by Marie Force
Freddie followed her to a spacious office at the end of a long corridor. On the way, they passed numerous offices where staff members were hunched over computers or on the phone. Whenever he saw people working in offices, he was grateful for a job he loved. While at times unbearably stressful and dangerous and sad, it was also exhilarating and deeply satisfying—and it kept him on the streets and out of offices that looked like this one. “Busy place,” he said.
“Yes, especially since the auto industry bailouts. We’ve got a lot on our plates ensuring that Congress continues to support the American autoworkers.”
“A worthwhile task, it would seem.”
“We think so,” she said, seeming pleased by his comment.
Susan gestured for him to take a seat in one of her visitor chairs. “Because I thought we might hear from the police, I pulled Victoria’s personnel record.” She handed him a thin manila folder.
A quick perusal showed a printout of an online application, a recommendation from an Ohio congressman, a commendation from Ford for her participation on a project and Victoria’s letter of resignation.
“There isn’t much,” Susan said, “but she was a good worker. Dedicated and professional. We were grooming her for bigger and better things when she met Derek Kavanaugh. Naturally, we understood that she couldn’t continue her employment here when her husband’s boss was running for president.”
“What did you know of her personal life, beyond her relationship with Mr. Kavanaugh?”
“Not much, to be honest. I worked with her for almost a year, but it occurred to me only today, after I heard about what’d happened, that I didn’t know her all that well. You know how some people have one persona for work and another outside of work?”
Freddie nodded, even though the people he worked with tended to be more or less the same whether at work or not.
“She didn’t talk much about her life away from the office until she met Derek. It was obvious to all of us that she was quite taken with him.”
“So she never said anything about her personal life, and then suddenly she’s a sharer?”
“It wasn’t so much that she was sharing the details as it was hard for her to hide that she was falling in love with him. Whenever one of us mentioned his name, her face turned bright red. That kind of thing.”
“So it seemed to be a genuine love match?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. Anyone who attended that wedding left with no doubt they’d make a go of it.”
“Would you mind making a copy of her file for me?”
“Of course not.” Susan buzzed for an assistant and asked her to make the copies. While they waited, she said, “You’re Sam Holland’s partner, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s she like in person?”
“Much like she is in the media,” Freddie said hesitantly. Sam’s notoriety had skyrocketed after her marriage to Nick, and Freddie went out of his way to guard her privacy. “She’s a great boss and friend.”
“Seems like she would be. I admire them both very much.”
“So do I.”
The assistant returned with the copies, and Freddie rose to leave. “I appreciate your help.” He handed her his card. “If you think of anything else that might be relevant to the investigation, my number is on there.”
“I’ll let you know,” she said with a warm smile that melted her cool façade. “I hope you find the person who did this to Victoria, and find her sweet baby too.”
It dawned on Freddie all at once that she was looking at him with what might’ve been interest. “We’re doing everything we can.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“That’s all right,” he said, hoping to discourage whatever she might be thinking. “I can find my way. Thanks again.”
He had an uneasy feeling she was watching him as he headed for the exit.
* * *
Felicity Rider worked as a legislative aide in the Capitol Hill offices of Senate Minority Leader William Stenhouse.
“Why do I know this guy’s name?” Arnold asked Gonzo.
“Other than the fact that he’s the number two guy in the Senate, you mean?” Gonzo asked his young partner, who was often a bit of a dunderhead.
“Well, duh. I know that much.”
“He was on Sam’s short list of suspects when Senator O’Connor was murdered,” Gonzo said as they entered the Hart Senate Office Building. “He and the first Senator O’Connor were bitter enemies for decades. So when John O’Connor turned up dead the night before his first big bill was up for a vote, Graham O’Connor suspected Stenhouse. Graham said Stenhouse would rather see Graham’s son dead than have any success in the Senate.”
“It’s all coming back to me now.”
In Stenhouse’s vast office suite, they flashed their badges and asked for Felicity at the reception desk. They were shown to a conference room where pictures, plaques and mementos from the Missouri senator’s illustrious career decorated every inch of wall space.
“Guy’s got a big opinion of himself,” Arnold muttered.
“Don’t they all?”
“Nick doesn’t.”
“True.” Their boss’s husband had come from humble roots, and Gonzo couldn’t imagine Nick’s prestigious job ever going to his head the way it clearly had with Stenhouse.
Felicity came into the room several minutes later. Tall and attractive with brown hair and eyes, she seemed frazzled and unnerved to be meeting with cops.
After they produced their badges and introduced themselves, Gonzo asked her to have a seat at the table.
“This is about Victoria,” Felicity said in a dull, flat-sounding tone.
Gonzo nodded. “You were a close friend?”
“At one time, yes. I can’t believe she’s dead. I’m still absorbing the shock.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Gonzo said. “It would help to hear how the two of you met and anything you can tell us that might be pertinent to the investigation.”
“I haven’t seen her in a couple of years. How did you even know about me?”
