"I don't know, Natalie." Adrian slid his hands down the front of his jacket as he assessed his appearance in their full-length mirror. He eyed the new suit, a Father's Day gift from Natalie. It was a finely woven navy blue with a modern fit, a departure from the variety of trusty browns he usually wore. It wasn't even the fairly safe gray he had begun to experiment with. Other than the blue jeans Natalie could occasionally convince him to wear, he hadn't worn navy since he wore his uniform. She combined the suit with a crisp, white dress shirt, and he had to admit the quality and tailoring of both were impeccable. He just wasn't sure he was ready for this much change.

Walking up behind him, Natalie wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Please tell me you like it."

He tugged the jacket sleeves and shook the pant cuffs to lay just right over his black dress shoes. Tilting his head, he appraised his reflection again. "I like the material, and it does fit well."

"But?"

"It's blue."

"It looks great on you." She kissed his ear. "Very sexy."

He turned and placed his hands on her waist. "If you like it that much, I'll wear it."

"Yes!" She placed her hands on his chest.

"Thank you, sweetheart. It really was a nice gift." He pulled her closer.

She fingered his collar. "Now, if I could just get you to unbutton that top button.

He raised an eyebrow. "Let's not get too radical."

She laughed and gave him a light kiss. "We should leave soon. I'll get Sophia."

She took a step towards the door, but the ringing of her cell phone stopped her. She turned back to dig it out of her purse, which she found by Timothy's car seat. "Yes, Captain. After we drop off the kids, we'll be on our way. Don't come to the station? Oh, okay. Text me the address and we'll meet you there."

Once he had confirmed everyone was safely buckled into the car, Adrian turned to Natalie. "Now why aren't we going downtown? I thought the captain wanted me there for the interviews this morning?"

"He didn't explain why. He just said something came up, and he needs us at the address he sent me."

After leaving the sitter's, Adrian and Natalie made a short drive to the neighborhood where they were instructed to meet Stottlemeyer and Washington. Before entering the private community, they checked in with the guard on duty. He approved their IDs, then opened the large, iron gate for them to pass through. Along the street, rose multi-story brick homes on meticulous lawns. Between houses, Adrian glimpsed the bright green ribbon of a golf course and a cart or two transporting players from one hole to another.

"I wonder who lives here?" Adrian said under his breath.

A voice on Natalie's phone chirped instructions. Adrian turned right and hit the brakes. The flashing blue lights of multiple police vehicles and a fire truck lay straight ahead. Stottlemeyer's car and the CSI van were parked in front of the address they had been given. They passed under the yellow barrier tape and worked their way through the crowd of emergency personnel. Seeing Captain Stottlemeyer in the doorway, they approached, but he closed the door, intercepting them.

"Monk. Natalie." Gone was the usual cheerful greeting. The captain's mustache remained still over the grim line of his lips.

"What's going on here?" Monk asked.

"This is Sergeant Gray's house," he said.

"Adam Gray?" Natalie asked.

"Yeah. He didn't show up for his shift this morning. Then, we got a call from a neighbor, concerned because his dog barked all night even though he was supposedly home."

Monk turned in the direction of the front door. He knew the answer to his question, but he asked anyway. "Is he?"

"He's dead, Monk." Stottlemeyer scrubbed his face. "Apparent cause is suicide, but something doesn't feel right."

Monk took Natalie's hand as they followed the captain into the cavernous entryway. His footsteps echoed on the polished marble as his eyes traveled up a mahogany staircase, which spiraled to the second floor.

"How does a cop afford a place like this?" Monk asked.

"His wife is a lawyer or something like that."

"Is his wife here?" Natalie asked.

"She was out of town last night. We're trying to reach her."

They continued down a hallway until it opened into a great room with floor-to-ceiling windows and an enormous river rock fireplace. Directly in front of the fireplace, the body of Sergeant Adam Gray hung from one of the exposed beams spanning the breadth of the ceiling. Monk tightened his hold on Natalie's hand when he heard her gasp.

"We don't have a time of death," Stottlemeyer said, "I asked the coroner to hold off on examining the body until you had a chance to process the scene."

Monk simply nodded and squeezed Natalie's hand before releasing it to begin his search for evidence. He maneuvered between and around the CSI techs busily dusting the large room, but finding nothing of significance, he circled back to the victim still hanging from the beam. Monk lifted his eyes to the vaulted ceiling. "How do you suppose he got the rope up there?"

