Fatal Affair (3 page)

Chapter 4

Feeling as if the world had quite simply come to an end, Graham O’Connor leaned against a white split-rail fence to look out over the acres that made up his estate but saw nothing through a haze of tears and grief.
John is dead. John is dead. John is dead.

From the moment Carrie called them to say Nick was waiting at the house, Graham had known. With the most important vote of John’s career scheduled for that day, there was only one reason Nick would have come. Graham had known, just as he had always known there was something shameful about a father loving one of his children more than the others. But John had been extraordinary. From the very earliest hours of his youngest child’s life, Graham had seen in him the special something that inspired so many others to love him, too.

His face wet with tears, Graham wondered how this could have happened.

“Dad?”

The sound of his older son’s voice filled Graham with disappointment and despair. God help him for thinking such a thing, but if he’d had to lose one of his sons why couldn’t it have been Terry instead of John?

Terry’s hand landed on Graham’s shoulder, squeezed. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing.” Graham wiped his face.

“Senator?”

Graham turned to find Nick and the pretty detective approaching them.

“We’re going back to Washington,” she said, “but before we do I need to confirm your whereabouts last night. After ten.”

He somehow managed to contain the hot blast of rage that cut through him at the implication that he could have had something to do with the death of the one he loved above all others—except for Laine, of course. “I was right here with my wife. We had friends over, played some bridge and went to bed around eleven or so.”

She seemed satisfied with his answer and turned next to Terry. “Mr. O’Connor?”

“I was…ah…with a friend.”

Terry’s womanizing had gotten completely out of hand since a DUI derailed his political aspirations weeks before he was supposed to declare his candidacy for the Senate. It made Graham sick that Terry was no closer to settling down and having a family at forty-two than he had been at twenty-two.

“I’ll need a name and number,” the detective said.

Terry’s cheeks turned bright red, and Graham knew what was coming next. “I…ah…”

“He doesn’t know her name,” Graham said, casting a disgusted look at his son.

“I can find out,” Terry said quickly.

“That’d be a good idea,” the detective said.

“It’s not a coincidence, is it, that this happened on the eve of the vote?” Graham said.

“We’re not ruling anything out,” the detective said.

“Check Minority Leader Stenhouse,” Graham said. “He hates my guts and would begrudge my son any kind of success.”

“Why does he hate you?” she asked.

“They were bitter rivals for decades,” Nick told her. “Stenhouse has done everything he could to block the immigration bill, but it was going to pass anyway.”

“Take a good look at him,” Graham said, his chest tight with rage and his voice breaking. “He’s capable of anything. Taking my son from me would give him great joy.”

“Can you think of anyone else?” she asked. “Anyone who might’ve tangled with your son, either on a personal or professional level?”

Graham shook his head. “Everyone loved John, but I’ll think about it and let you know if anyone comes to mind.”

Nick stepped forward to embrace him.

Graham wrapped his arms around the young man he loved like a son. “Find out who did this, Nick. Find out.”

“I will. I promise.”

As Nick and Sam walked away, Graham noted the hunched shoulders of his son’s closest friend and trusted aide. To Terry he said, “Get the name of your bimbo, and get it now. Don’t show your face around here again until you do.”

“Yes, sir.”

On the way back to Washington, Nick checked his BlackBerry and read through the statement his office had drafted.

With tremendous sorrow we announce that our colleague and friend, Senator John Thomas O’Connor, Democrat of Virginia, was found murdered in his Washington home this morning. After Senator O’Connor failed to arrive for work, his chief of staff, Nicholas Cappuano, went to the senator’s home to check on him. Mr. Cappuano found the senator dead. At the request of the Metropolitan Police, we’ll have no further statement on the details of the senator’s death other than to say we will do everything within our power to assist in the investigation. Subsequent information on the investigation will come from the police.

We will make it our mission to ensure passage of the landmark immigration legislation Senator O’Connor worked so hard to bring to the Senate floor and to continue his work on behalf of children, families and the aged.

Our hearts and prayers are with the senator’s parents, Senator and Mrs. Graham O’Connor, his brother Terry, sister Lizbeth, brother-in-law Royce, niece Emma and nephew Adam. Funeral arrangements are incomplete but will be announced in the next few days. We ask that you respect the privacy of the O’Connor family at this difficult time.

