Fatal Identity

by Marie Force

  “Because.” She would’ve looked away, but he wouldn’t let her. “All that need makes a girl...needy.”

  “I like when you need me.” He withdrew almost completely before pushing deep again. “I fucking love it.”

  “Mmm, me too. I love everything with you.”

  After that, there were no more words. No words were needed to convey the love Sam felt in every touch, every stroke, every kiss. When he picked up the pace, Sam knew he was close and allowed herself to go with him, swept away in a sea of desire and love.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NICK COLLAPSED ON top of her, breathing hard, his skin slick with sweat, and she was immediately concerned that he’d overexerted himself.

  “Stop,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  “How do you know what I was thinking?”

  “Because I know how your brain works.”

  “I guess you’re superhuman after all,” she said, caressing his back in small circles. “Look how fast you bounced back from being so sick.”

  “I’m resilient.” To make his point, he flexed his hips, letting her know he was ready to go again.

  “No way, mister. One and done tonight.” She pushed on his hips trying to dislodge him, but he was unmovable.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, babe,” he said with a low chuckle.

  “I mean it, Nick. We’re not doing it again.”

  “Okay.” He ran his fingers through her hair as Sam floated on a cloud of contentment.

  She loved the weight of his body on top of her as their bodies pulsed with aftershocks.

  “I have to tell you something you’re not going to like,” he said, ending her contentment with one sentence.

  “What?”

  “Nelson wants me to go to Iran to help broker the new arms deal.”

  Despite the heat of his body and the heat they had generated together, she went cold all over at the thought of him so far from her in a place that wasn’t exactly known for its love of Americans.

  “Why you?” she asked.

  “I think he’s punishing me for my new higher profile.”

  “I told you those six million Twitter followers would come back to haunt you.”

  He smiled down at her. “Exactly.”

  “But won’t sending you to Iran raise your profile?”

  “Maybe, but I think he wants me out of his hair for a couple of weeks, and he certainly doesn’t want to go.”

  “A couple of weeks?”

  “Apparently, that’s the best-case scenario.”

  “Can you refuse to go?”

  “I suppose I can do whatever I want.”

  “Then don’t go. Stay here and continue to do what you’re doing to raise the profile on issues that matter right here. Gun control and immigration reform and middle-class families—”

  He stopped her with a kiss. “All important things, no doubt, but what good is all that if we aren’t focused on national security first and foremost?”

  “Why does it have to be you? Doesn’t he have a secretary of state to deal with stuff like that?”

  “She’d be there too.”

  “So why can’t you go and shake some hands and leave the heavy lifting to her?”

  “I suppose I could do that.” He kissed her again. “I didn’t tell you this to upset you. But I didn’t want you to hear about it from Darren or another member of the press corps or Lilia.”

  “Does that mean you’re going?”

  “It means I’m considering it while wishing I’d never left the Senate. Things were much less complicated there—for all of us.”

  Sam shook her head. “If you’d stayed in the Senate, you’d be wondering what-if about being the VP. You made the right move at the right time.”

  “You can say that even with our home overrun with Secret Service and hardly any privacy and women paid to watch me who you can’t stand?”

  “Woman. Singular. As in one woman I can’t stand. And you can wipe that smug grin off your face before I slug you.”

  “What smug grin?”

  She traced the outline of his mouth with her finger. “That one.” Glancing up, she saw his eyes heat with desire the way they did no matter how she touched him. “I have to tell you something you’re not going to like.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Malone wants me to come back to work the Hamilton case and serve out the remainder of my suspension after.”

  Nick withdrew from her and turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

  Sam raised herself up on an elbow so she could see his face. “Are you mad?”

  “No, of course I’m not mad. I know how much you want to be smack in the middle of something like this.”

  “But?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Clearly you’ve got something on your mind or you wouldn’t be all the way over there, so don’t say it’s nothing.”

  Taking hold of her hand, he brought it to his lips. “I’m just being selfish. I see an opportunity to have some alone time with you, and I want it. That’s all.”

  “We’re alone right now.”

  “It’s never enough.”

  “We have ten days in Bora Bora coming up very soon. That’ll be here before we know it.” She dropped her head to his chest, and he snuggled her in next to him. “Believe it or not, I don’t relish the idea of working this case. It’s sure to be a shitshow of epic proportions. But we’re shorthanded without Arnold and with Gonzo out for who knows how long. My squad needs me to walk them through this.”

  “Malone could do it.”

  “He could, but he’s been on desk duty a long time. He’s rusty around the edges. He’d tell you that himself.” She ran a finger over Nick’s well-defined pectorals and then down to explore his abs, loving the way his muscles quivered under her touch. “The department has taken a lot of hard hits lately. We have to seriously nail this one so the chief can hold on to his job. We’ve got Arnie Patterson in prison claiming he was framed by the MPD. Bill Springer blamed the chief for the death of his son, who was a cold-blooded murderer, but those accusations are outliving Springer. The story of Stahl taking me hostage and our longtime animosity has been all over the national news in recent months, and now the shit with me and Ramsey. It’s been a lot of bad press, some of it involving me, and this is our chance for retribution.”

