“He’ll use you showing up in full gear to argue that you’re unstable and unfit to have custody.”

I looked at the heavy Kevlar vest lying on the counter, then at the thick stack of yellow forensic folders in my leather satchel.

“He can argue whatever he likes,” I said.

“The bank records don’t lie.”

I reached over and adjusted my watch strap, tightening the leather band until it sat snug on my skin.

“Make sure your rifle’s chamber flag is secure before you go out the gate,” Holt said quietly.

“Don’t hand anybody a legal excuse to stop you at the courthouse door.”