Fatal Threat

by Marie Force

  Before the summer, he’d made some progress in his plans to spend time with kids in middle and high school, encouraging them to think big and aim high. He’d visited twenty schools in the DC metro area and had twenty more on the schedule for the fall. He was always thinking about ways to connect with young people, especially through social media, where they spent so much of their time.

  Devoting his time to kids made him feel less useless and irrelevant since the president rarely gave him a passing thought. He’d had to figure out his own path to staying engaged in a job that had caused him more headaches than anything else since he accepted the post last November.

  The meeting tomorrow was yet another on a long list of things to worry about. After battling insomnia for most of his life, he recognized the futility of trying to sleep while his brain was racing a mile a minute. Maybe it was time to let Harry give him something new to help him sleep. Nothing he’d tried on his own, including melatonin, had worked, and the prescription meds he’d tried in the past had left him groggy the next day.

  Nick settled Sam on her pillow, got out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweats and left the room. He nodded to Darcy, the agent positioned outside Scotty’s door, and went into the room they used as an office. Rather than lie awake wondering what the president wanted with him, Nick decided to review the briefing books that arrived in his office on a regular basis, even if no one ever asked him to do anything.

  At the very least, he kept up on what he needed to know if the worst should ever happen. He prayed every day that would never happen. Though everyone expected him to run for office in four years, he was beginning to think that was the last thing he wanted to do. He was finding the confining life surrounded by Secret Service to be stifling. No one could tell you what it was like to lose the basic ability to move around freely until it happened. He’d discovered he hated being a prisoner in his own home, his every move subject to the approval of his detail.

  Wouldn’t it be something when the rest of the world heard that he was losing interest in eventually running for the highest office in the land?

  Laughing to himself at the thought of that story getting out, and the Democratic leadership having an apoplexy, Nick opened the first of three binders and began to immerse himself in details he hoped he’d never need.

  * * *

  SAM DREAMED OF TORTURE, of fire singeing skin, of nails ruthlessly torn from fingers and punches raining down on her when she was powerless to defend herself. Then Stahl was there, wire bale in hand, a maniacal expression on his portly face as he prepared to wrap her in razors and set her on fire.

  Then she was screaming, fighting to break free, thrashing and battling with everything she had.

  “Babe, wake up. Samantha, wake up. You’re dreaming again.” Nick’s voice dragged her out of hell. He scooped her up into his arms and held her close while she sobbed for Peter, for herself, for the sheer senselessness of his murder and the awful way he’d suffered. “It’s okay, baby.” Nick stroked her hair and back as she cried it out. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

  Sam wasn’t proud of the way she clung to him, but she desperately needed the comfort only he could provide. In the past, before him, she would’ve powered through on her own, even if it meant quaking with fear by herself late at night in her bed. It was so much better to let him wrap her up in his sweet love.

  “I’ve been waiting for this to really hit you,” he said, continuing to soothe her with his hand in her hair and on her back. “It’s totally normal for you to be undone by what happened to someone you once loved. It doesn’t matter what he did or didn’t do or failed to do. None of that matters right now.”

  No, it didn’t matter. She’d never forget the wicked things Peter had done to both of them. But Nick was right—none of that mattered in the wake of Peter’s gruesome murder.

  After a while, Nick eased her back to her pillow but kept his arms wrapped around her. “You want to talk about it?”

  “I... I was dreaming that what happened to Peter happened to me.” Her skin felt clammy, and her heart still raced.

  “Aww, baby.” He held her closer, his body snug against her back, their legs intertwined, his arms tight around her.

  “Stahl was there with the razor wire. It was a mishmash of horrible things. I just keep thinking that this thing with Peter is going to blow up into a big deal. We’re missing something.”

  “Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

  “Part of me is afraid of the truth. If it leads back to me in some way, I don’t know how I’ll live with that.”

  “You’ll live with it by knowing there was absolutely nothing you could’ve done to prevent what happened to Peter. There’s going to be an explanation, eventually, and no matter what it is, we already know it had nothing directly to do with you.”

  “Even if he was killed because of me?”

  “Even then.”

  Sam released a shuddering deep breath and relaxed into his embrace.

  “That’s it, sweetheart.” He ran his hand down her arm and linked their fingers. “Try to go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

  “That helps. Thanks.” She squeezed his hand. “Where were you?”

  “In the office reading.”

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Nah.”

  “You could hear me from there?” she asked.

  “Darcy heard you and alerted me.”

  “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

  “Don’t sweat it, babe. Just try to relax and get some sleep.”

  “You don’t have to stay if you’d rather read.”

  Kissing the back of her shoulder, he said, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than wherever you are.”

  “Even when I’m a hot mess?”

  “Especially then. I like being needed by you.”

