by Marie Force
Nick laughed. “So do I, and you’re talking to me as my friend, remember? I’m Nick to you. I’ll always be Nick to you.”
New tears spilled down her cheeks. “I hate myself right now. I hate women who cry at work. I’ve spent my entire adult life thinking less of women who make fools of themselves over men and consider giving up amazing careers to take care of babies, and would you look at me now? Crying all over my boss, who’s a freaking United States senator, and considering doing all the things I disdain?”
He knew he shouldn’t laugh, because she was dead serious, so he curbed the impulse. “Things change, Chris. Shit happens. Who knows that better than I do? I really do get it.” Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward and took her hands. “Look at me.”
Her watery gaze met his. “You said something has to go, right?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Is giving up Tommy and Alex an option?”
“No.”
“I’d venture to say giving you up isn’t an option for him either, so if you’re torn and stretched so thin and it’s not working, one of you has to give up your job. If it has to be you, I’ll understand. I’ll miss you like hell, but I’ll certainly understand.”
“Do you think Sam would say the same to Tommy?”
“Absolutely not,” he said without hesitation. “In fact, I’d guess that she’d be somewhere beyond furious, and in the end, it would turn out to be all my fault for having the audacity to invite you to the New Year’s Eve party where you met him.”
Christina laughed, as he’d hoped she would. “I can so see her pinning that on you.”
“It might be better for both of us if you were the one to give up your job.”
“I make more money than he does.”
“You have more money than all of us put together,” he reminded her.
She grimaced. “I never should’ve told you my family has money.”
Smiling at the face she made, he said, “You’ve made your own way your entire adult life and had a successful career doing something you love. If you use some of those resources now so you can focus on your family for a while, that doesn’t make you less successful. It means you’ve got your priorities straight.”
Christina squeezed his hands and released them. “Your wife is a lucky woman. I hope she knows that.”
“Um, thanks... I think she knows.”
“You might run for president,” she said fretfully. “I want to be part of that.”
“So go home for a few years, get your family launched and come back when and if that pipe dream ever comes to pass. Unless the voters have a huge change of heart between now and November, I’m not going anywhere, and there’ll always be a place for you on my team.”
Christina stood and leaned in to hug him. “Thank you for being an amazing friend. I’m sorry for the meltdown.”
“No apologies needed. Take a few minutes, and when you’re ready, get Terry and Trevor in here. We’ve got a speech to write.”
After she left, Nick went around his desk and dropped into his chair. While he really did understand Christina’s dilemma, he couldn’t imagine this place without her guiding his team. The thought of starting over with someone new was nearly unbearable.
He glanced at the photo of him with John that sat on the credenza. Nick scooted forward and picked up the picture, which had been taken shortly after John took office. Studying the two young men, Nick wondered what they might’ve done differently in life if they’d known what awaited them. Nick wouldn’t have accepted silence from Sam as an answer, and John would’ve been more considerate of the son who’d killed him in a fit of rage. Things could’ve been so different for both of them.
Returning the photo to the credenza, he picked up the other one he kept close by—of him with Sam on their wedding day. She was so stunningly beautiful, he thought as he ran a finger over the glass. That he got to go home to her every night was the single best thing about his new life. All the rest of it was noise when stacked up against their marriage.
Nick wished he had more time to spend with her, and more than anything, he wanted to give her the baby she wanted so badly. He wanted it pretty badly too, not that he’d ever admit that to her. She was under enough pressure on that subject as it was. He refused to add to her burden by sharing his own desire to be a father. They’d get there. One way or the other. And they were already pretty darned lucky to have Scotty in their lives. Hopefully, he’d come to visit this summer and decide to never leave.
A knock on the door preceded Christina, Terry and Trevor into the room.
Nick put down the photo and turned to them.
“Christina said you have some news,” Trevor asked. “What’s going on, Senator?”
“The Democratic National Committee has asked me to deliver the keynote speech at the convention.”
Terry’s face slackened with shock. “Wow, that’s amazing. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I was surprised, to say the least.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Terry said, nodding. “Of course they’ve got their eye on you. No one in either party has numbers like yours.”
“I’m still not convinced those numbers are all mine.”
“How do you mean?” Christina asked.
“I got the sympathy nod after John was killed, and all the craziness surrounding the wedding helped too.”
“You’re selling yourself short if you think you’re still benefitting from that stuff,” Terry said. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re half of what’s become somewhat of a celebrity couple, but that’s not the only reason you’re so popular. You’ve done a damned good job on behalf of the Commonwealth. You’ve earned those numbers, Senator.”
Unaccustomed to such praise from Terry, Nick said, “Thank you.”
“I’d like to take the first cut on the speech,” Terry said. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”
“Sure it is,” Nick said, pleased by Terry’s enthusiasm. They’d come a long way from when Nick insisted Terry spend thirty days in rehab before he joined his staff.
