold.

"Leland doesn't think I should. Maybe he's right. He knows Gray a lot better than I do, and he does have an alibi, at least for the Gomez case."

She stopped folding. "Are you only saying that because of Leland's reaction to your suggestion?"

Adrian stood and walked toward her, choosing to sit on the arm of the couch. "No …" She stopped folding and met his eyes. He stood back up and began to pace. "Okay, yes. Natalie, what do I do?"

"I can't tell you what to do, but I will remind you that your best friend, Leland is a reasonable man. I'm sure if you talk to him and explain what you're thinking, he'll at least be willing to listen."

He stopped pacing and threw his hands in the air. "You're right. I'll talk to him."

"Today?"

Adrian walked back to his desk. "Yes, today."

After dropping Adrian off at the precinct, Natalie drove to the downtown sandwich shop where she planned to meet T.K. for lunch. With Timothy on her hip and Sophia grasping her hand, she found a table near the back, out of the way of the local office workers on their lunch break. She settled Sophia beside her with a coloring book and placed Timothy in a highchair. She opened a small jar of Gerber pears just as she saw T.K. walk towards her.

The women exchanged a hug and T.K. took a seat across from her. "Thank you for meeting me here. I know you've got the kids today, and you're busy …"

"You didn't have to ask twice. We're never too busy for Aunt T.K., are we baby?" Natalie stroked Sophia's dark hair, which had recently passed her shoulders.

Sophia looked up from her coloring and clapped. "T.K.!"

"Hi, sweetie," T.K. said, visibly relaxing. "Is Adrian at the precinct?"

Natalie dipped a small spoon in the jar of baby food. "Yes, I dropped him off. Leland wants him there while they go over the notes from yesterday's homicide investigation.

T.K. unrolled her napkin and silverware bundle. "Is that the narcotics officer homicide?"

"Yes, Elliott Ross." Natalie guided the spoon to Timothy's mouth as he slapped the highchair tray in anticipation.

"That was so shocking. Leland was very moody last night. I know it's weighing on him."

"Adrian was distant last night too, and Sophia roped him into a tea party. He was having a hard time staying focused on her or anything else."

T.K. sighed and took a sip of her water. "Leland always takes the death of a fellow officer hard, but death as the result of a murder—that's far worse."

"Do you know if Officer Ross was married?" Natalie asked.

"I don't think so. No kids either that I know of."

"Well, thank goodness for that." Natalie gave Timothy the last spoonful from the jar and wiped his face with a napkin.

T.K. watched. "When did you start giving him solids?"

"A couple of weeks ago. He was always hungry, so I asked the doctor, and she said to go ahead with it."

T.K. chuckled. "Well look how fast he's growing. He needs it."

Natalie exhaled. "Tell me about it. He's already wearing nine-month sizes."

Natalie put the jar away and pulled out Timothy's bottle just as the waitress arrived with their orders. They continued with small talk while they ate, but after a while, T.K. turned quiet. She pushed the remainder of her salad around her bowl without finishing it. Natalie helped Sophia with her last couple bites of macaroni and cheese, then turned to her friend. "T.K., is something wrong?"

T.K. put down her fork and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "No … not exactly."

The waitress returned, and Natalie ordered chai lattes for herself and T.K. and an oatmeal cookie for Sophia.

Twisting her napkin in her hands, T.K. continued. "Let me ask you this—do you ever worry about Adrian?"

Natalie finished her sandwich and set her plate to the side. "I hate to admit it, but I do. I know he's fine without me. It's not like it used to be, but after working with him for so long, it still doesn't feel right. I worry that he'll need me when I'm not with him, especially with a tough case like this one. I want to be with him, but if I go back full-time, it will mean long hours away from the kids. I miss him, but I don't want to miss out on these precious years when they're little. I worked so much when Julie was young, I feel like she grew up in the blink of an eye." She sighed. "I'm sorry, T.K. I didn't mean to hijack the conversation. I'm such a mess."

"Natalie, look. I never had children of my own, but every woman I know who does feels the same way. Don't feel guilty about working hard when you were raising Julie. You were doing what needed to be done at the time, and it didn't seem to hurt her. She's a lovely young woman. And now, I think you're doing a great job finding balance with your new family."

"Thank you. That means more than you know." Timothy began to fuss, so Natalie pulled him out of the highchair and rocked him in her arms. "Are you worried about Leland?"