  “I like needing you, and I like that I don’t even care that I said that out loud.”

  Nick laughed. “That’s progress, my love.”

  “Mmm, sure is.” After a long moment of quiet, she said, “I could never be this person with anyone but you.”

  “That’s really good to know. I feel the same exact way.”

  * * *

  SAM TOOK THE EDGY, disturbed feelings from the dream to work with her the next morning, more determined than ever to find whoever had killed Peter. As always lately, reporters surrounded HQ and lined the street with satellite trucks, ready to broadcast the latest salacious details as soon as they were made available. They disgusted her.

  She walked into the pit, where Freddie told her she had a visitor.

  “Detective Green from Fairfax, looking for anything we can tell him about the floater.”

  “Ugh, how did a case that we off-loaded end up back in my pit?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “You’re no help at all.”

  “What?” he asked with a laugh. “He didn’t want to talk to me. Only you.”

  “Awesome.”

  “I can’t help that your reputation precedes you.”

  Sam left him with a glare that did nothing to dim his smile and went into her office, where Detective Green was immersed in his smartphone while he waited for her. He jumped up when she walked in and managed to nearly drop his phone in the process. Tall, blond and muscular, he had the look of a guy who spent a lot of time at the gym. His blue eyes were warm and welcoming.

  “Lieutenant Holland, I’m Detective Green, Fairfax County. I’m here about the floater your people pulled from the Anacostia on Friday.”

  Was that really only Friday? It seemed like a decade ago. Sam shook his outstretched hand. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “Before I get into the case, please let me tell you that I’m a big fan of your work,” the
young detective said with a big grin.

  His name wasn’t the only thing about him that was green. “Thank you,” Sam said. “I understand you’ve identified the floater?”

  “Yes, she’s Rose Samuels, a known prostitute who’s had many run-ins with our department over the years. The thing is, though, she’d begun to clean up her act in the last year or so. She was attending community college, had a steady boyfriend and an apartment that she paid for by waitressing seven nights a week.”

  Sam felt unreasonably sad for a woman she’d never met. “Did the boyfriend check out?”

  “He reported her missing the first night she didn’t come home and has cooperated every step of the way. The poor guy is distraught. He says they had plans.”

  “And there’s no chance she was back to her old ways and the boyfriend didn’t know it?”

  “No chance.”

  “Hmm, that’s a tough one, for sure. What did you need to see me about?”

  “I was hoping you might have some ideas for me, having worked the scene where she was found.”

  “As you and the rest of the world know, I wasn’t there very long.”

  “Still... I’m staring at the brick wall here, and I want to nail the person that did this for Rose, her family, the boyfriend, the plans they had. Maybe I’m being silly caring so much about an ex-hooker, but I knew her a little, and I was rooting for her.”

  “You’re not silly,” Sam said, touched by his passion for the job. “I’ll tell you one thing that sort of nagged at me after that day at the river.” She hadn’t had a chance to think about it much since then, thanks to being abducted by the Secret Service.

  “What?”

  “The guy who called it in... Hang on a sec.” She went to the door and yelled for Cruz, who popped up in his cubicle like Little Rabbit Foo Foo, not that she’d ever share that thought with him.

  “You bellowed?”

  “Who was the guy who called in the floater?”

  Freddie looked down on his desk until he came up with the page that Beckett had given them at the scene. “Mike Lonergan. Works at the Navy Yard and runs on the path every day. Made a point to tell us that she hadn’t been there the day before.”

  Green wrote down the details as Freddie recited them. “This is something I didn’t have before. I’ll check him out.”

  “Will you keep us posted?”

  “I’d be happy to.” He handed her his card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

  “We will. Good luck. I hope you get justice for Rose.”

  “Oh, I will. You can count on that. I won’t stop until I get the person who did this to her.”

  “She’s lucky to have you on her case.” Sam could see that her compliment pleased him.

  “I’m glad you think so. I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Sam watched him go and then looked at the card he’d given her. Cameron Green. She liked the cut of his jib, as her father would say. “Cruz!”

  He popped up, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

  “Let’s hit the streets.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where’s Gonzo?”

  “He had an appointment this morning.”

  “We have some spots that need to be filled on this squad.”

  “You read my mind, Lieutenant,” a booming voice said from behind her.

  Sam turned to face Captain Malone. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Morning meeting with the chief. I was coming to talk to you about the openings in your squad. I understand Detective Tyrone has tendered his resignation?”

  “So far we only have one official opening,” Sam replied. “I still need to speak to Tyrone, and I haven’t had a chance to do that yet. Until I do, his spot is not officially open.”

  “Fair enough,” Malone said, “but we need to fill Arnold’s spot.”