“You were listed as the maid of honor at her wedding. We assumed you were close friends.”
“Were is the key word. Once she married Derek, we didn’t see much of each other.”
A glance at her left hand showed it lacked wedding rings. “And that upset you?”
She shrugged. “Sure it did at first, but it happens. A lot of women forget about their single friends once they’re happily married. Wasn’t the first time it’s happened to me, or the last.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Gonzo asked.
“At the baby shower Derek’s mother had for her about a year and a half ago.”
“What can you tell us about her life before she lived in Washington?” Arnold asked.
“Not much. She was from Ohio, but her parents were dead. No siblings. I remember feeling sorry for her when we first met because she didn’t have any family. She spent a couple of Christmases with my family, but then she met Derek, and that was that.”
“The real thing?” Gonzo asked.
“Oh, for sure. She was mad over him from day one. It took weeks for him to ask her out. I thought she’d go crazy waiting on him. She was about to ask him when he finally worked up the nerve. He was very handsome and sweet. I could see why she was so into him. She was also attracted to the fact that he was successful, which was important to her.”
“How so?”
“She always said she wanted to be a stay-at-home mom when she had her family. While a lot of women these days go out of their way to maintain a career and a family, she had old-fashioned values about being home with her kids. Marriage to him would ensure she’d be able to do that.”
“Can you tell us who some of her other friends were at that time and where we might find them?”
“Caroline Horan was one. I believe she works at a PR firm on Mass Ave. Leslie Newman was another. Last I knew, she was an
event planner at the Willard. Victoria met them both at the yoga studio she frequented.”
“Do you happen to know if they were still in touch with her?”
“I really don’t. They were her friends, not mine.”
“You’ve been very helpful.” Gonzo handed her his card. “If you think of anything else, please get in touch.”
She took the card from him. “Do you think you’ll find the baby before...”
“We’re doing everything we can,” Gonzo said.
Nodding, Felicity preceded them out of the conference room.
* * *
After this case was closed, Agent Avery Hill decided as he drove from Herndon to the District, he was requesting a transfer out of the D.C. area. Some time in Phoenix or San Diego would be the thing to get him back on level ground and return his focus to what he cared about most in life—his career.
He’d been off track and out of whack for months, ever since he’d come face-to-face with Lt. Sam Holland and had the kind of instantaneous reaction to a woman he’d heard about but never before experienced. After pursuing petite, perky blondes for most of his adult life, it had been jarring to suddenly discover at thirty-eight that he actually preferred a tall, mouthy, ballsy, brave, irritating, flat-out gorgeous woman with honey-colored hair that spilled down her back in a riot of curls when she released it from the clip she used to contain it at work.
He’d learned he preferred pale blue eyes that ran the gamut from shrewd to suspicious to frigid when she looked at him—the dreaded interloper on her precious turf—to fiery hot when she looked at her beloved husband.
Any time he was near her, Avery found it nearly impossible to take his eyes off her, something her new and famously devoted husband had tuned into awfully fast last night.
Avery had spent a distressing amount of time over the last few months thinking about her, reading about her and basically acting like a besotted middle school boy in the throes of a first crush. When he’d received the call about Victoria Kavanaugh’s murder and been asked to consult with Sam on the case, Avery had wanted to whimper and cheer at the same time. First, he’d thought, Oh God, I have to see her again, which quickly morphed into, Thank God, I get to see her again!
On his way from Quantico to the District late on Sunday afternoon, he’d tried to prepare himself to see her. Maybe what’d happened before had been a weird one-time reaction that would’ve passed in the ensuing months. He was a rational guy who prided himself on an abundance of self-control. He’d made a career out of being cool and logical and patient and all the things that made for an effective agent.
Nothing about his reaction to the brassy lieutenant had been cool or logical. And then to realize she was the one who’d famously—and recently—married the senator... He blew out a deep breath as he recalled the moment he’d put two and two together to get that she was permanently off-limits. That had thrown him for a loop, and he hadn’t quite recovered his legendary mojo since then.
A quick glance at her face the night before had cemented his doom. It hadn’t been a random one-time thing. It had been a life-altering reaction that wouldn’t change no matter how many times he saw her. And now to be thrown back into a case with her right when he’d reached the point where he didn’t think about her every minute of every day anymore... Well, that was damned unfair.
The cosmic joke of it all wasn’t lost on him. He, who’d never had any trouble getting any woman he wanted, was gone over one he could not only never have but who couldn’t stand the sight of him. It would’ve been laughable if it hadn’t been so bloody pathetic.
Thus his desire to transfer out of the area to ensure he’d never have to see her again when they closed the Kavanaugh case.
After spending the morning with a ragged-looking Derek Kavanaugh at his parents’ Herndon home, Hill had nothing much to add to the ongoing investigation. They’d gone over everything Kavanaugh had worked on in the last year, touching on issues that might be controversial or polarizing, but nothing stood out as a motive for murder or kidnapping.