Stottlemeyer followed Monk's gaze. "Probably tied a weight to the end of it." He stepped up to get a better look at the knot above the victim's head. "There's a carabiner still attached."

Monk tilted his head, assessing the multi-colored rope. "That doesn't look like the kind of rope you'd find on boats."

"No, that kind is more popular among hikers and mountain climbers. Jared and Max took me once, but once was enough. I'm getting too old to climb mountains."

A wooden chair lay on its side under the victim. "He would have stood on that," Monk said. "So, what doesn't feel right?"

Stottlemeyer pointed. "Look at his left arm."

With a clean handkerchief, Monk reached for the victim's left arm. Turning it over, he could see letters scrawled in black ink across his inner forearm. He tilted his head for a better look. The letters formed the word, "sorry". Sorry for what? His death? A couple of murders? Did he have the pen on him and decide to scrawl that out just before knocking the chair over?

Monk turned and lifted his right arm to see if it had also been written on. Holding it up, he caught Stottlemeyer's attention. "Did you notice this?"

"Notice what?"

"He's wearing a watch on his right wrist. Most people wear their watch on their left, but left-handed people will often wear theirs on their opposite arm to keep it out of the way. If he was left-handed, the writing should be on the right arm.

Stottlemeyer stroked his mustache. "Good catch, Monk. I knew it didn't feel right, but I couldn't put a finger on why."

Now, where's the pen he wrote with? Monk patted down the victim's pockets. When no pen could be found, he turned his attention to the floor under where the victim hung. It didn't take long to find a black ink pen under the overturned chair. He squatted and retrieved it with his tweezers. As he stood, he lifted it to the light for a closer examination.

Natalie stepped closer. "What's wrong?"

"The pen is leaking." Monk dropped the offensive object into an evidence bag and cleaned his hands, but before the bag was taken away, he asked, "Does anyone have a piece of paper?"

"I think I do." Natalie pulled a notepad from her purse and tore off a piece of the paper, holding it out to him.

Monk pushed it back towards her. "Can you write on it? With that leaky pen?"

She looked at the evidence bag, which held the pen, then lifted narrowed eyes to him. "Why me?"

"Well, I can't, Natalie. It might stain my new suit."

Stottlemeyer shook his head, the lightest of chuckles escaping his lips as he watched the pair.

Natalie rolled her eyes but did as he asked, choosing to sign her name. "There. Happy?" She held it up for Monk.

"That's what I thought," he said as he looked at the smudge of ink under her name. "How's your hand?"

"My hand?" Natalie lifted it and groaned. Smeared black ink covered her fingers.

Monk turned to Stottlemeyer. "If Gray was the one who wrote on his arm, why doesn't he have ink on either of his hands? They're both clean. He doesn't have any ink stains on any of his pockets either, so he couldn't have carried the pen on himself."

Stottlemeyer smiled for the first time since Monk had seen him that morning. "Let's get that pen bagged for evidence." He signaled a nearby officer. "Stevens, bring the body down to the floor."

"Right on it, Captain."

The rope was cut and the body of Adam Gray was lowered to the rug in front of the fireplace. Monk squatted over him, a more thorough examination now possible. He lifted the hands he had looked at briefly before. He examined the hands, free of ink stains, then looked at the fingers on the left hand. Bending closer, he pulled out his tweezers and plucked something from under the fingernail of the middle finger. He held it up to the light. "Can I get a bag?"

"What is it?" Stottlemeyer asked as Monk dropped it into the evidence bag.

"A yellow fiber. It looks like the rope fiber I found on Ross."

"Same type?"

"We'll have to get it processed, but I think so."

"Stottlemeyer bent over the body. "What do you think of those marks on his neck?"

Monk bent for a closer look, then picked up the multi-colored rope that had held the victim. He pulled the rope closer and compared them side-by-side. "They're different." He looked up with wide eyes. "He didn't die from hanging. He was hanged after he was strangled with that yellow propylene rope. It's all a set-up to make us think he committed suicide."

Stottlemeyer stood up. "Okay, this is officially a crime scene. Necessary personnel only. Everyone else clear out."

Natalie stepped up to hand Monk a disinfectant wipe. "Gray was murdered?

