Fatal Justice (16 page)

She’d faked it! Did she think he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference? After all the times they’d made love, did she think he wouldn’t know? Curled up to him, she snored softly while he lay awake churning.

The insomnia that plagued him during times of stress had kicked into high gear lately, and he had almost no hope of going back to sleep that night. He would’ve gotten up, gone downstairs and attempted to review the files Christina had sent home with him if he didn’t so love having Sam sleeping all over him. Plus, he didn’t want to disturb her when she had so little time to sleep.

He hated that she’d felt the need to fake it with him. He knew she’d had trouble in that regard with her ex-husband, but never once with him. Of course it was because he’d scared her with their conversation, and he hated that his worries had that effect on her. But he couldn’t help the way he felt. If he let his mind wander back to the sheer terror, the absolute certainty that she’d been shot…No, he couldn’t go there again. He’d already relived it a thousand times.

He stewed for what seemed like hours. A week ago he would’ve been unable to imagine a scenario whereby he would walk away from her. And now he had good reason to wonder if he had the stomach to be the significant other of a homicide detective. Turning on his side, he brought her in closer to him and breathed in the scent he’d come to crave. His tired eyes burned shut, but he had no expectation that sleep would come.

However, it must have because he startled awake in the gray predawn and reached for Sam. He encountered cold sheets where hot woman should’ve been and realized she was long gone. Wide awake, he knew it was pointless to try to go back to sleep so he got up to get ready for work. In the shower, he thought of John and Julian and relived the horrible fear that followed Freddie’s shooting. Nick’s nerves and emotions were raw and close to the surface, an unsettling state for a man used to being in control at all times.

As he was drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen, he noticed a pile of mail on the counter that Sam must’ve brought in. Nick flipped through the stack of mostly junk before finding a registered mail envelope Sam had signed for bearing the name of an insurance company. He opened it and sucked in a sharp deep breath when it registered that he was looking at a check for two million dollars. Made out to him. John’s life insurance payout. After staring at the check for several long minutes, he tossed it on the counter with the rest of the mail and reached for his suit coat, not wanting to think about the money just now. He had enough on his mind.

Sam rushed down the ramp from her father’s house, attempting to juggle her cell phone, half a bagel and the bottle of diet cola tucked under her arm. “So we’re no closer than we were last night?” she asked Gonzo.

“We’re scouring this city. Every square inch.” His voice was full of frustration. “No sign of the bastard anywhere.”

“I’ve got that meeting at eight, and then I’ll be out there with you.”

“You don’t need me at the meeting do you? I’d rather stay out here. I’m working a couple of angles on Sinclair, too.”

She slid into the car without dropping the bagel and secured her soda in the cup holder. “No, don’t bother coming in. I’ll call to see where you need me when I’m leaving HQ.”

“Any word on Cruz?”

“I called the hospital an hour ago, and he had a good night. They’re thinking he can go home tomorrow or the next day.”

“That’s good. I’ll see you soon.”

As Sam slid the key into the ignition, the back door to her car slammed shut. She spun around to find Clarence Reese pointing a gun at her.

“Give me the phone,” he growled, “and drive.”

Scanning the empty street, Sam swallowed hard, handed him the phone and reached for her own weapon.

“Don’t even think about it.” The cold metal of Reese’s gun pressed against her neck. “Hand it over.”

Sam gave him the gun.

“Clutch, too.”

Reaching under the cuff of the jeans she had worn to work the streets, she released the second smaller gun strapped to her leg and passed it back to him.

“Now drive. And no funny business.”

Sam cleared the panic from her throat. “Where are we going?”

“Head north. Out of the city.”

She glanced at the clock. Seven forty-five. In fifteen minutes, they’d be looking for her. On the way past Nick’s house, she fixed her eyes on his door, willing him to hear her silent cries for help.

“Is that your senator’s place?” Reese asked.

“Yes,” Sam mumbled.

“Maybe we should pick him up and take him on our little ride, too.”

