by Marie Force
Love you too.
Sam placed a call to HQ, asked for the chief and was told he was in a meeting. “Helen, it’s Lieutenant Holland. I need to speak to him right now. It’s urgent.”
“Please hold.”
Sam was forced to listen to the ridiculous light rock that served as the hold music. Nothing said badass cop shop quite like a little light rock. They needed Bon Jovi to liven things up. She’d bring that up at the next department meeting. As she waited for the chief, a man came walking down the street from the far corner. His eyes darted nervously around as he headed for the door she was watching.
She threw down the phone and got out of the car, crossing the street so she would meet him at the stairs that led to his townhouse. She flashed her badge. “Mr. Hughes? Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD, Washington, D.C. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”
At the sight of her badge, he turned and bolted back the way he’d come.
Swearing under her breath, Sam took off after him. Didn’t these idiots know that nothing said, “I’m guilty of something,” quite like running from cops? She dug in and caught up to him two blocks from where they’d started. Grabbing the hood of his sweatshirt, she pulled hard and brought him down onto the sidewalk. She went down with him, landing hard on her right knee.
She planted her left knee in his back and had him cuffed within seconds.
“What the fuck? I didn’t do anything! You can’t just tackle me like that and arrest me.”
“Oh no? Looks like I just did. And if you didn’t do anything, why’d you run?”
Freddie came around the corner a minute later, looking slightly undone by the sight of her on the ground with their guy. “I leave you for ten minutes, and you manage to find trouble.”
“Trouble finds me. Detective Cruz, meet Liam Hughes.”
“I’d say pleased to meet you,” Freddie said, “but you don’t seem too pleased.”
“I’m going to sue your asses off for this,” Hughes said, straining against the cuffs.
“Then I ought to tell you that you have the right to remain silent,” Sam said. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” After she’d recited the Miranda warning, Freddie dragged Hughes up off the sidewalk and escorted him to the car. “And PS, dirtbag, you can’t sue our asses off when you’re wanted for failure to pay child support.”
“I don’t owe that bitch nothing. That kid ain’t mine.”
“Tell it to the judge.”
Sam limped along behind him, her knee throbbing from the direct hit to the sidewalk. Every muscle in her body was on fire from the sprint, proof that the gym might actually be a resolution worth making before she lost her edge. At thirty-five, the old gray mare wasn’t what she used to be.
After Freddie had tossed Hughes into the back of the car, he turned to her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, smacked my knee and wore myself out, but otherwise, I’m fine.”
“Want me to drive?”
She tossed him the keys. “I won’t say no to that.” On the passenger seat, she found the bag of food he’d left there before coming after her. “Glad to see you protected the food.”
“Of course I did. God knows when you’ll give me another chance to eat.”
“So when faced with the dilemma of going after your partner who was possibly in over her head, you saw to the sandwiches first? Good to know where I rate.”
“This can’t possibly be news to you after all this time.”
“I want a lawyer,” Hughes said from the backseat.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sam said as she took a huge bite of her sandwich, wishing it was full of meatballs rather than vegetables. “We should check in with Baltimore so they don’t get pissy with us for making a grab in their city.”
“I’ll do it.” Somehow he managed to eat, drive and make the call to the Baltimore PD’s Homicide Division to let them know an investigation had led to an arrest in their city.
Professional courtesy and all that happy horseshit. Sam got sick and tired of playing nicey-nice with all the fragile egos involved in police work. God forbid they should step foot in someone else’s turf without letting them know. Then she remembered the call she’d been on when she saw Hughes coming and the reason for it.
“They’re going to give us a heads-up when the warrant comes through. They’re trying to track down a judge. Holiday,” he said over a mouthful of sandwich.
“We got trouble,” she told him. “CBC is reporting Gonzo is our chief suspect in the murder of his baby mama.”
“What? What the hell?”
“Fuck is the word you’re looking for there. Who knows? Apparently our leaker didn’t just go to Darren, and now he’ll be pissed with me because someone else scooped him.” So many egos, so little time. She placed another call to the chief.
“I was able to interrupt him once,” Helen said in a testy tone. “But I can’t do it again.”
“I was off chasing down a suspect in a homicide investigation.”
“Homicide!” Hughes said from the backseat. “What the fuck? I didn’t kill no one.”
Sam ignored him. “I really need to talk to the chief. It’s a life-and-death situation.” While that might not be entirely true, Gonzo’s life and career were certainly on the line and well worth fighting for.
“Please hold, and please be there when he comes on the line.”
As soon as the line clicked over to hold, Sam said, “Gee, Helen, I thought we were pals. I’m feeling hurt by your attitude.”
“You did not say that to her,” Freddie said, his mouth full of what might’ve been chicken parm. Sam’s mouth watered at the thought of it.
“Nope. I said it to the hideous light rock that serves as hold music at our workplace.”
“That stuff is pretty bad.”
“I’ve got someone wailing about endless love in my ear as we speak.”
