by Marie Force
“We came as soon as we heard you were here,” Skip said, grimacing at the sight of her injury.
Sam was glad to see them but suspicious nonetheless. “And how did you know I was here?” she asked, even though she knew exactly how they’d heard.
“I can’t reveal my sources,” her father said. He came in as close as he could get for a look at her face.
In deference to his paralysis and his concern, Sam leaned forward to give him a better view.
He winced. “He gotcha good, huh?”
Shrugging, Sam said, “I got him better.”
“I had no doubt, baby girl.”
“She’s giving the nurses a hard time,” Malone said, probably in retaliation for the bird she’d sent his way.
“I don’t need you ratting me out to my dad,” Sam said. “Isn’t it time for your morning donut break?”
“Oh,” Malone said, his face lighting up, “donuts. Can I get you anything?”
The others demurred, and he said he’d be right back.
“Don’t rush on my account,” Sam called after him.
“Why are you giving the nurses a hard time?” asked Celia, a nurse herself.
“They want to stick me full of unnecessary needles.”
Skip laughed at her petulance. “You look like you did at twelve when you crashed your bike and they wanted to give you a tetanus shot.”
“Didn’t need it then, don’t need it now.”
Celia reached out to brush Sam’s hair back from her forehead and pressed a motherly kiss to her uninjured cheek. “Let them take care of you, honey. They know what they’re doing.”
Touched, as always, by Celia’s sweetness, Sam said, “Why does everything they’re doing have to involve needles? And why did my husband have to call you guys when I told him I was fine?”
“Because he was worried about you and couldn’t get here himself to check on you,” Skip said. “So he called in the next best thing.”
“You don’t have to stay. The plastics guy is going to stitch me up, and then I’m going to work.”
“We’ll stick around until you’re done.” Her father’s blue eyes, the exact shade of hers, allowed for no argument. He got a lot done with those eyes. “In case you need us.”
* * *
When Celia stepped into the hallway to take a phone call from her sister, Skip turned those formidable blue eyes on his daughter again.
“What?” Sam asked, suddenly feeling the need to squirm. He was one of two people who had the power to make her squirm.
“I had dinner with Joe over the weekend,” he said of his longtime friend, the chief of police.
An uncomfortable itch settled at the base of Sam’s neck when she sensed her father was pissed about something. “That’s nice. I know how much you enjoy seeing him.” His former colleagues at the MPD had been endlessly devoted since the devastating shooting that left Skip a quadriplegic two and a half years ago.
“He mentioned something I was quite surprised to hear, especially since my own daughter was involved and never saw fit to tell me about it.”
Yep, he was pissed. Sam wished she knew what he was talking about so she could prepare the defense she’d probably need. Whenever he got mad at her, it was usually with good reason. “What was that?” Sam asked, though she suspected she didn’t want to know.
“The Fitzgerald case.”
“Oh.” Sam’s stomach took a perilous dip. “That.”
“Yeah, that. The cold case of mine that you reopened when I was hooked to a ventilator earlier this year and unable to tell you to leave well enough alone.”
“You don’t understand—”
“You’re goddamned right I don’t understand! I told you once before to leave that one alone, and nothing has changed since then.”
Sam stared at him, mouth agape, which caused more pain to radiate through her injured face. “Everything has changed since then. The day you told me to leave it alone the first time was the same day you were shot. We thought you were going to die when you had pneumonia. I wanted to get closure for you. I did it for you.”
“Is that right? So when I didn’t have the decency to die, why didn’t you tell me you’d reopened my case without my permission?”
“I hate to tell you,” Sam said, unnerved by his unusual hostility, “that it’s not your case anymore. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m in charge of the homicide division now, and all cases—hot and cold—are actually my cases.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, Sam realized she’d said exactly the wrong thing.
The side of his face that wasn’t paralyzed became stormy as he went from pissed to furious. “It’s good to know you’re not above pulling rank on your paralyzed old man.”
“Oh, Jesus, Dad, you’re going to play the paralyzed card on me?”
“I don’t have many other cards in my deck these days. I can’t believe you let me hear about this from Joe. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to hear from him what my own kid should’ve told me months ago? And then to see his surprise when he realized I didn’t know? You promised you wouldn’t keep shit from me anymore. I’m disappointed you broke your promise.”
His words hit like arrows to her heart. She’d embarrassed and hurt him, which in turn hurt her. Sam couldn’t find the words to respond. To hear him say he was disappointed in her was far worse than anything else he could’ve said, and he knew it.
“Here’s how this is going to go. I understand you’ve caught a new case. So at your earliest possible convenience, I want a meeting with you, McBride and Tyrone. I want to know what they did, who they talked to and what came of it. Do I make myself clear?”
If he were any other past member of the MPD barking orders at her, she’d tell him to fuck off. But because he was her dad and one of the most important people in her life, she said, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
“I used the cold case as a way to get McBride back to work after she was attacked,” Sam said sullenly. “And they didn’t uncover anything new.”
“I still want a full report—from them—and I want it very soon.”
“Fine.”