Sam hit the gas to get out of there before Reese could make good on his threat to drag Nick into whatever nightmare he had planned for her. “What do you want?”

“I want the money you took from my house.”

“I don’t have it. It’s been seized as evidence.”

“I want it. Until I get it, I’ll be keeping you.”

Her cell phone rang. “If I don’t answer that, they’ll know something’s up.”

“Don’t try to pull no shit.”

Sam held out her hand, and Reese gave her the phone. “Holland.”

“Lieutenant,” Captain Malone said. “Everyone’s here for the meeting you called. Where’re you?”

“Hi, honey,” she said, her heart pounding. She checked the rearview mirror to find Reese’s cold eyes monitoring her every move. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t get a chance to pick up the dry cleaning.”

“Holland, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t have
any
shirts?”

“Is something, wrong?” Malone asked, his voice suddenly tense.

“Yes, honey. I know I promised. I just left the house, otherwise I’d come back to find something for you to wear.”

“You’re still on Capitol Hill?”

“That’s right. You might have to break out the iron.”

“Is it Reese?”

“Uh-huh. You can do it.”

“Stay calm,” Malone said. “We’re coming.”

“I love you, too. Have a good day.”

“Barf,” Reese said from the backseat as he reached out to snatch the phone from her hand. “He’s already got you picking up his dry cleaning? I didn’t figure you for the domestic type. You disappoint me.”

Relieved that he had bought her side of the phone call, Sam looked at him in the mirror. “I take care of him. He takes care of me.”

“I’ll bet he does.” Reese reached forward to run his finger down the slope of her neck, left bare by her clipped-up hair. “I’ll bet he takes
good
care of you.”

Sam worked at not flinching.

“A woman like you needs a real man. Not one who treats you like his little wife.”

“Is that how you treated your wife?” she asked him in the mirror.

His eyes narrowed. “She was a nag. Nothing was ever enough for her. She always had to have more.”

“So she deserved to be killed?”

“She needed to shut up.”

“What about your kids? What did they do to deserve what they got?”

“None of your business! Just shut the fuck up and drive.”

Sam did as she was told while keeping a watchful eye out for back up. She took Massachusetts Avenue, a main artery that headed northeast. Another five minutes passed in tense silence before Sam became aware of an unmarked Metro Police car behind them.

A bead of sweat slid down her back. All she could think about was Reese being killed before she could ask him the most important question. Her mouth felt pasty and dry so she reached for her soda and took a long swig. Of course her stomach reacted with annoying predictability. Taking a couple of deep, calming breaths, she said, “Did you shoot my father?”

“
What?
What the hell are you talking about?”

“My father, Metro Police Deputy Chief Skip Holland.” She watched him in the mirror, waiting for any indication that he recognized the name and got none. “He was shot on G Street two years ago.”

Baffled, Reese said, “I didn’t shoot no cop on G Street.”

Sam gritted her teeth against the urge to scream. “There were newspaper clippings and reports in your house.”

“That stuff in the closet? It ain’t mine. Belongs to the guy who lived there before me. He was supposed to come get it, but he never did.”

“You lived there for more than a year and never got rid of the crap the previous people left behind?”

He shrugged. “We were busy.”

For whatever reason, Sam believed him and her heart sank with disappointment. Another dead end. “Who lived there before you?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I ain’t the freaking landlord.”

“Why’d you shoot my partner?”

“Who’s your partner?”

Keep him talking, Sam. Get as much as you can out of him before this goes bad
. “Yesterday? In your house?”

“He was a cop?”

Gratified to see Reese’s complexion go pale at that news, she said, “Yeah.”

“I didn’t mean to shoot no cop. He snuck up on me. I thought he was trying to rob the place. Man’s got a right to be in his own house, to protect his property.”

Thrilled to have at least gotten his confession on Freddie’s shooting, she released a long deep breath, satisfied with the partial victory. “Not after he kills his family in that house he doesn’t.”

The gun pressed hard into her neck. “Shut the fuck up and drive.”