"Yes …" T.K. tried to smooth the creases she had made in her twisted napkin.

"He'll be okay. I know this case is a tough one, but they'll find the guy. They always do. Then, he'll mellow out."

"I know, but it's not his job or even this case I'm worried about. I worry about him being injured or heaven forbid, end up like Elliott Ross. Police work is a very dangerous job."

"I know. That's another thing I hate about being away from Adrian. Sometimes it's so hard to wait to hear his key in the door or get his phone call telling me he's on his way home. When I'm with him, at least I know he's safe."

T.K. wrapped her hands around her warm mug of tea and looked into the swirl of white foam on top. "I guess this is silly, but I didn't think you worried. You always seem so strong … do you remember when we talked right before my wedding? You were the one who encouraged me to go through with it. You talked about Mitch and how you would do it all over again, even knowing what would happen."

"I remember, but loving them and accepting the risks that come with who they are doesn't mean we don't worry." Natalie reached her hand across the table to touch her friend's arm. "T.K., I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. "I'm just a normal wife who worries about her husband because he works in a dangerous profession, and so are you. I would be more alarmed if it didn't scare you a little. It shows how much you love him."

"But, how do you deal with it on a daily basis?" T.K. looked up with a light laugh. "I made such a show at our wedding of pinning Leland's badge on him and telling him I knew who I was marrying."

"And you know how much that meant to him."

T.K. took a sip of her tea. "Yes, I do. It was easy to be brave when I was standing there on the beach looking at life through rose-colored glasses, but the day-to-day reality is so much harder than I thought it would be." She took another sip, then set her cup down. "I try to be strong, but too often I'm not. Then, my fear comes out as nagging, and … well, a nagging wife is the last thing I wanted to be."

Natalie set down her own cup of tea and cleaned Sophia's face of cookie crumbs. "Have you talked to Leland about how you feel?"

"Not exactly. I've been trying to get him to take this promotion he was offered."

"But he doesn't want to take it because he doesn't want to be stuck behind a desk?

T.K. exhaled. "Exactly, and now he gets mad at me when I bring it up. He thinks I'm ignoring his feelings because I want the pay raise. In reality, I don't care about the money. I just want him to be safe."

"I know you do. We always want our loved ones to be safe. It's only natural." Timothy rubbed his eyes and yawned. Natalie leaned down and kissed his head. When she looked up, T.K. was staring in the distance, unfocused.

"T.K., there's more to it isn't there?"

She slowly nodded. "Leland would kill me if he knew I was talking about this, so please don't tell anybody—even Adrian."

"I won't. What's going on?"

"Leland's doctor is concerned about his blood pressure. He's on medication for it, but the doctor said he needs to reduce his stress, along with some dietary changes and more exercise."

"And Leland's not listening."

T.K. sighed. "He's so stubborn … Natalie, I know he loves his job, but I love him. I want to grow old with him, long after he retires."

Natalie reached for her friend's hand. "He'll come around. He loves you too. He'll do what's best for both of you."

"I hope you're right. I love Leland with every breath I have, and I would marry him all over again. I'm just tired of wondering if his goodbye kiss in the morning will be his last."

Natalie placed a sleepy Timothy against her shoulder. "You need to talk to him. You need to be honest with him about why you want him to take the promotion."

T.K. sighed. "I know. I hide my concerns. I just want to be strong and supportive. Karen never supported his profession, and I don't want him to think I'm anything like her."

"You're not Karen. Don't compare yourself. It can eat you up. Trust me, I know."

"You do? Who do you compare yourself to … wait, do you feel you have to compare yourself to Adrian's first wife?"

"I don't have to, but I do. She's like this legend. No one ever says anything bad about her. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was perfect, but even if she wasn't, she's awfully hard to live up to."

T.K. leaned forward and caught Natalie's eye. "You think you'll disappoint Adrian because you're not the perfect wife you think Trudy was?"

"Yeah. Sometimes."

T.K. laughed. "Believe me. That is one thing you don't have to worry about. I have never seen a man look at a woman the way that husband of yours looks at you, and Leland will tell you the same. He knew Adrian when he was married to Trudy, and he will tell you he's never seen him happier than he is right now, married to you. By all I've heard, Trudy was good to Adrian, and he loved her, but I think the memory of her became almost mythical. No one wants to speak unkindly of the dead, so only the good is remembered. Maybe it's because you share his work and understand him in a way she never could, but you two have something really special." She looked at the children across from her. "Besides these special children of course."

