Fatal Affair (24 page)

Nick held out a hand to her. That he did just that and nothing more finally did it for her. Curling her hand around his, she fell the rest of the way into love with him.

Chapter 30

“I’m sorry,” Sam said when they were in her office.

“What the hell for?” Nick asked.

“For using you and our relationship to stick it to him. I didn’t know you were there. I hate that you heard it.”

“You think that bothers me?” His hazel eyes were bright with emotion. “You nailed him. That’s all that matters. So what did you say that made him go ballistic?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Reluctantly, Sam told him what she’d said. “I don’t want you to think…”

As if he could no longer resist, he put his arms around her. “What?”

Again her cheeks burned with embarrassment and discomfort, but this had to be said. “That I think of what we do…together…as fucking.”

“Baby, come on. I know that.”

“Because it’s so much more than that,” she said, looking up at him.

“Yes.” He brushed his lips over hers. “It is.”

“I love you, too.”

He went perfectly still. “Yeah?”

Pleased to have caught him off guard, she nodded. “Since that night at the party for me, too. I shouldn’t have married Peter for many reasons, but mostly because I always loved you. Always.”

“Samantha,” he whispered, leaning in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“No PDA on duty, or any other time,” she mumbled when she came to her senses and remembered where they were.

“Very special occasion.” His hands slid down to cup her ass and pull her tight against his erection. “Does that door have a lock?”

With her hands on his chest, she tried to push him back. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m way past thinking.”

She went up on tiptoes to roll his bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Groaning, he released her. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Um, what he said about me…at the end… We should probably talk about that.”

Nick rested a finger on her lips. “Later.”

Grateful for the reprieve, she took a deep breath. “So what’s with you and my dad?” she asked, grabbing a half-empty bottle of soda from her desk.

“We’ve reached an understanding of sorts.”

Raising a suspicious eyebrow, she studied him. “What sort?”

“That’s between me and him.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

He tweaked her nose. “You don’t have to.”

A knock on the door startled them.

“Enter,” she called.

Gonzo opened the door. “Um, sorry to interrupt—”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” she said with a meaningful glance at Nick. “What’s up?”

“There’s a woman here to see you. Wouldn’t give her name, insists on seeing you and only you. Looks shook up.”

“All right. Bring her in.” To Nick, she said, “Do you mind taking my dad home? I’ll be along soon.”

“Sure.” He leaned in for one last kiss.

“Don’t talk about me with him.”

“Dream on,” he said, laughing as he left the room. “Put some ice on that neck.”

Sam took in the view of his fine denim-clad ass and sighed with delight. That he was hers, all hers, was something she still couldn’t believe. She wished she had time to indulge in the happy dance that was just bursting to get out.

Gonzo accompanied a distraught woman to the door and showed her in. “This is Sergeant Holland.”

“Have a seat.” Sam gestured to the chair and dismissed Gonzo with a grateful nod. “What’s your name?”

The woman’s manicured fingers fiddled with her designer purse as she looked at Sam with dark, ravaged eyes. “Andrea Daly.”

“What can I do for you, Ms. Daly?”

“It’s
Mrs
. Daly.” She looked down at the floor, sobs shaking her petite frame. “I’ve done an awful thing.”

Sam came around her desk and leaned back against it. “If you tell me about this awful thing, maybe I can help you.”

Andrea wiped the tears from her face. “The night the senator was killed…”

The back of Sam’s neck tingled. “Did you know him? Senator O’Connor?”

Andrea shook her head. “I’ve never done anything like this. My family means everything to me. I have children.”

“Mrs. Daly, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what it is you think you’ve done.”

“I was with Terry O’Connor,” she whispered. “I spent that whole night with him at the Day’s Inn in Leesburg.” She wiped her runny nose. “When I saw him on the news being brought in this morning… I couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t do it.”

“I know.”

Incredulous, Andrea stared up at Sam. “I risked my marriage and my family and you
already knew?
”

Sam reached out to her. “You did a brave thing coming here. It was the right thing.”