Nick arrived at his office to find the staff huddled around the television in the conference room. “What’s up?”

“That guy Reese who killed his family and shot the Lieutenant’s partner?” Trevor said.

His heart slowing to a crawl, Nick nodded. “What about him?”

Trevor swallowed hard. “He’s taken a Metro cop hostage. They’re showing it live. A helicopter is following them on Mass Ave.”

Nick moved closer for a better look. At the sight of the dark blue sedan, he gasped. And then he told himself the department had hundreds of those cars assigned to their detectives and high-ranking officers. It could be anyone. “They haven’t said who it is?”

Trevor shook his head.

Nick reminded himself of Sam’s promise to call him the minute she could to let him know it wasn’t her. He retrieved his cell phone from his coat pocket and checked for missed calls. None. Staring at the phone, he willed it to ring.

“What’s that?” Reese asked, bending to look out the back window.

“Sounds like a chopper.”

“What the fuck? Are they
following
us? How do they even know?”

As he grew more agitated, Sam could think only of Nick and the conversation they’d had the night before. If he knew what was going on—and he probably did by now—he was waiting to hear from her. She ached when she remembered how upset he’d been after the shooting, and now this. Two days in a row, and this time she was actually in danger. No way would he stick around after this. The thought made her unbearably sad.

“They’re following us!” He threw the phone at her. “Call them. Tell them to back off.”

Her hands shaking, Sam reached for the phone and flipped it open. With only a moment’s hesitation, she called Nick.

“Sam!” He sounded as if he had pounced on the phone. “Are you okay?”

Gauging Reese through the mirror, she worked at keeping the hysteria out of her voice. “He wants you to call off the chopper.”

“I’ll tell Malone. I came over to HQ as soon as I heard the news. He’s right here. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yes.” Then, realizing she might never get to talk to Nick again, she said, “Wait. No. You.”

“
Babe
,” he said, the single word full of agony. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“Me, too.”

Reese grabbed the phone from her hand and closed it.

Sam wanted to weep. She had so many other things she needed to say to Nick. If she had a lifetime, she’d never get to say them all.

“What the hell is taking so long?”
Reese roared, his eyes fixed on the chopper.

Sam startled at his loud tone. “It could be the press.”

“Motherfucker,” he muttered.

In the mirror, Sam watched his eyes dart from one side of Massachusetts Avenue to the other.

“There.” He pointed with the gun. “Pull in there.”

Using the signal to alert the unmarked car behind them, she turned into the parking lot in front of a diner.

“Nice and slow,” Reese growled. “Get out and come to the back door.” He gripped the clip holding her hair.

Sam winced as he pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear.

“One wrong move and you’re dead. You got me?”

“Yeah.”

“Hurry up.”

Sam hoped her legs would hold up under her as she got out of the car and moved to the back door. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her colleagues move into position. If she could somehow give them enough room, if they could get off a shot…

But Reese had thought of that. When she opened the back door, he grabbed her and brought her down close to him. Hooking his arm around her neck and pressing the gun to her temple, he whispered, “Get out. Slowly.”

Sam took her time standing up.

He half walked, half dragged her into the diner. “Listen up,” Reese yelled, keeping the gun pressed to her head. “I want everyone out of here in one minute or this bitch cop is dead and so is anyone left.”

Eyeing the gun, customers scrambled for the doors.

“You.” Reese nodded to a paunchy middle-aged man who appeared to be in charge of the diner. “Over here.”

The man’s eyes almost popped out of his doughy face.

Now that they were out of the car, Sam waited for her opportunity to call upon her years of training to immobilize Reese. But not while there were still civilians in the diner.

One of the waitresses escorted the last elderly customer to the door, casting a panic-stricken glance at her boss on her way out.

“Go out there and tell them I want my money.” Reese pointed the gun at the petrified manager. “I want every cent of the ten grand they took from my house. They got one hour.
She’s
got one hour. Go.”

The manager didn’t have to be told twice.