Sam was certain her expression was every bit as mulish as his. In their case, the apple and the tree were often one and the same. They sat in uncomfortable and unusual silence until Celia returned.
Her gaze moved between them, settling on her husband. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said.
Before her stepmother could delve into their dispute, Freddie came in with McBride, Tyrone, Gonzo and Arnold in tow. Judging by the horrified stares each of her colleagues levied on her face, Sam deduced her injury was getting more spectacular looking by the minute. Great.
When McBride and Tyrone saw her dad in the room, Sam watched the partners exchange uneasy glances. Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sam thought. What was that about? Sam wished she had time to dig into that situation, but right now their focus had to be on the Kavanaugh case.
“Do you want me to go?” Skip asked.
The question pained her. Of course she didn’t want him to go. Without him, she never would’ve suspected Melissa was the one behind the killing spree earlier in the year. He was an invaluable member of her team, and he knew it. “No, I don’t want you to leave.”
Tuned in to the tension between father and daughter, Freddie raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me,” Celia said on her way out of the crowded cubical.
“Hope you all had a good weekend,” Sam said to her detectives. She took the dry-erase board Jeannie McBride handed her and launched into an update on the facts of the case, making notes on the board as she went. It was much smaller than her usual murder board, but it would do for now.
“Lindsey reported in early this morning.” Freddie produced the medical examiner’s report and handed it to Sam.
She took a quick scan. “Cause of death was manual strangulation. No sign of sexual assault. Lindsey was
able to retrieve DNA samples from under Victoria Kavanaugh’s fingernails, which she has sent to the lab for analysis.” Sam was glad to know Victoria had fought for her life. “Doesn’t give us much to work with, but at least there’s hope we’ll get a hit on the DNA.”
“We never get that lucky,” Freddie said.
“Where is SVU on the search for the baby?” Sam asked.
“Following up on all the tips that came in after the alert was issued,” Gonzo said, “but nothing yet.”
“If we find Victoria’s killer,” Sam said, “I bet we’ll find the baby.” Whether or not Maeve would still be alive by then was anyone’s guess.
“First,” Lindsey McNamara said from the doorway, “we need to figure out who exactly was killed yesterday.”
The medical examiner’s statement caught the attention of everyone in the room. Her long, red hair was pulled into the ponytail she wore to work, and her green eyes zeroed in on Sam. “Ouch.”
“Forget about that,” Sam said. “What’re you talking about?”
“As a matter of routine, I run the prints of every victim through AFIS,” Lindsey said of the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. “Our victim’s prints came back with a hit for a Denise Desposito.”
Sam’s blood zinged through her veins as she processed what Lindsey was saying and absorbed the implications for the case—and for Derek.
“Desposito has a long criminal record, mostly fraud—Medicare, Social Security, Medicaid. She’s been involved with one fraud after another and was finally put away for a long stretch about six years ago after the feds cracked a scheme in Ohio. She basically defrauded the government for a living.”
“Wait,” Freddie said. “If our vic is Denise Desposito and she was put away for a long stretch six years ago, how is it possible that she was married and had a kid in that time?”
“She didn’t,” Lindsey said. “Thirty-six-year-old Desposito was killed in a fight in prison a month after she was sent away.”
Sam exhaled a long, deep breath. “What the hell?” She shook her head in disbelief. “So our victim isn’t Victoria Taft Kavanaugh, which explains why there was practically no sign of her online, and even though her prints match up with Denise Desposito, she’s not her either?”
“That’s right,” Lindsey said.
“Then who the hell is she?”
Chapter Seven
“Everybody out,” Dr. Anderson said a few minutes later when he returned with another doctor.
Sam and her team were still processing what Lindsey had told them.
“Cruz,” Sam said, “go to Calahan Rice on K Street and find out everything you can about the woman who’d been known there as Victoria Taft. Gonzo, you and Arnold track down Felicity Rider, maid of honor in the Kavanaugh’s wedding.”
“What can we do?” McBride asked.
“You can get out so we can sew her up,” Anderson said.
“See if you can track down a Victoria Taft from Defiance, Ohio,” Sam said, ignoring the doctor. “Parents are Greg and Betty.”
“Got it,” McBride said, writing down the info.
“I’ll be at HQ as soon as I’m done here. Meet me there.”
“That’s it,” Anderson said, ushering the others from the cubicle. “Everyone out.”
“My parents can stay,” Sam said, suddenly filled with anxiety as the plastic surgeon approached and introduced himself as Dr. Simsbury. As they prepped her for the procedure, she wished she’d allowed Nick to come after all. While Celia offered a comforting and steady presence, no one could take his place.
“A quick pinch to numb you up,” Simsbury said when he came at her face with a freakishly long needle.
It took every ounce of self-control Sam could muster not to scream or grab his arm to stop him—if she broke his arm in the process, that would be fine too. The “quick pinch” burned like a fucking bastard, sending tears spilling from her eyes.
“You’re almost there, honey,” Celia said, squeezing Sam’s hand.
“One more,” Simsbury said.