“A lot of good that’ll do me when my husband reads about it in the paper.”

“It won’t be in the paper. If your husband finds out, it’ll be because you tell him.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Terry O’Connor doesn’t remember you. He was so drunk he couldn’t even offer a description of the woman he said he’d been with. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it’s the truth. So the only two people who know he was with you are in this room. I know what I’m going to do with the info. What you do with it is up to you.”

Overcome, Andrea bent her head. “I’ve never been unfaithful to my husband before. In nineteen years, I’ve never so much as looked at another man. But he travels a lot, and we’ve drifted apart in the last couple of years. I was lonely.”

“I understand that feeling—better than you can imagine.” Sam raised her fingers to cover bruises on her throat that were starting to hurt. “But if you love your husband and want to make your marriage work, stay out of the bars, go home and fix it. You’re lucky this was the worst thing that happened.”

“Believe me, I know.” She stood and offered her hand. “Thank you.”

Sam held Andrea’s hand between both of hers. “Thank
you
for coming in. You did the right thing. I had him ninety-nine percent eliminated. You just gave me the one percent I still needed.”

“In that case, I guess it was worth it.”

“Good luck to you, Mrs. Daly.”

“And to you, Sergeant. Senator O’Connor was a good man. I hope you find the person who did this to him.”

“Oh, I will. You can count on that.” Sam stood at her doorway and watched Andrea leave.

“What was that all about?” Freddie asked.

“Terry O’Connor’s alibi.”

Freddie’s eyes lit up. “No shit?”

“Nope.”

“Did you get an official statement?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I had nothing to gain, and she had everything to lose. She gave me what I needed. That was enough.”

“I continue to be awed not just by your instincts but by your humanity.”

“Fuck off, Cruz,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Did you get Peter put on ice?”

“Yep. Sent the EMTs down to take a look at his busted schnoz. He’s screaming police brutality.”

“Self-defense.” The fact she had taunted Peter into attacking her wouldn’t matter to the U.S. Attorney in light of the evidence they had implicating him in the bombings.

“Damn straight it was.”

“What’re you hearing from Gonzo and Arnold?”

“Natalie’s mother told them she’s in seclusion and couldn’t come to the door. They didn’t push it because all you wanted was confirmation that she was there, and they saw her looking out an upstairs window. Noel spent the day working in his yard and washing his car. No sign of her at the house. Gonzo just took him in for the polygraph.”

“Let’s set one up for her for tomorrow, after the funeral.”

“Got it.”

“So where does that leave us?” Sam unclipped her hair and ran her fingers through it. “Our two prime suspects, both with motive and opportunity pointing the finger at each other, but nothing about them is jumping out at us.”

“Except her dead boyfriend. That’s a red flag.”

“If she had anything to do with that, would her husband know about it? Would she have told him all about the boyfriend who’d tragically died in a fire?”

“Hard to say. Murderers can be an arrogant lot. They often want people to know what they’ve done so they get the credit.”

“I didn’t get that vibe from Noel. It was more of a ‘she was heartbroken’ vibe.” Sam checked her watch and saw it was after one. “I wanted another go with her, but I think I’ll wait until after we polygraph her to see if I need to show my cards on the dead boyfriend. Have Gonzo get her suspicions about her husband on the record at some point today. I’m not liking him for a suspect, but I want it in the file.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Do you think it’s possible that neither of them had anything to do with it, and she’s just trying to get rid of a husband she never should’ve married?”

“At this point, I’d say anything is possible, but I’m still left without a primary suspect three days into the investigation. That’ll really please the chief.”

“How about I write up the reports from this morning?”

“I’d appreciate that.” She thought for a moment and realized this was as good a moment as there was likely to be. “Can you come in for a minute?”

“Sure.” He shut the office door behind him. “What’s up?”

“You know I appreciate your help with the reports, right?”

“It’s no problem.”