  “I know,” Sam said, her heart sinking. She was surprised the brass had let her put it off this long. “Let me get this case closed, and then we can talk about.”

  “Okay, but I’m going to post the opening for internal and external applicants.”

  “If you must.”

  “I must. Where are we with Gibson?”

  “About to get back to it.”

  “Don’t let me keep you. Report in later on what you’ve got. We’re under tremendous pressure from the media for updates.”

  “When are we not under tremendous pressure from them?”

  “When our vic is the ex-husband of our star Homicide detective, who also happens to be the nation’s second lady, the pressure is a little more intense.”

  Sam glowered at him and then turned to leave, hoping Cruz was following her. As she headed toward the morgue exit, her cell phone rang and she took the call from Nick. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”

  “Um, well...”

  The odd tone of his voice had her stopping. “What?”

  “Apparently, my mother has given an interview.”

  “She’s done what?”

  “You heard me right. She did a sit-down with Amber Dillon.”

  Sam’s heart sank. Dillon was one of the sleaziest reporters in the business. “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes, and from all accounts, nothing was off-limits.”

  “Nick...”

  “Terry made some calls,” he said of his chief of staff, Terry O’Connor, “and rumor has it that it’s as bad as it gets. The network promos are calling it the most revealing interview yet about our country’s new vice president.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” She could only imagine the shit his estranged mother was capable of stirring up.

  “Right there with you.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m meeting with the White House chief counsel in thirty minutes. There’s talk of trying to file an injunction to stop the broadcast. We’ll do what we can.”

  Sam leaned against the cinder-block wall, needing the support. “We’ll sue her ass off, hit her hard in the pocketbook, so she’ll think twice about opening her big mouth again.”

  “I’ve already talked to Andy about that,” he said of his lawyer friend.

  “I’m so sorry this is happening, babe,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, well, it’s par for the course where she’s concerned.”

  Sam’s heart ached for him. “Keep me posted?”

  “I will. I’ve got to go.”

  “I love you, and no matter what she says, it doesn’t change anything that matters, do you hear me?”

  “I hear you. I’ll call you later.”

  Though he said the right things, she could hear the despair in his voice. When would that dreadful woman stop hurting her only child?

  “What’s wrong?” Freddie asked.

  “Nick’s mother has given a tell-all to Amber Dillon.”

  “Oh no...”

  “Oh yes.” Sam pulled herself off the wall and continued toward the exit, wishing she could be with Nick to help him deal with the latest betrayal by the woman who’d given birth to him. Instead, she was heading to talk to Peter’s parole officer. The irony wasn’t lost on her. Once again, her ex-husband was keeping her from Nick.

  “Did he have any specifics?” Freddie asked, obviously choosing his words carefully.

  “Nothing other than the network is promising an exposé.”

  “Crap.”

  “That’s exactly what it’ll be, not that anyone will care that it’s all lies. She’ll run his name through the mud, and he’ll have to deal with the fallout.”

  “How can a mother treat her own child the way she treats him?”

  “It’s always been like this with her. She’s the most selfish person you’ll ever have the displeas
ure to meet. She probably can’t stand that he’s getting the limelight she always wanted for herself.”

  “Wow. Unreal. Is there anything he can do?”

  “He’s talking to White House counsel about injunctions and to our personal attorney about civil action.” Sam sighed. “Just what we need on top of threats and murdered ex-husbands.”

  “Sometimes I wonder how you two manage to keep it together with everything you’ve got coming at you all the time.”

  “We try to focus on what we know to be true and filter out the crap that’s out of our control.”

  “It’s admirable. Some of it would tear a lesser marriage apart.”

  “If we let it tear us apart, the haters win. We’ll never give them the satisfaction.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SAM AND FREDDIE got into the tricked-out black BMW that was a gift from her husband after the inaugural takedown had quadrupled the attention focused on her. The car was outfitted with every possible safety feature, as well as supplies for three days off the grid if it ever came to that.

  Sam drove the short distance to the building that housed the Court Services and Offender Supervision Agency for the District of Columbia, the federal agency responsible for overseeing adults on probation, parole and supervised release. Peter had been on supervised probation following the altercation outside her home the night before her wedding when he’d violated the no-contact order she had against him and pulled a gun on her.

  She shuddered as she recalled that incident. Even after all this time, she could still remember every detail.

  “Going somewhere?” he’d asked.

  Shit. “What’re you doing here, Peter?” At the sight of her ex-husband, her heart beat fast and her breath came out in white, puffy clouds in the cold. She began to shiver.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I have something to say to you, and it’s high time you listened to me.”

  “Get out of here before I have your ass thrown back in jail for violating the no-contact order.”

  She started to push past him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her tight against him.

  “Let go of me, or I swear to God I’ll cripple you.”