"Yes. The evidence is pointing that way." He scanned the room, looking at it with fresh eyes. "If Gray was murdered, someone else was here. Were there any signs of a break-in?"

"No," Stottlemeyer said, "and the front door was unlocked."

"Were all other points of entry secured?"

"Yes."

"Monk laced his fingers. "So, he knew the perp."

"And he knew his wife wouldn't be here last night," Natalie added.

His lips in a tight line, Monk lifted his hands again to search every square inch of the home. Another cop was murdered. They needed justice, and he needed the evidence to convict. After two hours of examining the great room and kitchen, Monk's shoulders sagged. The perp was good—too good. The house was clean. Almost as clean as if he lived there. Unless a partial print was uncovered by the techs, they were coming up empty. They had the pen and rope, but the perp most likely wore gloves. He was too good not to. Not ready to admit defeat, Monk took a break on one of the kitchen island stools before moving on to another part of the house.

Natalie stood behind him, massaging his shoulders. He lowered his head when she reached his neck, but raised it when he heard a rustling sound nearby. A tech was gathering the garbage to go through later. As Natalie's fingertips kneaded his tense muscles, his eyes focused on the trash. If it wasn't for her ministrations, he would have rolled a shoulder at the sight of it. He patted her hand in unspoken thanks, but before the tech carried the trash away, he caught a glimpse of something familiar through the sheer, white bag.

"Wait!" Monk hopped off the stool, nearly knocking Natalie over. "Don't take the trash."

The tech stopped and turned. "You want the garbage?"

"I need to see it." He instructed the tech to set the bag down and motioned for Natalie to join him. "Natalie, do you see that red paper? There?"

Natalie bent down. "It looks like another strawberry candy wrapper."

"That's what I was thinking. I need you to dig it out."

She started to do as he asked, but before she reached in, the tech held up a gloved hand. "I'll do it."

Monk took the red and green wrapper with his tweezers and smiled.

Natalie signaled for another tech to bring an evidence bag. "Do you think the same guy who killed Ross also killed Gray?"

"I hope so." Monk dropped the wrapper in the bag and turned when he spotted Washington, who had recently arrived.

"Hey, Monk, I need you back in the master bedroom to …" He stopped and smiled. "Is that a new suit?"

Monk tugged at the jacket and turned to his wife. "It was a Father's Day gift from Natalie."

Washington issued an approving nod. "Nice. Very nice." Then his face was back to business. "I found something in the bedroom I think you should see."

Monk and Natalie followed their colleague down a long hall. As they passed one of the bedrooms, Monk jerked when he heard a thunderous bark from behind the closed door. He quickened his pace to get past it, but then stopped. "Dwayne, do you know if the dog was in the room when the first responders arrived?"

The lieutenant stopped and looked back. "I don't know, but I'll find out."

Monk rolled his shoulder when the dog barked again. "If he was out when Gray was killed, it's possible he may have attacked the perp. He should be checked for DNA evidence."

"You got it."

Monk and Natalie followed Washington into the master suite. A king-sized four-poster dominated the main room with several dressers and chests of drawers resting against the walls around it. A woman's clothes were spread out on the unmade bed and the scent of perfume lingered in the air, evidence of the wife's rush to leave for her out-of-town appointment.

Washington led them to one of two large, walk-in closets, this one with its masculine clothes and police uniforms, obviously the victim's. At the end of the closet, a safe stood with the door open. "Take a look." He stepped aside to allow Monk to walk ahead.

It only took Monk a moment before he glanced over his shoulder with a furrowed brow. "Drugs?"

Washington nodded. "Ross was right. He was stealing from his own drug seizures."

Stottlemeyer poked his head in and Washington showed him the safe. "I can't believe it. That was happening right under our noses. How'd we miss it?"

The team left the closet and master bedroom. Next would be the garage. Entering it from the laundry room, Monk paused in admiration. Other than a few car parts laying around a red '66 Mustang in the process of restoration, the garage was a neat freak's dream come true. The concrete floor had been epoxied, giving it a high shine, and at first glance, it was as clean as the house. The walls were lined with cabinets, workspaces, and systems for an organization so precise every tool had its own clearly marked home. Monk forced himself back to the case and surveyed the pristine room. With everything else in its place, he easily saw what wasn't.