“Damn, Gonzo must be flipping out.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know yet.” As she said the words, her phone rang with another call. A check of the caller ID revealed Gonzo’s number. “He knows. Call him, will you? Tell him we’re doing what we can to contain this shit.” Sam knew as well as Gonzo would that the accusation alone would be enough to damage his sterling reputation and possibly ruin his career. Naturally, that was the goal of whoever had the audacity to leak lies about the investigation.
“Holland?” the chief barked when he came on the line. “Are you there this time?”
“Sorry about before. I was apprehending a suspect in the Phillips case.”
“What Phillips case?” Hughes asked. “Are you talking about Lori? I barely know her! What’s she done?”
Sam nodded to Freddie, who took a turn telling Hughes to shut up.
“We’ve got a problem. CBC is broadcasting that Gonzo is our suspect.”
“Motherfucker,” Farnsworth muttered, echoing Sam’s thoughts.
“Our leaker has been busy. Any leads yet on who it might be?”
As they drove through the congested city, Sam could hear Freddie trying to talk Gonzo off a cliff.
“Conklin is up talking to Ramsey now. Haven’t heard anything yet though. I’m stuck in this meeting with the Public Affairs hacks who think they know better than I do about how to represent this department.”
“Can’t you fire them and get new hacks?”
“I wish it were that easy,” he said with a bitter chuckle. “I’d better get back in there. We’re making plans for a big blitz starting tomorrow morning.”
“Anything I can do? You know I hate every single thing about the notoriety, but if it’ll help, I’d gladly go out there with you to show my support.”
“Interesting that you should offer. The PAO said I should ask you, and I refus
ed to.”
“How come?”
“Just like you don’t embrace the notoriety, I don’t embrace the idea of asking you to use it on my behalf.”
“It may as well be good for something other than a total pain in my ass.”
Farnsworth laughed at her choice of words. “How do you feel about being on TV at seven in the morning?”
“I feel good about it. Great, in fact. Let me know where to be, and I’m all yours.”
“The only reason I’m allowing this is because you were the lead detective on Springer. Not because you’re the VP’s wife.”
“Thank you for saying wife. I’ve already been called his old lady today. And yes, it’s okay to laugh.”
It was good to hear him laugh. There hadn’t been much for him to laugh about lately. “That’s hilarious. Does the person who said that still have all his teeth?”
“Only because I needed info from him.”
“He’s a lucky man. He has no idea how lucky.”
“No, he doesn’t. Hang in there, sir. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thank you, Sam. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the support.”
“Least I can do for driving you crazy all these years.” Smiling, Sam closed the phone and returned it to her pocket.
“Did you really just volunteer to go on TV?” Freddie asked her. “Have you lost what’s left of your mind?”
“Probably, but if it helps him, I’ll do it and it’ll give me a chance to say publicly that Gonzo is not a suspect. Speaking of him... Is he freaking out?”
“What’s the next step past freaking out? The worst part is he thought it was actually coming from us.”
“I hope you set him straight.”
“As much as I could, but the poor guy is going nuts. His phone is ringing off the hook with calls from all the same reporters who made him out to be a hero after the shooting, wanting to know if he’s a murderer now.”
“We gotta get ahead of this somehow.” She pulled out her phone again and called Malone. When he answered, she said, “We’ve got a big problem.”
* * *
While Scotty visited with Skip and Celia, Nick spent the holiday on the phone, first with his chief of staff, Terry O’Connor, who’d been working over the last few weeks to pull together their new team. Nick was set to officially begin his new role as vice president tomorrow, with a greatly expanded staff that included his own national security advisors. Imagine that.
Though Terry had overseen the compilation of what he called their dream team, Nick had consulted at every turn, approving all of Terry’s choices. His chief of staff’s inside-the-Beltway connections were coming in handy during this time of transition. Terry’s father, Graham, who was Nick’s adopted father and political mentor, had also weighed in on his son’s choices, and Nick wouldn’t have it any other way.
The retired Senator O’Connor was far more excited about Nick’s big promotion than anyone else was, and it pleased Nick to see the older man smiling and fully engaged in the political process that he loved so much.
His phone rang for the twentieth time that day with a call from Derek Kavanaugh, White House deputy chief of staff.
“Sorry to keep you waiting for a return call, Mr. Vice President,” Derek said when Nick answered.
“Can the bullshit, Derek.” The two men had been friends for fifteen years, since both were junior staffers to congressional members and new to Washington.
Derek laughed. “Just following protocol, sir.”
“Derek...”
“Sorry, Nick. How’s it going?”
“Okay so far if you count being surrounded by security okay. Takes some getting used to.”
“It’s not your first rodeo with the Secret Service. I’d think you’d be used to it after the campaign.”
“This is a whole other level. I have to say it makes me a bit nuts to have to ask their permission to take a walk over to my father-in-law’s house, and I’m sure the neighbors love the way they’ve got Ninth Street barricaded.”