Trevor, who normally worked with Nick on the speeches, nodded in agreement. “I’ll take all the help I can get on this one.”
“What do you have in mind, Terry?” Nick asked.
Terry leaned forward, five months sober, sharp-eyed and fully engaged once again. “Here’s what I think we ought to do.”
Chapter Eighteen
Avery waited far longer than he should have to place the call to Bertha Ray. Visions of her various expressions—fear, outrage, dignity, resignation, acceptance—from the night before marched through his mind, torturing him with the knowledge that he had to break what was left of her heart. He had no doubt whatsoever that she’d given her son everything she had to give, but it hadn’t been enough to keep him straight.
At times like this, Avery wished he’d gone into construction or some other field in which telling people news that would shatter their lives wasn’t a part of his job description.
Knowing he couldn’t—and shouldn’t—put it off any longer, he picked up the phone and placed the call to the number Bertha had given him. Since Sam was out, he’d commandeered her office and was forced to stare at a picture of her and her adoring husband on their recent wedding day. He diverted his gaze but, like a magnet, it was drawn right back to her as he listened to the phone ring. The office smelled of her, adding to the torture. What was he even doing in here?
“Hello,” a breathless woman finally said, as if she’d run for the phone.
“This is Special Agent Avery Hill with the FBI. May I speak with Mrs. Ray, please?”
“Yes, one minute, please.”
While Avery waited, he took advantage of the opportunity to stare at Sam without having to worry about looking like a deviant fool in her eyes and those of their colleagues. For that’s what he’d become since he met her, and she’d called him out on it earlier. Reliving that awkward conversation had him wincing with morti
fication.
He released the top button of his dress shirt and tugged at his tie, needing to get more oxygen to his lungs. God, she’d made him feel like such an ass! And the worst part was that he’d deserved every derisive comment she’d directed his way. He couldn’t even pretend to plead ignorance of what she was talking about, because he had been staring at her. He had been wearing his heart on his sleeve like an unseasoned boy rather than the mature man he’d thought himself to be. It had to stop, he thought as he studied her gorgeous face. Right now.
Well, one more minute of staring wouldn’t make anything worse, would it?
“Agent Hill?” Bertha said when she came on the line.
He put the picture of Sam facedown on the desk, unable to look without wanting. “Yes, I’m here.”
“Has something happened?”
What was it they said about a mother’s intuition? “I’m afraid so.”
She let out a whimper that tugged at his overly involved heart. “Is it Bobby?”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, hating that he had to do this to her. “I’m sorry to have to tell you he’s been killed.” For as long as he lived, Avery would never forget the sound she let out as his words registered. He heard someone speaking to her in the background, and then the phone was dropped. It landed on the floor with a loud thud.
“Agent Hill? This is Bertha’s sister Delores. What’s happened?”
“I’m sorry to tell you that your nephew has been murdered.”
“Oh, Lord. Oh, no, no, no. Poor Bertha. That boy has done nothing but break her heart for so many years.” She sniffled and took a moment to collect herself.
Avery thought about the shack on the beach he’d stayed in during a vacation to Jamaica a few winters back. After this case was closed, he was going back there for a few weeks to clear his badly muddled mind.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Dolores asked.
“He...they... It was bad.”
“Lord,” she whispered. “What do we do?”
“The medical examiner, Dr. Lindsey McNamara, will be in touch with you once they release the body. You’ll need to make arrangements with a funeral home, preferably there in Philly. I don’t want Bertha back in Washington until we close this case.”
“I understand.”
“There’s more...”
“God, what else could there be?”
“They firebombed her house.”
“Oh... Her home... Why would anyone do that to her?”
“We believe they’re sending a message to anyone else who might be involved in whatever it is they’re doing. Until we get to the bottom of this, I need you to be strong for Bertha and keep her there with you.”
“Yes, of course. She told me you were kind to her, Agent Hill. Thank you for that.”
“She’s a sweet lady who doesn’t deserve any of this.”
“No, she doesn’t. Is there anything left of her home?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m heading over there now. I’ll get back to you afterward.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I know this is a difficult time for her, but is there any way you could ask Bertha about who his friends were? We need to talk to them about what he might’ve said to them.”
“Hold on a minute.”
Avery could hear the buzz of them talking in the background. Bertha’s sobs were also audible.
“Agent Hill?”
“I’m here.”
“She said to talk to Sonny Jordan. He was Bobby’s best friend.”
“That helps. Tell her I appreciate the info.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“Tell Bertha I’m thinking of her.”
“I will.”
Avery hung up the phone and headed out of the office. He needed to get out of there and do something productive before he lost what was left of his mind. On the way to the parking lot, he took a call from the Defense Security Service contact who’d been helping him track down the agent who’d handled Derek Kavanaugh’s security clearance update after he married Victoria.
“Hill.”
“I might have something for you.”
“Lay it on me.”
“The guy who did Kavanaugh’s security clearance update? Delman Jones with NCIS? He’s dead. Killed about a month after he turned in the update paperwork.”
