Fatal Justice (14 page)

He hated that he’d let her down. After his mother, Sam was the most important woman in his life—not that he’d ever admit that to her. Tomorrow, he would find a way to fix this. They worked too well together and meant too much to each other to let this fester.

He stared intently at Reese’s house. He’d give everything he had to be the one to snag the guy who shot Skip Holland. Freddie loved the hell out of Skip and wanted to close his case almost as much as Sam did.

Another hour passed in frigid silence, until Freddie thought he’d lose his mind if he had to stare at the dark house for one more minute. Suddenly, he saw a narrow beam of light moving through the house. Were his tired eyes playing tricks on him? No, someone was definitely walking through the house with a flashlight.

Reaching for his radio, he started to call for backup but stopped himself. How much would it mean to Sam if he arrested Reese? It would certainly go a long way toward repairing the rift between them. But going in without backup went against all his training. Regardless, Freddie kept his eyes on the beam of light as he got out of the car and crossed the deserted street.

Cutting through the alley behind the house, he drew his weapon and approached the back door, his heart pounding with adrenaline and excitement. An arrest like this would make him a hero at HQ, and even though his better judgment urged him once again to call for backup before he went in, he didn’t.

His heart beat like a bass drum in his ears. The back door was unlocked. He eased it open and stepped into the kitchen. Down the hallway, he could see the flashlight moving around and headed in that direction, his gun leading the way. Just as he was about to take the intruder by surprise, Freddie’s cell phone rang, alerting the other man to his presence. Cursing himself for being so stupid, he grabbed the phone and flipped it open to stop the ringing.

The man, dressed all in black, spun around and fired.

The bullet hit Freddie in the shoulder, the force propelling him back against the wall. As he sank to the floor, his gun and phone fell from his hands. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a gun pointed at his chest.

In the HQ conference room, Sam labored over the murder board. Starting to the left with grainy images retrieved from the hotel security to photos of Julian Sinclair dead in Lincoln Park to autopsy photos, Sam laid it out in chronological order. Each piece to the puzzle would eventually add up to the whole. So many threads to this one—the secret sexual orientation, the family rift, the extreme views on hot-button issues—his and his sister-in-law’s—and the connection to the O’Connors.

Sam thought about the man she’d dined with two nights prior and was surprised by a wave of sadness over his loss. He’d come to town, to
her
town, expecting to be confirmed as a Supreme Court justice and would leave in a body bag. As someone charged with ensuring the safety of visitors and residents alike, the loss of his life offended her on a deep, personal level.

“I’ll get him, Julian,” she promised the deceased face in the photo. “I promise you, I’ll get him.”

The conference room door flew open.

“Shots fired at Reese’s house,” Jeannie McBride said, her eyes wide with dismay.

Sam’s heart contracted. “Cruz?”

“Not answering his radio, and his cell just rings.”

Sam ran from the room, grabbed her coat and headed for the door. “Tyrone, McBride.” Sam’s throat contracted, robbing her of air and speech.

The two detectives scurried after her and sprinted with her to the parking lot.

“He’s fine,” McBride said. “He’s got Reese, and he’ll be calling it in any minute.”

“Make sure rescue is on the way,” Sam ordered, feeling considerably less optimistic.

“His mother called dispatch,” Tyrone said. “She had reached his cell and heard gunfire. She’s freaking out.”

“And there’s no word from Cruz?” Sam asked.

His face grim, Tyrone shook his head as the radio crackled with reports of a possible officer down.

Sam couldn’t seem to get oxygen to her lungs. Flying across the city with sirens and flashing lights, she tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t get air past the huge knot of fear in her throat. She sent him there as punishment and now…
Please don’t let him be dead
.

“Lieutenant,” Jeannie said.

Startled out of her thoughts, Sam glanced over at her.

“Patrol is on the scene. They want to know if they should go in ahead of us.”

Sam’s mind raced. If the shooter was still in the house, she’d be risking additional people by sending them in. But if Freddie was in there and wounded, time could be critical. “Do they have vests?”

Jeannie conveyed the question. “They do.”

“With vests, two in the back, two in the front. Go in together.”

Jeannie relayed Sam’s order.

They waited in tense silence as they wove through traffic on their way to the scene.

When the code for an officer down came over the airwaves a few minutes later, Sam wanted to wail. “
Shit
,” she whispered, pressing the accelerator to the floor.

They arrived just as paramedics wheeled Freddie out of the house.

“Oh,” Jeannie gasped, taking a step back.

Freddie’s face was sheet white, and the paramedics running alongside the gurney were working frantically to stop the blood streaming from his shoulder.

“Jesus,” Tyrone muttered, slipping a supporting arm around Jeannie’s shoulders.

