The archive room behind the Bridgeport law office was barely six feet wide and smelled of old paper and radiator dust, and the tired copier in there charged a dollar a page.

I paid for eleven pages and spread them across the only table.

The duty rosters came out of the metal lockbox I’d carried down from the apartment, and they weren’t much to look at.

One stapled packet for each month, my name typed across the header, a signature line at the bottom of every day.

Captain Samantha Ross, JAG, Fort Carson.

March 3.