Nick nodded with approval and read it again before he turned to Sam. “Can I run this by you?”

“Sure.” She listened intently as he read the statement to her. “Sounds like they covered every base.”

“The part about the investigation was okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

Nick placed a call to Christina. “Hey, green light on the statement. Go ahead and get it out.”

Christina replied with a deep, pained sigh. “This’ll make it official.”

“Tell Trevor to just read it and get out of there. No questions.”

“Got it.”

“You guys did a great job. Thank you.”

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“I’m sure.”

“So, um, how’d it go with his parents?”

“Horrible.”

“Same thing with the staff. People are taking it really hard.”

“I’m on my way back. I’ll be in soon.”

“We’ll be here.”

Nick ended the call.

“Are you all right?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly, still pissed that she had talked alibis with the O’Connors so soon.

“I was just doing my job.”

“Your job sucks.”

“Yes, a lot of times it does.”

“Do you ever get used to telling people their loved ones have been murdered?”

“No, and I hope I never do.”

As bone-deep exhaustion began to set in, he put his head back against the seat. “I appreciated you saying the words for me back there. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

She glanced over at him. “You were very good with them.”

Surprised by the unexpected compliment, Nick forced a weak smile. “I was in uncharted waters, that’s for sure.”

“You’re close to them.”

“They’re family to me.”

“What does your own family think of that?”

They hadn’t taken the time to compare life stories the first time they met. They’d been too busy tearing each other’s clothes off. “I don’t have much of a family. I was born to parents who were still in high school and was raised by my grandmother. She passed away a few years ago.”

“What about your parents?”

“They breezed in and out of my life when I was a kid.”

“And now?”

“Let’s see, my mother is married for the third time and was living in Cleveland the last time I heard from her, which was a couple of years ago. My father is married to a woman who’s younger than me, and they have three-year-old twins. He lives in Baltimore. I see them once in a while, but he’s hardly a father to me. He’s only fifteen years older than me.”

Her silence made him realize she was waiting for him to say more.

“I remember the first weekend I spent with the O’Connors. I thought families like theirs only existed on TV.”

“They always seemed almost too good to be true.”

“They’re not, though. They’re real people with real faults and problems, but they have such a strong belief in giving back and in public service that it’s impossible to be around them for any length of time and not be sucked in. They changed my whole career plan.”

“What were you going to do?”

“I’d considered accounting or finance, but after a few meals at Graham O’Connor’s table, I was bitten by the political bug.”

“What’s he like? Graham?”

“He’s complicated and thoughtful and demanding. He loves his family and his country. He’s fiercely patriotic and loyal.”

“You love him.”

“More than any man I’ve ever known—except his son.”

“Tell me about John.”

Nick thought for a moment before he answered. “If his father is complicated, thoughtful and demanding, John was simple, forgetful and lackadaisical. But like his father, he loved his family and his country and was proud to serve the people of Virginia. He took those responsibilities seriously but didn’t take himself too seriously.”

“Did you like working for him?”

“I liked being around him and helping him to succeed. But from a political staff perspective, he could be a bit of a handful.”

“How so?”

Nick paused, considered and decided. “Right now, my chief goal is to protect his legacy and ensure he’s afforded the dignity and stature he deserves as a deceased United States senator.”

“And
my
goal is to figure out who killed him. If I’m going to do that, I’ll need you and the rest of your staff to be forthcoming. I can do it faster and more efficiently with your help than without it. I need to know who he was.”

Nick wished he couldn’t smell her, wished he wasn’t so aware of her. And more than anything, he wished he didn’t so vividly remember the night he’d spent lost in her. “I was furious,” he said in a soft tone.

“When?” she asked, confused.

“On my way to his place this morning. If he hadn’t been dead when I got there, I might’ve killed him myself.”

“Nick…” Her tone was full of warning, reminding him not to forget who he was talking to.

“If you want to know who John O’Connor was, the fact that his chief of staff was on his way to haul him out of bed—
again
—should tell you everything you need to know.”

“It doesn’t tell me everything, but it’s a start.”

