Chapter 1

      Chicago Detective Armstrong Black pulled his car into an empty parking spot behind police headquarters. It was early, the new day just getting started. The morning sun sat hidden behind a cluster of thick clouds, and the smell of rain was in the air. Shutting down the vehicle, he took a deep breath and then a second before throwing open the door and pulling his large frame out of the black-on-black Ford Expedition. He slammed the car door closed, set the alarm and headed toward the employee entrance.

      Inside, the West Harrison Street building was bustling with activity. He was reporting for duty on what should have been his day off and he wasn’t happy about it. Working a case that was taking all his energy had him needing all the rest he could get to clear his head. The criminals hadn’t gotten the memo. The early-morning call commanding his presence had set the tone for his not-so-good mood, and he noticed the scowl on his face had others eyeing him warily.

      Despite his disposition, the Bureau of Detectives was like his second home and a place he liked. He was comfortable there. As he moved through the narrow halls, past his own office and desk, toward the other end of the building, he felt his bad mood beginning to lighten, despite knowing that whatever had necessitated his presence couldn’t be good. A commotion at another desk stalled his steps and pulled at his attention. A young man in ill-fitting jeans that hung too low on his narrow hips and an army green military jacket had become combative, thrashing about angrily. Armstrong felt his body tense as three other officers reacted swiftly. He stood staring until he was satisfied that everything was under control, the man in handcuffs now behaving like he had some sense.

      Resuming his trek, he came to a stop at the end of the hallway and the corner office with a perfect view of the I-290 highway. Armstrong knocked on the door of his lieutenant’s office. There was just a brief moment of pause before the other man’s voice beckoned him inside. Pushing the door open, Armstrong stepped through the entrance and closed it behind him. He greeted his older brother warmly.

      “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

      Parker Black lifted his eyes from the papers he was reviewing. He gave his brother a nod. “Detective. How goes it?”

      Armstrong shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m tired and I was supposed to sleep in. Until you called bright and early. So, what’s this emergency?”

      Parker stood and moved from behind his large oak desk. He grabbed a manila folder from the desktop as he gestured for his brother to take a seat. He joined him in the leather wingback chairs that decorated his office. Armstrong knew that side by side they looked like bookends, their familial resemblance marked by chiseled features and solid