“It’s awesome they let you stay in your own house.”
“I didn’t give them much choice, and while Ambrose was all for it,” he said of the Secret Service director, “I get the distinct feeling that my detail isn’t so thrilled.”
“They’ll get used to it, and so will you.”
“I guess.” Nick couldn’t imagine ever becoming accustomed to feeling like a goldfish inside a small bowl with all eyes on him. “The reason for this latest call is I could use some advice about navigating the White House staff when it comes to Sam’s role.”
“Sam has a role?”
“I know—it’s funny to us too. But here’s the thing, they want her in there at meetings and whatnot, and we all know that’s not going to happen. So how do I get around this in a way that keeps my wife happy and gets the job done too?”
“Hmm, that’s a tall order, especially since Gooding’s wife was extremely hands-on and very well regarded around here.”
“Sam is going to be extremely hands-off.”
Derek laughed again, which was actually good to hear. He hadn’t had much to laugh about since his wife was murdered and a huge conspiracy uncovered in the aftermath of her death. “Surely you told them that before you took the job.”
“I did, but she’s getting calls from a Lily someone who wants her there in the morning for a staff meeting that’s not going to happen.”
“Lilia Van Nostrand,” Derek said. “She’s well regarded here too. A real go-getter.”
“If that’s the case, I have a feeling she’s going to dislike my wife rather intensely.”
Derek made a sound that might’ve been a laugh that turned into a cough. “Perhaps it might make sense for you to meet with her and explain Sam’s...limitations.”
“Limitations,” Nick said, laughing. “That’s a good word for it. And it’s a great idea to meet with her. I’ll ask Terry to set something up. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot over there, but I made promises to Sam when I took this job. Chief among them was that her life would remain relatively similar to what it was before.”
“That might be a hard promise to keep. There’ll be times when they’ll want both of you at events.”
“They have been told there’ll be times when they might get only me.”
“Personally, I think it’s really cool that she’s doing something no other second lady has ever done—that I know of. No security and still working the streets as a cop. It’s awesome.”
“It gives me angina to think about her running around with no security and a big target on her back because of who she’s married to.”
“If there’s one thing I know about Sam, it’s that she can more than take care of herself.”
“True. Besides, if someone ever decided to take her, they’d probably give her back within thirty minutes.” Nick made light of it, but the thought of her being taken terrified him.
This time Derek made no attempt to conceal his laughter. “You said that, not me.”
“You were thinking it.”
“You’ll never get me to admit that.”
“I really appreciate your help in navigating all this stuff. You’ve been a tremendous asset to Terry and to me.” Nick had decided to refrain from asking Derek about the odd radio silence from the West Wing over the last few weeks. Not wanting to take advantage of their friendship, he’d save that card for if or when he really needed it.
“My pleasure. Looking forward to having you around the West Wing, sir.”
“Shut up, Derek.”
“Yes, sir. See you tomorrow.”
“Hey, Derek?”
“Yeah?”
“You doing all right?”
A deep sigh came through the
phone loud and clear. “As well as can be expected, I guess. We got through the holidays. That’s something anyway. Thank goodness for my family and Maeve,” he said of his young daughter. “She gives me a reason to get up every day and keep pushing forward.”
“You’re surrounded by a lot of people who care about both of you. I hope you know that.”
“I do, and it’s gotten me through. Thanks for all you’ve done. You and Sam have been incredible friends to us.”
“We wish we could do more.”
“I’m told time helps. I certainly hope so.”
“I’m here if you need me. All kidding aside, the new job doesn’t change a thing. I hope you know that.”
“I do know, and I appreciate it, sir.”
Nick appreciated his attempt at levity. “I’ll let you get away with that crap now, but no more of it. See you tomorrow.”
“See you then—and thanks for asking, Nick.”
“Take care.” He ended the call and sat for a long time thinking about Derek, his gorgeous wife Victoria and the sinister plot Arnie Patterson had engaged in to get close to President Nelson’s inner circle.
Months later, the whole thing still made Nick feel sick and disgusted over the tactics Patterson and his sons had employed to try to win the election for president. Their new address was a long way from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The three of them and several of their flunkies were in federal prison awaiting trial on murder and conspiracy charges.
Nick was about to move on to some of the briefing books Terry had brought him to prepare for his new job, when a knock sounded on the door. “Come on in,” he called, expecting to see Scotty, not Shelby. “Hey there. What’re you doing here today? Even a sweatshop like this allows for holidays off.”
Grinning, the petite blonde came into the room and left the door propped open behind her. “I was texting with Scotty and heard Sam got called out on a case. I thought this might be a good chance to speak to you privately about something.”
“Sure.” Nick gestured to the second chair in his makeshift home office in one of the spare bedrooms on the second floor. He missed his den downstairs that was now command central for the Secret Service. “What’s up?” he asked when she was seated and fidgeting nervously with her fluffy pink scarf. “Please don’t tell me you’re quitting. We’ll die without you.”