“Well, for me it kind of is.” She rubbed a hand over her belly. In a rush of words, she said, “I’m dyslexic. I’ve struggled with it all my life, and it’s mostly under control, but I know you must wonder about the weird mistakes and stuff.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? I could’ve been doing all the reports.”

“I don’t want that. It’s enough that you help me as much as you do.”

“You still should’ve told me. We’re partners.”

“Do I know everything there is to know about you?”

He squirmed under the heat of her glare. “Most everything.”

“We’ve all got our secrets, Cruz, and the last thing I want is special treatment. I don’t expect anything to change now that you know.”

“Asking for help doesn’t make you weak, Sam. It makes you human.”

“That’s the second time today someone told me what it means to be human. Don’t tell anyone about the dyslexia, all right?”

“Who would I tell?” he huffed. “If you don’t know by now that you can trust me—”

“If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have told you.” She paused before she said, “I’m sorry you had to hear that stuff I said to Peter. I know it was embarrassing for you.”

“You got him to implicate himself, which is the goal of any interrogation.”

“Still…”

“I’m a big boy, Sergeant. I can handle it.”

She looked at him with new appreciation. “Copy me on those reports, and you can run your domestic angle in the morning while I’m at the funeral.”

“Got it.”

“Go home after you finish the paperwork.”

He held up a set of keys. “Your new ride, madam.”

“Ohhh, what’d you get me? One of the new Tauruses?”

“Yep. Navy blue.” He rattled off the parking space number.

“Nice. Thanks.”

“I might come by to watch the game later. I mean, if that’s all right with you.”

“My dad invited you, didn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“But what?”

He smiled. “Nothing.”

She pulled on her coat. “I’ll see you later, then. Oh, and thanks for having my back with the scumbag.”

“No problem.” He followed her out of the office and closed the door behind him. “Sergeant Holland?”

She turned to him, perplexed by his formality.

“It’s a great pleasure to work with you.”

“Back atcha, Detective. Right back atcha.”

On her way out of the detectives’ pit, she stopped to peek into the office that would soon be hers. Since the day she made detective, she’d had her eye on the lieutenant’s spacious corner office. However, because of her struggles with dyslexia, she hadn’t really allowed herself to hope.

She turned to leave and ran smack into Lieutenant Stahl.

“Would you jump in my grave that fast, Sergeant?”

Taken aback by his sudden appearance, Sam stepped aside to let him in and noticed he carried a box.

“You must be feeling quite satisfied.” He flipped on the lights and dropped the box on the desk. “Shagged a witness, made lieutenant, stole my command and got away with it—all in the same week.”

Sam leaned against the doorframe and let him spew, fascinated by the way his fat chin jiggled in time with his venomous words.

“I mean do you
honestly
think you’d have gotten away with screwing a witness if your daddy wasn’t the chief’s buddy?” He tossed pictures and mementos into the box. “You can bet internal affairs will be interested in taking a closer look at that. In fact, you might just be my very first order of business.”

Sam pretended to hang on his every word while she planned where to put her own things in the space.

“This isn’t over, Sergeant. I refuse to turn a blind eye to blatant disregard for basic rules by someone who’s gotten where she is because of
who
she is.”

Her hand rolled into a fist that she’d love to plant smack in the middle of his fat face, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she pulled her notebook from her back pocket and reached for a pen.

His eyes narrowed. “What are you writing?”

“Just a note to maintenance. They need to do something about the smell in here.” As little red blotches popped up on his fat face, she returned the pad to her pocket. “Good luck in the rat squad, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” Turning, she took her leave.

“Watch your back, Sergeant,” he called. “Daddy won’t always be there to clean up your messes.”

She turned around. “If you so much as look at my father with crossed eyes, I’ll personally break your fat-assed neck. Got me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “A threat, Sergeant?”

“No, Lieutenant. A promise.”