Chapter 5

Sam’s memories of Nick Cappuano should have faded over the years, but they hadn’t. He remained a larger-than-life character from a single night that shouldn’t have meant as much as it had. But she
had
forgotten the reality of him—his height, easily six-three or -four, broad shoulders, chocolate brown hair that curled at the ends, hazel eyes that missed nothing, olive-toned skin, strong, efficient hands that changed forever what she expected from a lover, crackling intelligence, and the cool aura of reserved control she’d found so fascinating the first time she met him.

Cracking that control had been one of the best memories from her night with him. When he didn’t call, she’d wondered if their intense connection had scared him off. But now that she knew he
had
called, that he
had
wanted to see her again…that changed everything.

“Can I ask you something that has nothing to do with the case?” she said as they cut across the District on the way to the Watergate where he’d left his car. Along the way, they noticed a few American flags already lowered to half-mast in John’s honor. The word was out, and the official mourning had begun.

“Sure.”

Her heart raced as she picked at a scab she’d mistakenly thought healed long ago. “When you called me…after…that night…do you remember who you talked to at my house?”

He shrugged. “Some guy. One of your roommates maybe.”

Knowing the answer before she even asked, she said, “You didn’t get his name? I lived with three guys.”

“Shit, I don’t know. Paul maybe.”

“Peter?”

“Yes. Peter. That was it. I talked to him a couple of times.”

Gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, Sam wanted to scream.

“Was he your boyfriend?”

“Not then,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Later?”

“He’s my ex-husband.”

“Ah! Well, now it all makes sense,” he said but there was a bitter edge to his voice that she understood all too well. She was feeling rather bitter herself at the moment.

“Too bad you didn’t give me your cell number instead of your home number.”

“I only had a department cell then, and I never used it for personal business.” They were quiet until she pulled into the Watergate. “I’d like to interview your staff in the morning,” she said as the car idled.

“I’ll make sure they’re available.” He rattled off the Hart Senate Office Building address where she could find them.

“In the meantime, here’s my card in case you think of anything that might be relevant. No matter how big or how small, you never know what’ll crack a case wide open.”

He took the card and reached for the door handle.

“Nick,” she said, her hand on his arm to stop him from getting out.

Looking down at her hand and then up to meet her eyes, he raised an eyebrow.

“I would’ve liked to have gotten those messages,” she said, her heart racing. “I would’ve liked that very much.”

He sighed. “I can’t process this on top of everything else that’s happened today. It’s just too much.”

“I know.” She raised her hand to let him go. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

He surprised her when he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Don’t be sorry. I really want to talk about it. Later, though, okay?”

Sam swallowed hard at the intense expression on his handsome face. “Okay.”

He released her hand and opened the car door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes,” she said softly to herself when he was gone. “See you then.”

Frederico Cruz was a junk food addict. However, despite his passion for donuts, his ongoing love affair with the golden arches, and his obsession with soda of all kinds except diet, he managed to maintain a wiry, one-hundred-seventy-pound frame that was usually draped by one of the many trench coats he claimed were necessary to staying in character.

In some sort of cosmic joke, Sam had drawn the dietary disaster area known as Freddie for a partner. In the midst of the HQ detective pit chaos, Sam watched fascinated and envious as he chased a cream-filled donut with a cola. She swore that spending most of every day with him for the last year had put ten unneeded pounds on her. “Where are we?” she asked when he put down the soda can and wiped his mouth.

“Still at square one. The neighbors didn’t hear anything or see anyone in the elevator or hallways. I sent a couple of uniforms to pick up the security tape—not an easy task, I might add. You’d think we were planning to send G. Gordon Liddy back in there or something. I had to threaten them with warrants.”

“What was the hang up?” Sam asked, eyeing his second donut with lust in her heart.

“Resident privacy, the usual bull. I had to remind them—twice—that a United States senator had been murdered in his apartment and did they really want any
more
unfavorable publicity than they’re already going to get?”

“Good job, Freddie. That’s the way to be aggressive.” She was forever after him to get in there and get his hands dirty. In turn, he nagged her about getting a life away from the job.

“I learned from the best.”

She made a face at him.

“We also seized everything from the senator’s home and work offices—computers, files, etc. The lab is going through the computers now. We can hit the files tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“What’s your take on the O’Connors?”

“The parents were devastated. There was nothing fake about it. Same with his sister.”

“What about the brother?”

“He seemed shocked, but he says he was with a woman whose name he doesn’t remember.”

“He’ll have to produce her if he’s going to rely on her for an alibi.”