He crossed to the mustang and bent beside it. A hammer. Not a tool usually used in vehicle restoration. He straightened and found the wall where similar tools were hung. "Captain, did you see this?"

Stottlemeyer came to his side. "A hammer …"

With high-carbon, heat-treated steel," Washington said, also joining them.

"Yes," Monk said, "but here's what's interesting. This hammer is a Craftsman. All the others along the wall are Snap-On, and if you'll notice, the Snap-On hammer is not missing. It's right where it should be."

"So, what are you saying?"

"This may be the hammer Ross was killed with, but it is not Gray's hammer."

"Because it's the wrong brand?"

"Captain, look I know how Gray thinks. He is loyal to a certain brand, and these tools are important to him. He has a system for keeping them in place, so when he needs one, he knows right where to find it. Besides that, he was a cop. Do you really think he would have left the murder weapon laying here in plain sight?"

Stottlemeyer straightened his tie. "You've got a point there. So, you think this was planted by whoever killed Gray?"

Monk adjusted his neck. "I do."

Washington turned to Stottlemeyer, then to Monk. "Meaning Gray didn't kill Ross."

"Right. He was framed, just like he was framed for his own death."

After bagging the hammer, Monk began a methodical trek around the garage. He approached the Mustang and stopped. Squatting on his heels, he took out his pen and moved it along what had appeared to be a smudge on the floor. "We've got a footprint, Captain." He stood and took a step back toward the car. Finding what he was looking for, he bent down. "Motor oil. Looks like someone stepped in the oil on their way out. There's a distinct print here. Then, increasingly less distinct ones leading out."

The team followed his gaze toward the open garage door just as a car screeched to a halt at the end of the driveway. A blonde woman in a business suit jumped out of a Lexus. She ran up the driveway, pushing past the CSI techs walking to their van.

"Adam!" she yelled.

"That must be the wife," Stottlemeyer said before running to catch her.

Monk, Natalie, and Washington followed close behind.

"Where is he? Where's Adam?" the woman screamed as she ran into the house.

"Mrs. Gray," Stottlemeyer shouted after her. "Please stop."

She did stop, but only when she saw the black body bag on her living room floor, the preparation for transport to the morgue complete. "Adam! No! Oh, God … no." Her screams became sobs as she dropped to her knees beside the body of her deceased husband.

Natalie clasped Adrian's arm as they watched Stottlemeyer move to the grieving woman's side. "Mrs. Gray …" He reached around her shoulders.

"I have to see him," she cried.

"Not here. Not like this."

"I have to see him!"

The captain let her collapse against him, absorbing her frantic pleas. Once her sobs subsided to the point her legs could support her, he guided her to the nearest couch and helped her sit down. Natalie found a box of tissues and brought it to her. Monk knew they would need to talk to her, but this was not the time. They would let her grieve first.

Sophia closed her book and looked up at her father. "Still got puzzle, Daddy?"

Hearing his name, he shook himself out of his thoughts. "Hmm?"

She patted his arm. "Puzzle? You still got it?"

"Oh, that. Yes, I'm afraid I do, and it just got more complicated."

"Comp…?" She couldn't make out the new word.

"Harder."

Sophia smiled. "You do it.'

Adrian lifted an eyebrow. "How do you know I'll solve it?"

"Cause, you smart." With that, she grinned and slid off his lap. She returned her book to her bookcase and climbed into her toddler bed. She arranged Mr. Bear and Flopsy the bunny beside her and laid down. "Daddy."

"Hmm?"

"Night, night kiss."

His lips tugged upward as he crossed to her. He bent down and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. "Night, Daddy."

He tucked the blanket under her chin and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, Sophia. I love you."

Adrian turned off the light but before closing the door, he stayed and watched his daughter. She closed her eyes and rolled to her side, clutching the bunny in her small hands. Her dark curls haloed her pink cheeks, and even in sleep, her heart-shaped lips formed a smile. He couldn't help but smile too. God sure knew what he was doing when he placed her in his life. She was the bright light piercing through his darkest days. She was joy personified, and her bubbly laugh could bring a smile to the grumpiest soul. He often wished he was as confident in his abilities as she was. For now, he was her superhero.

He closed the door and sighed. Oh, for childish naivete. The day would come when she would know the truth. He just hoped that day wouldn't come too soon.

