“The federal marshals are processing him at the courthouse in Alexandria,” Naomi said. “The forgery charges are solid. He has nowhere left to run.”

I leaned my head against the cold painted drywall of the hospital corridor.

“And Brielle?” I asked.

“She signed the affidavit,” Naomi said. “She turned over the ring and the financial documents he gave her. She is cooperating fully to avoid conspiracy charges.”

“Thank you, Naomi,” I said. “Keep me updated on the custody filing.”

“Get some rest, Colonel,” Naomi said. “You won’t have to face him again.”

***

The next morning, the rain drummed steadily against the double-paned glass of my postpartum room.

A knock sounded at the door.

Lieutenant General Marcus Vale stepped inside, carrying a small paper bag from the hospital commissary.

He wore his service dress uniform, the ribbons on his chest neatly aligned.

He pulled up a heavy plastic chair and sat beside my bed.

“I brought you some decent coffee,” General Vale said, handing me a paper cup.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, taking a sip of the hot, bitter liquid.