  “There’s been good press too. Like you crowd surfing during the inaugural parade and nabbing Arnold’s killer.”

  “That was one high moment in a sea of lows.”

  “It’s not up to you to single-handedly change the story.”

  “I know that, and I’m not insinuating that I even could single-handedly change the story, but the fact is, the story hasn’t been great lately, and Hamilton’s murder is a big opportunity for us to do what we do best. I’d still be working right now if I hadn’t been suspended.” In fact, she needed to check in with McBride and Tyrone to see what they had so far. She reached for her phone on the bedside table and fired off a text to Jeannie asking for an update.

  Nothing new to report yet. Lindsey has transported the body to the morgue. Waiting for Hill to notify the wife and the FBI deputy director so we can issue a statement. Working with the Public Affairs people on that and wishing you were here.

  I may be able to come back. More to come tomorrow.

  Fingers crossed.

  Keep me posted.

  Will do.

  It was good to know her team missed her and wished she could be there to guide them through the early stages of the investigation.

  Sam returned the phone to the table and relaxed into Nick’s embrace. The outside world was always tugging at them, but for now they could pretend, at least for a few more hours
, that they were alone in paradise.

  * * *

  STILL REELING FROM the sight of Troy Hamilton’s dead body, Avery drove through the darkness on Route 66 on the way to Chantilly, while wishing he was home with Shelby watching a movie or one of her mindless cooking shows. Anything would be better than trying to process the loss—especially under such bizarre circumstances—of a man he’d admired and respected.

  “I need to call the deputy director,” Hill said. “I don’t feel right waiting to tell him. He won’t understand why I did that, especially when he hears I found the body.”

  “You’ve handled everything by the book,” Farnsworth said from the front seat.

  “Agreed,” Malone said.

  “I still need to tell him.”

  “Go ahead and make the call,” Farnsworth said, “but ask him to keep a lid on it until we can notify the wife.”

  Dustin Jacoby’s number was in Avery’s list of contacts, so he used the voice assist feature on his phone to make the call. He’d worked directly for Jacoby at one time and considered him a friend. After four rings, Jacoby’s voicemail picked up.

  “Dustin, it’s Avery Hill. Give me a call as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent.” If he didn’t hear from the deputy director within the hour, he’d go through official channels to track him down.

  The GPS led them to Mrs. Hamilton’s mother’s house in Chantilly, twenty-five miles outside the city in the western part of Fairfax County. The two-story brick colonial was located on a street made up of similar houses. Outside the house in question, a porch light was on over the front door and lights were on inside, which was a relief. If they had to deliver devastating news, at least they wouldn’t have to wake her up to do it. The three men approached the door, and Hill rang the bell.

  He retrieved his badge from his coat pocket, and showed it to Courtney Hamilton when she came to the door. She was a petite blonde who was known for her love of tennis, martinis and philanthropic activities in the D.C. area.

  “Special Agent Hill, Mrs. Hamilton. This is Chief Farnsworth and Captain Malone from the Metro D.C. police department. I wondered if we might have a few minutes of your time?”

  “Of course.” Eyeing them warily, she stepped aside to admit them, giving no indication she recognized Avery. them, giving no indication she recognized Avery. “What’s this about? I talked to Josh earlier, and he’s fine. I don’t know why you were looking for him or what Troy was thinking issuing that statement. Josh isn’t on any medication that I know of.”

  She’s nervous, Avery deduced. The run-on sentences and jerky movements were out of character for the woman Avery had met a number of times at Bureau events and get-togethers at the director’s home, where Avery had found her to be a smooth, elegant, gracious hostess. The perfect wife for a high-ranking government official.

  They took seats in the living room, and Courtney lowered the volume on the television.

  “Mrs. Hamilton,” Avery said, hating his job passionately in that moment, “I’m afraid we have some difficult news.”

  “Not Josh! I just talked to him!”

  “It’s not Josh.” Avery forced himself to continue, to say the words, to put it out there and let her begin to deal with the unimaginable loss. “It’s your husband.”

  “What about him?”

  “He was found dead in your home earlier tonight.”

  She tipped her head, as if trying to make sense of what he’d said. “Troy’s not dead. I talked to him earlier too. He was doing paperwork and going to bed early.”

  “What time did you speak with him?” Malone asked.

  “I don’t know exactly.” As she spoke, her hands trembled. “It was this afternoon sometime. I’m sure he’s fine. I can call him now for you if you’d like.”

  “Mrs. Hamilton,” Farnsworth said, saving Avery from having to do it. “I’m afraid Agent Hill is correct. Your husband was attacked and killed in his home. His body was found on the floor of his study.”