This time Sam closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch the needle come toward her. It burned no less the second time around. She broke into a cold sweat and forced air into her lungs by sheer will.
“We’re going to give you something to calm you down, Sam,” Anderson said. “Your heart rate is through the roof.”
Her eyes flew open. “No!” The medicine that would calm her would also ruin the rest of her day, and she couldn’t afford to be muzzy around the edges today. Plus, it would require more needles. “Give me the goddamn stitches and get me out of here.”
“This is going to take a while,” Simsbury said. “You may as well get comfortable.”
Sam wanted to take his head off. Did he really think she was going to get comfortable while he was sewing her face closed? But because the argument would take time she didn’t have, she bit her tongue and closed her eyes to get “comfortable.”
The next thing she knew, Celia was shaking her awake. “Sam? Honey, they’re done.”
What the hell? Did she sleep through the stitches? “What did they give me?”
“Nothing. You fell asleep.”
“That’s one for the record books.” At least her face didn’t hurt anymore. That was something anyway. “What time is it?”
“Noon.”
Groaning, Sam sat up too fast, and a head rush overtook her. Celia’s hands on her shoulders steadied her.
“You need to take it slow, honey. You’ve had a shock and lost a lot of blood. You’re apt to be a bit woozy for the rest of the day.”
“Great. Where’s Dad?” The earlier disagreement with her dad came rushing back to remind her she had yet another matter to attend to today.
“In the waiting room. He couldn’t bear to watch them sew up your face.”
“Can you guys drop me at HQ?”
“I suppose there’s no chance of talking you into taking the rest of the day off, is there?” Celia asked.
“No chance in hell.”
“You can’t leave until they discharge you with pain meds you’re going to need when the numbness wears off.”
“They’ve got five minutes, and then I’m outta here.”
“You’re a pain in the rear, you know that?”
“I hear that a lot.”
Chuckling, Celia left the cubicle to go find the doctors while Sam looked around for her clothes. Her bloodstained jeans were on a chair in the room, but no sign of her shirt or bra. “Um, hello,” she called into the hallway. “Where’s my shirt?”
A nurse came in a minute later carrying a set of scrubs.
“Where’s my stuff?”
“Ruined.”
Damn it, Sam thought, she’d liked that shirt. She had few enough clothes after the slashing incident that losing something she liked was a bummer. “What am I supposed to do for a bra?”
The nurse shrugged. “That’s up to you.”
Sam muttered at the nurse’s back as she left the room. Since she couldn’t very well go braless at HQ, and it was too damned hot to wear a sweatshirt, she was forced to go home and change before she went to work. This day was so fucked up! She wondered if someone had at least taken her car to HQ. Hopefully, Freddie had seen to that. “Change of plans,” she said when Celia returned with Dr. Anderson in tow. “I need to go home before work.”
“No problem. We’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
As Anderson launched into an exhaustive list of follow-up procedures, Sam rolled a hand in the air to move things along. “Cut to the chase, Doc. I gotta run.”
His lips firmed with displeasure. “Cover it for the first forty-eight hours, and then keep it clean.”
“I’ll look after it,” Celia assured him.
“Prescription for painkillers,” he said, handing the slip to Sam, “and a follow-up appointment in two weeks with Dr. Simsbury that you will want to keep.”
“Great, thanks.” Sam grabbed the papers f
rom him and made for the door, ignoring the swimming sensation in her head. “Later.”
“See you soon,” Anderson said with a mocking smile that earned him the bird from Sam.
* * *
Freddie took the stairs to the second-floor office building and followed the directions to the Calahan Rice offices. Inside the smoked-glass door, the reception area boasted the logos of each of the American auto companies with a buy-American banner above them.
Subtle, he thought.
“May I help you?” the dark-haired receptionist asked, giving him a not-so-subtle once-over. Ever since he’d started sleeping with Elin, other women seemed far more interested in him than they’d ever been before. Could they tell somehow that he was finally having sex, and lots of it? Didn’t matter. Elin was the only one he wanted to have sex with, and it was better if he didn’t think about her or having sex with her in the middle of his workday.
“Detective Cruz.” He flashed his badge. “MPD. I’m looking for some information about a former employee named Victoria Taft.”
“I’ve only been here a year, so I haven’t heard of her. Let me get our managing partner. She’ll be able to help you. She’s been here forever.”
“Thank you.” While he waited, Freddie took a seat in the comfortable waiting room, picked up a sports magazine and flipped through the coverage of the Washington Nationals’ magical season. The entire city was riveted by the young team’s first winning season. Last year, the team had stooped to giving away tickets to get people to the ballpark. This year, tickets were hard to come by.
A cool blonde in a black power suit and sky-high heels strode into the reception area. “Detective Cruz?”
Freddie put down the magazine and stood. “Yes.” He showed her his badge.
She took a good long look at it. “I’m Susan Jacobson, the managing partner. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for some information about a former employee.”
“Victoria Taft.”
“Yes.”
Her composure wavered a bit. “I heard that she’d been killed and wondered if the police would come here.”
“This was her last place of employment before her marriage.”
“I know. I was at her wedding. Come on back.”