When Adrian poked his head into Timothy's room to say goodnight, he saw Natalie, still sitting in the rocker, the sleeping baby resting on her shoulder. As he approached, he thought she had fallen asleep too, but a closer look revealed more.

"Natalie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Her voice was steady but the tissue in her hand betrayed her.

"Is it Timothy? Is he okay?"

She looked up, her eyes puffy. "He's fine. I just wanted to hold him a bit. He's so warm and cuddly. He smells so sweet. You …" She dabbed at her eyes. "You just never know …" Her shoulders began to shake.

Adrian rushed to her side and took the baby from her before she could resist. He laid him in his crib, kissed his forehead, then returned to his wife. He held out his hand. "Come on. Let's go downstairs. I'll make some tea."

She took his hand, but when he took a step to leave the room, she didn't move. "I don't want tea."

He turned and put his hands on her arms. "Then, what do you want?'

"Hold me, Adrian." She melted into his arms.

He caressed her back until her tears were dry, then he led her down the stairs to their living room couch. She curled up next to him and he pulled the cozy throw off the back of the couch, covering both of them with it. She snuggled closer and leaned on his shoulder. He rested his dark head against her blond one. After a moment, he reached for her hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She squeezed his hand. "I'm good now. I love you, you know."

"I know, and I love you too. That's why I want you to talk to me."

She lifted her head. "Really, I'm fine now. I was just being silly." She removed the throw from her legs and stood. "That tea sounds good now. I think I'll go …"

Adrian grabbed her hand. "Natalie, sit."

She sat but kept her gaze directed at her feet.

He reached for her chin and turned her head to look at him. "If I were the one who was moody and sad, would you let me walk away?"

"No," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Okay, so are you going to talk to me now?" She looked up and he could see her eyes grow moist again. "Sweetheart, please don't leave me out of this."

Natalie fell against the back of the couch. "Why can't I be as strong as T.K. thinks I am?"

Adrian furrowed his brow. "You are strong. You're the strongest woman I know. You'd have to be to put up with me all these years."

A hint of a smile played on her lips. "It doesn't take strength to love you, babe. That's the easy part."

"Then what? Why do you need to be strong?"

She looked at her hands and twisted the well-used tissue. "I wish I could be strong enough not to worry about you."

"You're worried about me?"

She looked up. A tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm scared to death, Adrian. I don't want to be because you have a job to do, and I don't want you to even think about not doing it for my sake, but the truth is, I'm scared. There's someone out there killing cops. What if you're next?"

Adrian pulled her into his arms. "I'm not going to get hurt, Natalie."

"How do you know?" She sobbed against his chest. "I can't lose you. I can't go through that again. I'm not … I'm not strong enough."

He rubbed the back of her neck while he waited for her sobs to subside again. Seeing the deaths of two police officers was jarring enough, but watching the widow of Adam Gray grieve as she did—that was enough to make anyone emotional. As much as he'd experienced over the years, even he had been fighting tears. He took a deep breath and thought of how to reassure her.

"Sweetheart, I have no guarantee of tomorrow. No one does. But, I don't think this particular crime spree is any more dangerous for me than usual."

"You don't?" She looked up, her expression hopeful.

"No. Ross was killed because he caught Gray stealing the drugs."

"But what about Gray? If he didn't kill Ross, then there's someone else out there who did. And Eddie Gomez, someone killed him too."

He rubbed his brow, reminded of the tangle of thoughts vying for his attention. "I don't know why Gomez was killed, although I think he had an incriminating picture. As for Gray, he probably had a disagreement with the perp or the perp got greedy. Besides that, it appears each of our victims knew who killed them. I probably don't."

"But you're on his tail, and if it's someone within the department, he probably knows it."

He took her hand and kissed it. "I understand you're worried, and I know how that feels. Trust me. But sweetheart, living in fear is no way to live."

She leaned back and tilted her head. "Adrian Monk is telling me not to live in fear?"

He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her head. "I'm trying to save you from my misery."

They held each other close, their breathing and heartbeats almost as one. Adrian wished he had better words. He wished he had just the thing to say that would alleviate his wife's fear. How could he be her rock when she had always been his? The truth was, this case had him more on edge than he'd felt in a long time. The bad guys were supposed to be on the outside of the department, the good guys within. This blurring of the lines left him feeling unsettled. The only thing he could tell her was he would be careful. He had too much to live for not to be.