“What’ve we got?” Sam asked one of the officers in an effort to keep from shrieking at the sight of Freddie’s lifeless form.

The rattled officer took a deep breath. “Gunshot wound to the shoulder. Significant blood loss. We found a flashlight, still lit, in the hallway. It’s possible Cruz took the shooter by surprise.”

“No sign of the shooter?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Where’re they taking him?”

“GW Trauma.” He reached into his pocket. “Cruz’s cell phone has been ringing like crazy.”

Sam took the phone from him and checked the missed calls. “His mother,” she said, watching the ambulance pull away. “I’ll take care of it.” She gestured for Jeannie and Tyrone to follow her inside. They assessed the first floor and found the still-lit flashlight as well as the large pool of Cruz’s blood. Fixated on the blood, Sam said, “You two are in charge here. I want a full sweep of this entire neighborhood. First shift is retained. Recall third shift. Let’s find this scumbag.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Tyrone said, his eyes hot with fury. “Will you let us know about Cruz?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

Jeannie squeezed her arm. “He’s going to be fine. He’s young and strong.”

“Yeah.” Before she could embarrass herself by breaking down in front of her detectives, she left them and headed back to HQ. Her heart beat fast from the rage that overtook her, and her fingers were so tight around the steering wheel that her knuckles turned white.

Freddie’s cell phone rang again, and bracing herself, Sam answered it. “Mrs. Cruz, this is Lieutenant Holland.”

“Sam! Tell me what’s happening! I heard a gunshot!
Freddie
.”

“He was shot in the shoulder.”

“Oh no. Oh
God
.”

“They’re taking him to GW Trauma. Do you want me to send a car to take you there?”

“Is he going to live, Lieutenant? Please. Tell me the truth.”

“I don’t know, ma’am. He lost a lot of blood.”

The other woman’s wretched wails rattled Sam’s already frayed nerves. “I’ll send a car. Sit tight. They’ll be there in a few minutes, and I’ll meet you at GW, okay?”

“Thank you.”

Sam called in the order for Mrs. Cruz’s ride as she tore into the HQ parking lot, slammed the car into park and took off running. At the city jail, she ordered the flustered officer at the desk to put Hector Reese in an interrogation room.

Reese smirked when he saw her coming five minutes later. “They told me the cunt cop—”

She ripped him out of his chair and hurled him back into the wall.

“What the fuck?”

Sam slapped his face as hard as she could. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You can’t hit me—”

Her fist slammed into his midsection. “Your word against mine, you useless piece of shit. Who’s going to believe you?”

Gasping for air, Hector winced when she tightened her grip on his shirt collar. “What’d you want?” he choked out.

“Where’s your scumbag brother? And do
not
tell me you don’t know.”

“I don’t—”

Sam gut punched him again.

He sank to his knees. “I swear to God. I don’t know.”

“He shot my partner.”

Startled, Hector looked up at her.

“Every cop in this city is looking for him. They won’t hesitate to shoot if they find him. He’s already suspected in the shooting of one cop—”

“What cop did he shoot? He didn’t shoot no cop.”

“My father, you asshole.” She hauled him back up. “So don’t fuck with me. Tell me where he’s hiding out.”

“I’m not telling you shit,” he said. “You want him, you find him.”

“He’s gonna wind up dead. You could stop that.”

“He can take care of himself, and so can I.”

Sam jammed her knee into his groin, dropping him once again to his knees.

He howled in pain.
“You fucking bitch!”

Gripping a fistful of his hair, she forced him to look at her. “You can sit in here and rot for all I care. But if you decide to cooperate, I might be willing to deal. You think about that.” She released him and headed for the door.

“Cunt cop,” he muttered from the floor.

Sweating, frustrated and infuriated, Sam left the room and found Captain Malone waiting for her.

“Anything?” he asked, his face tight with stress.

Sam wiped the moisture from her forehead with a hand that was sore from repeatedly connecting with Hector’s ribs. “No.” She signaled to the officers guarding the door to return Hector to his cell and looked up at the captain. “I roughed him up pretty good.”

“Okay,” he said, even though they both knew it wasn’t. When one of their own went down, many of the usual rules were overlooked.

“Any word on Cruz?”

“He’s in surgery. The blood loss is a big concern.”

“I need to get over there.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Sam used the lights and siren to expedite their trip to the hospital.

“President Nelson called the chief earlier,” Malone said. “He wants to know what’s being done to find Sinclair’s killer. They were good friends. He’s beside himself.”

“We’re working the case,” Sam said. “But I’ve directed all available resources toward the search for Reese. For the time being anyway.”