Chapter 31

Following the confrontation with Stahl, Sam’s stomach burned as she headed for the morgue exit, anxious to avoid the press and get home to Nick. The prospect of a boisterous Sunday dinner with her sisters and their families was looking better all the time. She was on her way to a clean escape when Chief Farnsworth stopped her in the lobby.

“I’m glad I caught you, Sergeant. You need to give the media ten minutes.”

She groaned.

“In the aftermath of the bombing, you have to show the public you’re alive and actively engaged in the O’Connor case—and you’ve got to let them know you’ve cleared Terry O’Connor before the president himself starts calling for my ass in a sling.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They’ll ask about Nick.”

Rubbing her hand over her gut, she looked out at the media circus that had taken over the plaza. “I can handle it.”

“I’ll be right there with you.”

“Thank you,” she said, knowing his presence would send the signal that the department was firmly behind her.

“You’re pale. Do you need a minute?”

“No.” She breathed through the pain and buttoned up her coat. “Let’s get it over with.” The chief followed her into the maelstrom.

The reporters went wild, screaming questions at her.

Chief Farnsworth held up a hand to quiet them. “Sergeant Holland will answer your questions if you give her the chance.”

As Sam stepped up to the microphone, the crowd fell silent. “Today, we ruled out Terry O’Connor as a suspect in his brother’s murder. We have a number of other persons of interest we’re looking at closely.” She really wished that was true, but she couldn’t exactly tell the media that the investigation had hit a dead end.

“Can you tell us who they are?”

“Not without compromising the investigation. As soon as we’re able to give you more, we will.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about the O’Connor investigation?”

“Not at this time.”

“How close are you to making an arrest?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be, but it’s far more important that we build a case that’ll hold up in court rather than rush to judgment.”

“Why did Detective Cruz go to Chicago?”

“No comment.” No way was she handing them Thomas O’Connor. They would have to figure that one out for themselves.

“Did the Johnson family play a role in yesterday’s bombing?”

“No. We’ve made an arrest that’s unrelated to the Johnsons.” She looked down and summoned the strength to get through this. “My ex-husband, Peter Gibson, has been charged with two counts of attempted murder—among numerous other charges—in the bombing.”

“Why’d he do it?” one of the reporters shouted.

“We believe he was enraged by my relationship with Mr. Cappuano.”

“Did you know Mr. Cappuano before this week?”

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stay calm and to not make their day by getting emotional. “We met years ago and had a brief relationship.”

“Did you tell your superior officers that you’d had a past relationship with a material witness?” asked Darren Tabor from the
Washington Star
. He’d been particularly harsh toward her in his reporting after the Johnson disaster.

Sam’s fingers tightened around the edges of the podium. “I did not.”

“Why?”

“I was determined to close the O’Connor case and believed Mr. Cappuano’s assistance would be invaluable, which it has been. Thanks to his help, I’m much further along than I would’ve been without it.”

“Still, aren’t you walking a fine ethical line especially in light of the publicity you received after the Johnson case?” Tabor asked with a smirk.

“If you examine my more than twelve-year record, you’ll find my behavior to be above reproach.”

“Until recently.”

“Your judgment,” Sam said, working to keep her cool while making a mental note to check on his unpaid parking tickets. Issuing a warrant for his arrest would give her tremendous joy.

“Is it true Mr. Cappuano is the beneficiary of a sizable life insurance policy taken out by the senator?” Tabor asked.

Sam clenched her teeth. How the hell had
that
leaked? “Yes.”

“Doesn’t that give you a motive?”

“Maybe if he had known about it.”

“You believe he didn’t?”

“He was as surprised by it as we were. Mr. Cappuano has been cleared of any involvement in the senator’s murder.”

“Is it serious between you and Cappuano?” Sam wanted to groan when she recognized the bottle-blonde reporter from one of the gossip rags.

“It’s been a week,” Sam said, laughing off the question.

“But is it
serious?
”

What is this?
Sam wanted to shoot back at her.
High school?
“Would I have gotten involved if it wasn’t? Next question.” She looked away from the reporter’s satisfied grin, sending the signal that she was finished with the discourse into her personal life.