“He’s painfully aware of that,” Sam said, smirking at her recollection of Terry O’Connor’s discomfort and Graham’s obvious disapproval.

“That’s what he gets for sleeping with a stranger. Imagine going up to someone you slept with to ask for her name.”

Sam’s face heated as memories of her one-night stand with Nick chose that moment to resurface. “Easy, Freddie. Don’t get all proper on me.”

“It’s just another sign of the moral decline of our country.”

Groaning at the familiar argument, she said, “Any word from the M.E.?”

“Not yet. Apparently, they had a backlog to get through.”

“Who comes before a murdered U.S. senator?”

He shrugged. “Don’t kill the messenger.”

“My favorite sport.”

“Don’t I know it? The guy who found him checked out? Cappuano?”

“Yeah.” Sam decided right in that moment not to tell Freddie about her history with Nick. Some things were personal, and she didn’t want or need Freddie’s disapproval. She was still dealing with her own disapproval for bringing up their former personal relationship in the midst of a murder investigation. “He was at work all night with other people from the staff, which I’ll confirm tomorrow.”

“So what’s next?”

“In the morning, we’ll interview O’Connor’s staff and pay a visit to the senate minority leader,” she said, filling him in on Graham O’Connor’s long-running feud with Stenhouse.

Freddie rubbed his chiseled cheek. On top of his many other faults, he was
GQ
handsome, too. Life wasn’t fair. “Interesting,” he said.

“Senator O’Connor questioned the timing—on the eve of the biggest vote of his son’s career as a senator.”

“Someone didn’t want that vote to happen?”

“It’s the closest thing to a motive I’ve seen yet. When we talk to his staff tomorrow, we need to cover both sides—the political and the personal. Who was he dating? Who might’ve had an axe to grind? You know the drill.”

“What’s your gut telling you, boss?”

He knew she hated when he called her that. “I’m not loving the political angle.”

“The timing works.”

“Yeah, but would a political rival cut off his dick and stuff it in his mouth?”

Freddie cringed and covered his own package.

“We’re going to keep that detail close to the vest and see where it takes us. But my money’s on a woman.”

“You know what’s bugging me?” Freddie asked.

“What’s that?”

“No sign of a struggle. How does someone get a hold of your dick and do the Lorena Bobbitt without you putting up a fight?”

“Maybe he was asleep? Didn’t see it coming?”

“Someone grabs my junk, I’m
wide
awake.”

“Spare me the visual, will you, please?”

“I’m just saying…”

“That it was someone he knew, someone he wasn’t surprised to see.”

“Exactly.” He picked up the second donut and took a bite. With a dollop of white cream on his lower lip, he added, “He had one of those butcher block knife things in his kitchen. The butcher knife was the one holding him to the headboard.”

“So the killer didn’t arrive armed.”

“It doesn’t seem so. No.”

Standing up, Sam said, “I want to see those tapes. What the hell is taking them so long?”

Driving from the Watergate to the office, Nick should have been thinking about what he was going to say to his staff. They’d be looking to him for leadership, for answers to questions that had no answers. But rather than prepare himself for what would no doubt be an emotional ordeal, he kept hearing Sam’s voice: “I would’ve liked to have gotten those messages.”

Pounding his hand on the steering wheel, he let loose with an uncharacteristic string of swears. Like it wasn’t enough that John had been murdered. To also have to face off with the one woman from his past who he’d never worked out of his system was…well, calling it unfair wouldn’t do it justice.

He knew she wanted to talk about what happened all those years ago and why they never saw each other again. It made him so mad to think about her malicious ex not giving her the messages. But he couldn’t process the implications of this discovery in the midst of the mayhem caused by John’s murder. Dealing with Sam Holland solely on a professional level would take all the fortitude he could muster, never mind getting personal.

Years ago, when she failed to return his calls, he’d been angry and hurt—so much so that he hadn’t pursued it any further, which he now knew had been stupid. He couldn’t help but wonder what might have been different for him—for both of them—if she had gotten his messages and returned his calls. Would they still be together? Or would it have burned out the way all his relationships inevitably did?

He realized, with a clarity he couldn’t explain or understand, that they would probably still be together. He’d never had that kind of connection with anyone else, which was why he’d been so acutely aware of her all day today.