“Of course he’s dead,” Avery said as his headache took a turn for the worse. “Give me everything you’ve got.”
* * *
Retired Medical Examiner Dr. Norman Morganthau lived at the end of a long dirt road outside of Annapolis, Maryland. “Pretty out here,” Jeannie said as she navigated the rutted road.
“Uh-huh,” Will replied. He hadn’t said much on the long, tense ride from the city.
“Are you pissed at me, Will?”
He turned to her. “No, I’m not pissed with you. I’m pissed at myself. I’m pissed at the situation.”
“I want you to know what I told Sam earlier.”
“You talked to her?”
Jeannie nodded. “I called to tell her about the engagement and to let her know I’d done the new version of the report.”
“I wanted to help with that,” he said sullenly.
“I didn’t mind doing it. I feel responsible for dragging you into this in the first place.”
“You didn’t drag me into anything. We agreed that not telling her was the right thing to do at the time.”
“I still believe it was, and I told her so. The idea of Skip dying with a possible scandal hanging over him was unbearable.”
“What did she say when you told her that?”
“She said she understood why we did it and appreciated the sentiment behind it, but we were wrong to lie. I told her the only thing I truly regret was not setting the record straight after Skip recovered.”
“Yeah, I was thinking about that too. That’s where we really screwed up.”
“Agreed. Maybe we can get to the bottom of it with Dr. Morganthau.”
“Let’s hope so.”
The sprawling ranch house was tucked way back in a wooded lot. Jeannie knocked on the front door. Since the doctor was expecting them, she wasn’t surprised when he came around the side of the house.
“There you are,” he said with a smile. He was of average height with a wiry build and kind blue eyes. A big straw hat sat on his head, and he tucked dirty gloves in his pocket when he reached out to shake hands with them. “You found it okay?”
“Your directions were great,” Jeannie said. “I’m Detective McBride, and this is my partner, Detective Tyrone.”
“It’s a great pleasure to meet you both. As I mentioned to you the first time we chatted, I’m a big admirer of yours, Detective McBride.”
He’d told her then how much he admired the way she’d handled herself after Mitch Sanborn attacked her. “Thank you, sir. We appreciate you seeing us.”
“Come on back. I never miss a chance to show off my garden.”
Jeannie and Will followed him around the house to a fragrant garden that was in full bloom.
“Wow, this is amazing,” Jeannie said.
“It’s my retirement passion.”
“I can see that.” She pointed to tall stalks with bright yellow blooms clustered at the top. “What are these?”
“Snapdragons. Over here are my prize roses.”
The roses were white and yellow and red and three shades of pink.
“You’ve got quite the green thumb,” Will said.
“Never used to,” Dr. Morganthau said. “Back in the day, I had a reputation for killing everything I touched. My friends and family called me Dr. Death, and not because of what I did for a living.”
“That’s funny,” Will said, chuckling.
“It’s all about having the time to devote to your passions,” Dr. Morganthau said, “but of course you’re not here to talk about my garden. My wife Amy set out a pitcher of iced tea and some cook
ies on the deck before she left to go shopping with our daughter. Can I tempt you with a cold drink?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Jeannie said. “This heat is oppressive.”
“Wait until you have a few more years on you, young lady. When you’re always cold, it feels pretty damned good.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that.”
Jeannie and Will followed him along a stone pathway that led to a deck filled with potted plants and inviting outdoor furniture.
“Have a seat,” he said, pouring three tall glasses of tea. “It’s already sweetened. Hope that’s okay.”
“Fine by me,” Will said as Jeannie nodded in agreement.
Dr. Morganthau took a seat at the table. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“As I mentioned when I called earlier,” Jeannie said, “we’re continuing our investigation into the Fitzgerald murder. When we spoke in the spring, you mentioned something that’s stayed with me about Skip Holland being ‘off’ during that investigation. I wondered if you might consider elaborating further on that.”
“I believe I told you then that Skip was a friend, a good colleague who I was honored to work with.”
“Yes,” Jeannie said, “you did. I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position, but if there’s anything you could tell us that might help us to put this case to bed once and for all, we’d really appreciate it.”
Morganthau removed the straw hat and smoothed his hand over thinning white hair. He suddenly seemed a million miles away. “It was a tough case from the get-go. Any time a kid goes missing, it’s gut wrenching. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you after what you’ve been dealing with this week in the Kavanaugh case.”
He took a drink of tea and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “The department was going through a tough time with budget cuts. We were shorthanded, stretched too thin. Everyone was working insane hours and fighting to keep their heads above water.
“And in the midst of all that craziness, Alice Fitzgerald’s kid goes missing.” He shook his head. “It was too much, you know?”
“You say that as if you knew her,” Will said. “Mrs. Fitzgerald.”
Morganthau seemed surprised by the question. “Of course, we knew her. She was Steven Coyne’s widow.”