“Are you concerned by Destiny Johnson’s threats?” another reporter asked.

Relieved to be moving on, Sam made eye contact with the new reporter, a woman she recognized from one of the network affiliates. “Mrs. Johnson is a grieving mother. My heart goes out to her.”

“How about Marquis Johnson?”

“As I’m due to testify in his probable cause hearing on Tuesday, I have no comment.”

“Sergeant, the second anniversary of your father’s shooting is coming up next week. Are there any new leads in his case?”

“Unfortunately, no, but it remains an open investigation. Anyone with information is urged to come forward.”

“And how’s he doing?”

“Very well. Thank you for asking.”

Chief Farnsworth stepped forward to rescue her.

Sam held up her hand to stop him. “I just want to say…” She cleared the emotion from her throat. “That it’s an honor to serve the people of this city, and while you’ve taken your digs at me lately, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, no risk I wouldn’t take, to protect our citizens. If that’s not enough for you, well then you can continue to make me the story rather than focusing on real news. That’s it.”

As they hollered more questions at her, she pushed through them to the staff parking lot where her gleaming new car waited for her. Only when she was safely inside could she begin to breathe her way through the pain.

Sam called Nick from the car.

“Hey, babe,” he said.

She took a moment to enjoy the easy familiarity they had slid into, as if they’d been together for years rather than days.

“Sam?”

“I’m here.”

“Everything all right?”

“It is now that I’m talking to you. What’re you doing?”

“I’m sitting on your bed trying to write what I have to say at the funeral tomorrow. It’s just dawned on me that I have to speak in front of the president and most of Congress.”

Sam released a low whistle. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“Sure you could. You just took on the Washington press corps.”

“You saw that, huh?”

“Yep. I heard it’s serious between us. Did you know that?”

Laughing, she said, “I’ve heard that rumor.”

“Say it again, Sam,” he said, his voice gruff and sexy.

Her heart contracted. “Say what?” she asked, even though she knew exactly what he was after.

“Don’t play coy with me. Say it.”

“When I see you.”

“And when will that be?”

“I’m almost home. Want to meet me outside and go for a walk? I promised I’d take you to the market.”

“So you did. Was that
only
yesterday?”

“Sure was. Meet me on the corner in five? If I come in, I’ll get trapped, and I need some air.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He was waiting for her when she parked in front of the house and set out toward the corner.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him in jeans and a black leather jacket, and she couldn’t help but break into a jog to get to him faster. She hurled herself into his outstretched arms and squealed when he lifted her right off her feet.

His mouth descended on hers for a hot, breathtaking kiss.

“Mmm,” she said against his lips. “I missed you.”

“You just saw me a couple of hours ago.”

“Long time.” She burrowed into his neck to nibble on warm skin.

He trembled and tightened his hold on her. “What happened to your ban on PDA?”

“Momentary lapse.”

“I like it.” He returned her to terra firma and tipped her chin up. “There was something you were going to tell me?”

She thought about playing coy again, but as she looked up at his handsome face, she found she couldn’t do it. “I love you. Big.”

His hazel eyes danced with delight. “Big, huh?”

“Scary big.”

“Not scary.” He hugged her. “Because I love you bigger.”

“Not possible.”

“Bet?” Laughing at the face she made at him, he slipped his arm around her shoulders for the walk to the market.

A melting pot of crafts, colors, nationalities, smells and textures, Eastern Market was mobbed with last-minute Christmas shoppers braving the damp chill to bargain with bundled-up vendors.

“You aren’t going to believe this, but I’ve never been here,” he confessed as they passed a row of fragrant Christmas trees.

She stared up at him. “Are you serious? You’ve worked a few blocks from here for how long?”

“Well, I worked for a congressman before John, so I guess almost fourteen years.”

“That’s sad, Nick. Truly pathetic. The flea market is open every weekend, year round.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I figured, you know, flea market—junk. I never expected all this hand-crafted stuff.”