As he drove to HQ and mulled over the interview with Kavanaugh, he caught the news at the top of the hour, which was the first he’d heard about Sam’s heroics that morning.
“Jesus,” he whispered when he realized how close she’d come to being shot or worse. The radio announcer mentioned a video of the incident from the store that had “already gone viral” and wondered what Sam would think of that. “What does it matter what she thinks?” he said out loud. “She’s nothing to you, and she never will be. Time to get real, buddy.”
But even as he said the words, he knew he wouldn’t rest until he saw with his own eyes that she was truly okay.
* * *
The first thing Sam noticed when Celia pulled into the parking lot at HQ was the horde of reporters gathered outside the main entrance. “Would you mind taking me around the corner to the morgue entrance?” Sam hated to ask because Celia had left Skip at home alone for the twenty minutes it would take to drive Sam to work and return home. Neither of them wanted him alone any longer than necessary.
“No problem.”
“Thanks. Anything to avoid the vultures.”
Celia laughed at that. “So what was going on between you and your father earlier?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Sam Cappuano. Spill it.”
Stunned by her stepmother’s rare curse, Sam said, “He’s mad because I didn’t tell him about an old investigation of his that I reopened when he was in the hospital earlier this year.”
“The Fitzgerald case?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, surprised again. “You know about that?”
“Of course I do. He used to talk about it a lot when he was still working. Before...”
Their lives were divided evenly in half—before the shooting and after. “I always forget you two were secretly dating before he was shot.”
Celia’s pretty round face flamed with color as it always did when this topic came up. “We were going to tell you girls. Eventually.”
“I don’t blame you for keeping it to yourselves for as long as you could,” Sam said, thinking of the bombs her ex-husband had attached to her car and Nick’s, which had blown the lid off their secret relationship. “Once everyone knows, it changes things.”
“Yes, it does. Your dad was still very raw over what’d happened with your mother, even though that was years before we met. It’d left him bitter.”
Sam thought of something her sister Tracy had said a few months ago about there being two sides to the story of what’d happened with their parents. They hadn’t discussed it since. While Sam was fine with not knowing her mother’s side of the story, Tracy’s comment rankled nonetheless. She didn’t want to be curious, but she was, and at some point she needed to ask her sister what she’d meant.
Sam hadn’t seen or talked to her mother in more than five years. After her wedding, she’d received a card indicating her mother would like to see her and meet Nick. The overture had been on Sam’s mind in recent months, but she’d yet to act on it. “Anyway, Dad is mad I didn’t tell him we took another look at Fitzgerald.”
“I take it Joe told him?”
“Yes,” Sam said, feeling guilty all over again. “We didn’t uncover anything new, so I didn’t think to mention it to him.”
“Especially since he’d already told you once to leave it alone.”
Shocked, Sam looked over at her stepmother. “You know about that too?”
“I know that on the day he was shot, you two had a rare disagreement, and it was about the Fitzgerald case. The last time I talked to him before he was shot he told me he’d had words with you over it.”
For days afterward, when they’d been uncertain he would survive the shooting, Sam had been convinced her last words to her father would be angry ones. “Why do you suppose he’s so adamant about me leaving it alone?”
“Maybe you should ask him that, huh?”
“Do
you know why?”
“Nope. But something about that case nags at him. He’s never said what it is.”
“Failing to find the killer of a little boy would nag at any detective, long after he was out of uniform.”
“True, but I’ve always suspected it’s something more than the failure to close the case.” Celia pulled up to the morgue entrance. “There you are, my dear. If you give me the prescription for the pain meds, I’ll drop it off on the way home. You can pick it up later.”
Even though Sam had no intention of picking up medication that would make her groggy and useless, she didn’t have time to argue. She handed the paper to her stepmother. “Thanks. For everything. I don’t know what I ever did without you.”
“Aw, honey.” Celia leaned over the console to give Sam a quick hug. “Be careful, will you please? Your father suffers whenever you get hurt. And so do I.”
Touched, Sam gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Will do. See you later.”
Chapter Eight
Sam hustled inside and jogged through the hallways and passageways that led to the pit where her detectives were gathered around a computer.
“Play it again,” she heard Gonzo say. “Whoa, right there, look at that!”
“Totally awesome,” Cruz said. “The guy has no idea what hit him.”
“Badass,” Arnold said.
On tiptoes, Sam looked over her partner’s shoulder. The convenience-store encounter played on the screen. As the gun made contact with her face, she winced along with the others. “All right, everyone. Show’s over.”
They nearly jumped out of their collective skins when they realized she’d joined them, which of course gave her a thrill. She liked to keep them jumping. “In the conference room. Five minutes.”
“Holy crap,” Freddie said when he saw her face. “It’s even more colorful than it was before.”
McBride recoiled and turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to look.
Once again, Sam thought of her plans for the evening. Disappointing her husband was never high on her to-do list, which was why she was determined to attend that fundraiser even if she looked like something out of a horror movie.