"You've gone and made me cry." Natalie dabbed her eyes with her napkin. As she did, her eyes caught the light reflecting off her charm bracelet. She lifted her head and smiled. "You're right. How could I ever doubt?"

T.K. stood and reached across the table. "Now, you're going to let me hold this baby before he gets too big to hold." She took Timothy's sleeping form, then reached into her purse, pulling out a small booklet, which she handed to Sophia.

Sophia's eyes grew big as she opened it. "Stickers!"

"You're spoiling her again," Natalie scolded.

"That's what godmothers are for, and Natalie, thanks again for coming and listening to me. You're right, of course. I need to talk to Leland."

Natalie glanced at her sleeping son in her friend's arms, then at her smiling daughter already enjoying her gift. She caught T.K.'s eyes with a warm smile. "That's what best friends are for."

Simmering anger mixed with grief could now be felt as Monk walked the halls of the precinct. Elliott Ross was one of theirs, a member of their family. On the other side of the coin, it was also why Leland was so reluctant to suspect any misconduct from Adam Gray. He was also one of theirs. Monk knew he would have to approach the subject with caution.

He found the captain standing beside Lt. Washington's desk while Dwayne sat behind it, an open Styrofoam container in front of him.

Stottlemeyer turned, catching him out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, Monk. Glad you could make it."

Washington swallowed then held up the container. "Want a nacho? I've got plenty."

Monk peered at the pile of chips smothered in melted cheese and who knows what else. Having his own, he might indulge, but being a communal container, he shook his head. "No thanks. I ate at home."

Washington shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Stottlemeyer took a seat in a nearby chair and Monk chose the top of the desk. "Have you gotten the reports back?" Monk asked.

"Just came in," Stottlemeyer said as Washington opened the manila folder on his desk. "Tox is clean. Ross definitely wasn't under the influence."

"Here's the autopsy," Washington said, spreading photos and notes across his desk. "You were right, Monk. He was dead before he hit the water. He didn't die from drowning or from hypothermia. Wasn't a heart attack either."

Monk's eyes grew wide as they skimmed the documents. "What was it then?"

"Blunt force trauma, like you suspected," Stottlemeyer said. "They found metal fragments in that wound on the back of his head—high carbon, heat-treated steel."

Monk looked up. "High carbon steel? Like a hammer?"

Washington closed his container of nachos and wiped his hands on a napkin. "Something like that. Definitely not a rock as our U.S. Parks investigator suggested."

"His skull was cracked," Stottlemeyer said. "It's unlikely he could've hit anything in the water with enough force to cause that."

Monk flipped through the pages of the report and picked up a picture of the yellow fiber he had found on the victim's sleeve. "Any hits on this?"

"That is propylene rope," Stottlemeyer said. "Boaters like it because it's lightweight, it floats, and it resists mold and mildew. We're trying to track down the manufacturer now. Something else interesting came through this morning. Ross's blue Dodge Ram pickup was found in some woods up in Marin County this morning."

Monk's forehead creased. "Marin County? That's nowhere near Ross's house. In fact, it's on the opposite side of the city."

Stottlemeyer stroked his mustache. I'm convinced Ross didn't make it home Saturday night. I think he was intercepted between here and there, killed, then put on a boat and dumped in the bay. Then, the perp had to get rid of Ross's truck. If it had been found at the perp's house or anywhere he could have been connected to, it would have been incriminating evidence."

"I don't suppose any fingerprints or DNA evidence was found in the truck?"

"Nothing yet," Stottlemeyer said. "It appears to be wiped clean."

Monk sighed. "Like the Gomez murder scene."

"Yeah, our perp is not a novice." Stottlemeyer leaned his arms across the desk.

"What about that notepad by the phone at Ross's house?" Monk asked. "Did anything come out of that?"

Washington nodded as he pulled his own notebook from his jacket, draped on the back of his chair. "I talked to Scottie down in evidence, and he confirmed that Ross called him from home on Friday. Ross wanted to confirm the amounts of drugs seized in the arrests he had been involved in earlier last week. The writing on the notepad matched up to what Scottie gave him over the phone. Ross didn't say why he was asking, but Scottie said he seemed concerned and would talk to him more in person."