“You can get anything here, and it’s usually better than what you can buy in a store.”

“I can see that.”

“Hey, Sam,” one of the vendors called.

“How’s business, Rico?”

“Booming, thank God. Heard about you on the news last night. You okay?”

“Just fine. No worries.”

“Glad to hear it. Bring your dad down one of these weekends.”

“I will.”

After several similar exchanges, Nick said, “Do you know
all
these people or does it just seem that way?”

She shrugged as she sorted through a table of fluffy knitted scarves. “This is my hood. I’m a regular.” Twisting a hot pink scarf around her neck, she pirouetted in front of him. “What do you think?”

He turned up his nose. “Not your color, babe.”

“My niece Brooke firmly believes that no one over the age of four should wear pink.”

“That’s funny. How old is she?”

“Fifteen going on thirty. You’ll meet her later.” Returning the scarf to the table, she glanced over at the next kiosk and spotted a beautifully framed painting of the Capitol that she had to have for him. Dying to get a closer look at it, she rubbed her hands together and blew into them. “Do you feel like some hot chocolate?”

“Sure.”

“They’re selling it right over there.”

Eyeing her suspiciously, he looked over to where she pointed. “All right.”

Flashing a brilliant smile, she went up on tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you, honey.”

“What’re you up to?”

“Nothing.” She gave him a little push. “Go.”

The moment he crossed the street, she spun around and pounced on the unsuspecting artist in the neighboring booth. “That one. Right there. How much?”

“Three-fifty.”

“Sold. Will you take a check?”

“With a license.”

“Be quick.”

They completed the transaction in record time, and Sam accepted the package wrapped in brown paper moments before Nick returned with two steaming cups of hot chocolate.

“What did you buy?”

“Something for my dad.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Samantha. Does this mean I have to buy something for you, too?”

“Only if you plan to get lucky in the New Year,” she said with a saucy smile.

“In that case, what looks good to you? Sky’s the limit.”

Laughing and teasing, they were navigating the crowd on their way to the indoor food market when a flash of metal caught Sam’s eye. Everything shifted into slow motion as she realized it was a gun. In the span of a second, she shoved Nick out of the way, dropped the painting and her hot chocolate, drew her own weapon and lunged at the shooter.

“Baby killer!”
the woman shrieked as she fired an erratic shot.

People screamed and dove for cover as Sam wrestled the heavy-set woman to the ground and struggled to disarm her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nick’s black shoe.

“Get back!” she cried as the woman’s elbow connected with her cheekbone.

Nick stomped on the woman’s hand, and the gun clanked to the cobblestone street.

“Don’t touch it!” Sam said to him as she cuffed the crying woman.

“You killed Quentin!
You killed our baby!
”

Something about the voice was familiar. “Marquis killed Quentin,” Sam growled into the woman’s ear as she tightened the cuffs. Flipping her over, she wasn’t surprised to find Destiny Johnson’s sister Dawn under her. “Was anyone hit?” Sam asked Nick.

“I don’t think so.” He looked down at her with a pale face and big, shocked eyes. “I heard someone call 911.”

“Thanks for the assist.”

“No problem.”

As the market slowly returned to normal around them, Sam sat on a curb with Dawn until a couple of uniforms arrived to take statements and cart her off. Sam promised to write up her portion of the report and get it to them later.

“Nice job, Sam,” one of the vendors called to her.

“Thanks,” she said as Nick helped her up.

The moment she was upright, the pain she had managed to stave off during the confrontation with Dawn roared through her, leaving her breathless and weak in its wake.

“Jesus Christ, Sam,” Nick muttered.

“S’okay,” she said, bent in half as she took deep breaths. “Just give me a second.” It took several minutes, but she was finally able to straighten only to find his hazel eyes hot with dismay and anger. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He took hold of her arm to steer her toward home. “And don’t you ever push me out of the way again so you can dive at a gun, do you hear me? Don’t ever do that again.”