  She shook her head. “That’s just not possible. Not Troy. He can take care of himself. He always says there’s nothing to worry about.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “He can’t be dead. He’s Troy Hamilton.” She said that as if he weren’t as human as the rest of the world’s population.

  “Did you know of any problems he was having with anyone who might want to harm him?” Malone asked.

  “There was always someone unhappy with him. That was the nature of his work. He told me there was nothing to worry about, so I didn’t worry.” She looked up at Avery, heartbreak etched into her pretty face. “I should’ve been worried. Why didn’t I worry about him?” She used her sleeve to mop up the tears. “Is this why you were looking for my son earlier? You don’t think he had something to do with it, do you?”

  “This is not why we were looking for him,” Malone said.

  “Is he a suspect?” she asked.

  “Not at this time. Do you have reason to believe he’d be capable of harming his father?”

  “No, of course not. He and Troy never saw eye to eye, but Josh couldn’t harm a flea, let alone the man who raised him.”

  The man who raised him. The peculiar choice of words set off alarms for Avery, and apparently for Farnsworth and Malone too, because the two men exchanged glances.

  “Mrs. Hamilton, may I ask what might seem to be an odd question?” Avery said.

  She nodded as she continued to wipe away tears.

  “Is Josh your biological child?”

  “No,” she said hesitantly. “He’s adopted. I was unable to have more children after my daughter was born, so Troy and I adopted him. We’d always wanted a big family and were disappointed when we couldn’t have more than two of our own.”

  “Does Josh know he’s adopted?” Malone asked, sitting now on the edge of his seat.

  She looked down at her hands. “No, he doesn’t. Troy didn’t want him to know, and I went along with what he wanted because it seemed so important to him.”

  Avery felt like he’d been struck by lightning. What the fuck was going on here? He could sense that Farnsworth and Malone were equally riveted by the revelations.

  “What do you know about Josh’s birth parents?” Farnsworth asked.

  “What does this have to do with my husband being murdered?” she asked.

  “We’re not sure yet, but it might have everything to do with it,” Malone said.

  “I... I don’t know much about them. The mother was an administrative assistant in my husband’s office. She got pregnant outside of wedlock and couldn’t afford to keep the baby, so we took him in.”

  Avery forced air into lungs starved for it. “Did you know her name or anything else about her?”

  “Her name was Danielle. I can’t recall her last name off the top of my head. It was a long time ago.”

  Avery exchanged glances with Farnsworth and Malone.

  “In a conversation with Josh about your husband’s career, it came up that you all once lived in Knoxville,” Avery said. “But Josh was adamant that you never lived there. Do you know why that would be?”

  “We... Troy and I... We had some marital problems during those years. It was a difficult time in our lives, so we rarely talked about living there. That’s probably why.”

  Avery found that explanation curious, to say the least. “Have you been with your mother all day today, Mrs. Hamilton?”

  “Yes, since she called me this morning to tell me she was feeling poorly.”

  “And your other children are where?”

  “Mark is in Chicago, and Maura lives in Boston. Why?”

  “Establishing the whereabouts of the immediate family is routine in a homicide investigation,” Malone said. “Do you know if they’re both at home today?”

  “I... I don’t know. I haven�
�t spoken to them.”

  Hill produced a notebook and pen. “We’ll need their phone numbers.”

  She took it from him with hands that were trembling more violently now. “You don’t honestly think they’d harm their father? They adored him!”

  “We have to explore all possibilities, ma’am,” Malone said.

  “Why isn’t the Bureau investigating?” she asked. “In light of recent events, I’m not sure I trust the MPD to handle it.”

  To his credit, Farnsworth didn’t react to the insult. Rather, he said, “We have jurisdiction because of where the crime occurred, and it would be a conflict of interest for the FBI to investigate the murder of its director.”

  “Is that true, Agent Hill?”

  “It is.”

  “Dustin will need to be notified. Troy would want him involved.”

  “I have a call in to the deputy director, ma’am,” Hill said. “If you could please write down the contact information for your children as well as a number where we can reach you, I’d appreciate it.”

  With her jaw set in a stubborn expression, she did as he asked and handed over the notebook. “What happens now?”

  “The director’s body is with the city’s Medical Examiner, who will perform an autopsy. When that is completed, the body will be released to the funeral home of your choice. The ME will call you when she has completed her work.”

  Mrs. Hamilton nodded.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Malone said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  She saw them out the door and shut off the porch light, the dead bolt clicking loudly.

  When they were in the car and on their way back to the city, Farnsworth said, “Did anyone else find it interesting that she didn’t ask how he was murdered?”

  “I found it very interesting indeed,” Malone said. “And she didn’t ask to see him. Family members almost always ask to see the victim, like they need to see it with their own eyes before they’ll believe it’s true.”

  “How about her referring to Hamilton as the man who ‘raised’ Josh, rather than as his father?” Avery asked. “Parents of adopted children are almost always extra particular about those semantics.”