"Did Ross or Scottie talk to anyone else about the phone call?"

"We've been interviewing everyone in narcotics, but so far, no one knows anything about it."

Monk watched officers moving in and out of the bullpen. A couple of narcotics officers could be overheard talking about a case. "Do we know who signed off on the drug seizures Ross inquired about? Was it Ross himself or someone else?"

"Did you get that?" Stottlemeyer inquired of his lieutenant.

Washington flipped to a page of his notepad and looked up, his face growing serious. "Sergeant Gray," he said in a subdued tone.

Monk turned to Stottlemeyer who ran his hand through his hair. He stood up. "In my office."

Moments later, the police captain paced across his office while Washington and Monk stood, waiting for him to speak. "Okay," he finally said. "I know what you're thinking, Monk, but you know, as well as I do, what that kind of thinking implies. This is starting to feel too much like the Russell DiMarco case from years ago, and I don't like that feeling. As I said, we're interviewing everyone in narcotics, and that includes Gray. Along with that, we're going to keep digging, here and elsewhere." He stopped and put his hands on his hips. "I'm not completely denying a connection is possible. I just don't like it. Until we have a lot more evidence, we're going to keep any and all thoughts concerning Sergeant Gray under our hats. Capiche?"

"Capiche," Washington said before looking at his watch. "Hey, I'm going to go get some lunch. You guys want to come?"

"Lunch?" Monk asked. "You just ate."

"The nachos? That was a snack, man. I need some real food."

Monk watched Dwayne leave, then turned to Leland who was now sitting at his desk, his face in his hands. "Leland …"

Stottlemeyer held up his hand. "Monk … here, sit down." He motioned to a chair in front of his desk.

Stottlemeyer looked up when Monk took his seat. It was then Monk noticed the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His tie had been loosened and his top shirt button was undone. He looked tired, worn down.

Monk leaned forward, resting his forearms on the captain's desk. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Sergeant Gray isn't involved."

Stottlemeyer sat up and sighed, running his fingers through his already unruly hair. "Listen, buddy … I'm sorry I blew up at you … twice. You're just doing your job. You're doing the job I asked you to do, and you're good at it. Sometimes too good. The thing is, I think you're on to something, and frankly, it scares me. A cop killed in the line of duty is sad, but we all know the risk involved when we sign on the dotted line. A murdered cop makes me angry, but this … the implications of what this might be could blow this precinct apart."

Monk rubbed his hands on his pant legs. "I don't like it either."

Stottlemeyer leaned back and crossed his arms. "So, if Gray is our guy, what do you think his motivation could be?"

"Luke said he attended his addiction recovery group to overcome a gambling addiction, which explains the bag and chip from the Peppermill. If he got in trouble with some loan sharks, he may be stealing drugs seized in arrests to sell and pay them off."

"And Ross found out."

Monk nodded. "Perhaps Ross went to confront him after leaving here."

"But what about Eddie Gomez? Why would Gray kill him?"

"I don't know unless he found out he was stealing the drugs and threatened to turn him in … the missing camera …."

Stottlemeyer leaned forward. "Missing camera?"

"Yes, along with the missing wallet and watch at the Gomez crime scene, there was also a missing camera and laptop. What if Gomez caught Gray in the act of selling the drugs and took a picture. Then, if Gray saw Gomez take the picture, there's your motivation."

Stottlemeyer scrubbed his face. "Everything's been cleaned of fingerprints, the perp wore gloves, he killed Eddie Gomez with a single shot, he knew how to make it look like a home invasion … this is someone who thinks he knows what he's doing. There's something else, Monk.

"Something else?"

"Yeah. Randy called this morning. They got the report back on that piece of fabric you pulled from the fence."

Monk leaned his arms on the desk, his eyebrows raised.

"It's the same fabric used to make our jackets, the SFPD uniform jackets, issued to every officer."

Monk leaned back and laced his fingers. "He wore his uniform. He could have walked right out of there with the gun on his hip and not raised suspicion. As far as anyone was concerned, he was a cop doing his job."

Stottlemeyer nodded. "And the glove prints found in Gomez's house—they match up to the SFPD uniform gloves."

"When are you going to talk to Gray?"

"Tomorrow. I want you here."