Malone nodded his approval. “We’ll give that everything for a couple of hours, and then we’ve got to get back to Sinclair.”

They encountered a media circus outside the hospital entrance.

“Lieutenant, who was shot?”

“Is the shooter Reese?”

“What’s being done to find him?”

“How close are you to an arrest in the Sinclair case?”

Malone gestured for her to go ahead into the hospital while he dealt with the media.

Thankful for his assistance, Sam entered the hospital and was directed to the surgical waiting room where she found Freddie’s mother and extended family engaged in a prayer circle. With her hands jammed into her coat pockets, Sam waited for them to finish. Thinking about her handsome, sensitive, energetic, junk-food-loving partner, Sam’s throat closed and she feared tears might be next. She fought back the rush of emotion to focus on Freddie’s mother.

Juliette Cruz wiped her face and turned to Sam. “Oh, Lieutenant.”

“It’s Sam.” She hugged the attractive, youthful woman she had met a few times. “What’ve you heard?”

“Nothing more since they took him into surgery.”

Sam led Freddie’s mother to a chair and encouraged her to sit.

“It’s good of you to be here,” Juliette said.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“He’s all I have,” Juliette whispered. “I don’t know what I’ll do if—”

Sam’s stomach clenched with pain as she gripped Juliette’s hand. “He’s going to be just fine.”

The alternative was unimaginable.

Nick sat in his office, staring out the window. John’s bill had passed by ten votes—nine more than they would’ve gotten before he was killed. The O’Connor name was now forever linked to sweeping immigration reform. After more than a year of hard work on that bill, Nick knew he should be euphoric, but all he felt was numb.

In its opening session, the Senate paid glowing tribute to John and held a moment of silence for Julian—two of Nick’s closest friends, both murdered in the scope of a month.

Christina rushed into the room. “Trevor just got word that a cop was shot in the house where that guy killed his family last week.”

Her words cut straight through the numbness, the panic snapping him out of the stupor he’d sunk into after learning of Julian’s death. Nick was out of his chair before she finished the sentence. “Who?” He resisted the urge to grab her shoulders and shake the information out of her.
“Who is it?”

“They haven’t released a name. Trevor said they took the injured officer to GW.”

Running, Nick skipped the elevator and took the stairs on his way to the car, aware that numbness had been replaced by bone-crushing fear. Sam was obsessed with finding Reese. It had to be her. If he lost her, too…He stopped running when his legs threatened to buckle under him.

Christina caught up to him and guided him into her car.

On the way, Nick focused on breathing. His chest ached under the weight of the dread. No one could have this much bad luck. He kept telling himself that, over and over. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“You don’t know it’s her,” Christina said tentatively. “It could be Tommy or someone else.”

Nick shook his head. “Sam’s been after Reese. She thinks he had something to do with her father’s shooting.”

“Try not to think the worst.”

“Why would I do that?”

They drove the rest of the way in uncomfortable silence, every minute feeling like a year.

At the hospital, Nick once again made use of his newfound clout to learn that the injured officer was in surgery on the seventh floor. With Christina trailing behind him, Nick emerged from the seventh floor elevator and ran down the hallway to the waiting room at the end. He came to a stop when he saw Sam talking to a pretty dark-haired woman. Taking a step back, all the stress of the last half hour came out as an anguished moan that caught Sam’s attention.

She got up and rushed over to him. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Christina was right behind him.

“What happened?” he managed to ask, still trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

“It’s Freddie,” Sam said in a small voice, her arms curling around him, her head resting on his chest. In a rush of words, she continued. “I sent him to watch the house because I was mad at him. He went in there alone, and Reese shot him. It’s bad, Nick. He lost a lot of blood.”

Christina stepped around them into the waiting room.

Nick knew he should comfort Sam but couldn’t seem to move his arms. All at once, fear became anger. “I can’t.” He shook her off.

“What?” she asked, startled.

“I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” Spinning around, he started back down the long corridor to the elevator.

She followed him. “Where’re you going?”

He walked faster, needing to get out of there. Immediately. “I don’t know. Home. I can’t do this, Sam. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“What can’t you do?” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. “What’re you saying?”

“I thought it was you.” His heart breaking, he studied her one-in-a-million face. “I thought you’d been shot.”

“But I wasn’t, Nick.” She rested her hands on his chest, beseeching him with her eyes. “I’m right here. I’m fine.”

“This time.”

“You’re upset about Julian. Let’s talk about this later. When I get home.”

He shook his head. “I can’t spend my whole life waiting for it to be you. I’m sorry, Sam.”

The elevator doors opened, and Skip and Celia emerged.

“Sam!” Celia cried. “How’s Freddie?”