by Marie Force
“I need you to confirm that your son Thomas is John O’Connor’s son.”
“Do you, Detective?” she asked softly. “Do you really need me to confirm it?”
Her easy capitulation flustered Freddie. He’d expected to have to work for it. “I’d appreciate if you could tell me about your relationship with the senator, from the day you met him through to his death.”
She paused for a long moment, as if she were making a decision, and then began to talk so softly that Freddie had to strain to hear. “My family moved to Leesburg the summer before eighth grade. I met him on the first day of school. He was nice to me when no one else gave me the time of day, but that was John. It was just like him to make the new girl feel welcome.” Lost in her memories, she seemed to have forgotten Freddie was there.
He took notes, knowing Sam would expect every detail.
“We became friends—unlikely friends.”
“Why unlikely?”
“His father was a United States senator, a multi-millionaire businessman. Mine worked at the post office. We weren’t exactly from the same universe, but John was the least status-conscious person I ever knew. He couldn’t have cared less about his father’s position, which of course drove his father crazy.
“Over time, our friendship grew and blossomed into love. His parents never liked me, never welcomed me into their home or their family. That made John sad, but it didn’t keep us apart. He was the love of my life, Detective, and I was the love of his. We knew it at fifteen. Can you imagine?”
“No, ma’am.” He couldn’t imagine it at twenty-nine. “I can’t.”
“We were overwhelmed by what we felt for each other and determined to be together forever, no matter what it took.” She glanced down at her lap, her fingers twisting nervously. “I was sixteen when I got pregnant. My parents were devastated, but his were outraged. His father was in the midst of an ugly re-election campaign, and all they cared about was the potential scandal. They offered me a hundred thousand dollars to have an abortion.”
Freddie kept his expression neutral.
“I refused to even consider it. I was under the illusion that John and I would find a way to be together, to raise our child together. I had no idea then how far people with power could and would go to get what they wanted. Within a week, my father was transferred to a post office in Illinois.”
“What did John say about this?”
“What could he say? He was going into his senior year of high school. His parents still had him under their thumb.”
“Did he see the baby?”
She nodded. “He and his parents came out for a day when Thomas was born. The senator pitched a holy fit when I named him Thomas John O’Connor, but they had taken John away from me—away from us—they weren’t going to deny my son his father’s name. I had my limits, too.”
“What was your relationship with John like after the baby was born?”
“We talked on the phone as often as we could. We made plans to be together.” Her hands trembled in her lap. “After he graduated from high school, his father got him an internship in Congress for the summer and then they shipped him off to Harvard. It was more than a year before we saw each other again.”
“He was an adult by then. Why didn’t he stand up to his parents?”
“They controlled the money, Detective, the money he was using to support his son while he was in college. He did what he was told.”
“And after college?”
“His father threatened to disown him if he married me, because if he did, people would find out about ‘the kid’ as Graham called him, and there’d be a scandal.” Her voice had gone flat and lifeless. “As much as John loved me and Thomas, he wouldn’t have been able to live with being disowned by his father.” She leaned forward. “Don’t get me wrong, Detective. I hate Graham O’Connor for what he denied me, what he denied Thomas and mostly what he denied John. But John loved his father, and more, he respected him despite everything he had done to us. John was a good man, the best man I’ve ever known, but he didn’t have it in him to turn his back on his father. He just didn’t. I accepted that a long time ago and learned to be satisfied with what I had.”
“Which was what exactly?”
“We had one weekend a month to be a family, and we made the most of it. John was a wonderful father to Thomas. Between visits, he was completely available to him, and they talked most days. My son is devastated by his father’s death.”
“And no one ever questioned his resemblance to the senator in light of the fact that he had his name?”
“No,” she said. “Amazingly, we got away with it. The O’Connors managed to thoroughly bury us here in the Midwest. During John’s campaign and the first few months he was in office, we played it cool and didn’t see much of each other. Once the attention faded, we were able to pick things up again. The media never caught so much as a whiff of us.”
“I’m curious as to why he sent you monthly payments, rather than giving you a lump sum. His parents had money, and he became a wealthy man himself when he sold his company.”
“He took good care of us, but he liked sending the monthly payments. He said it made him feel connected to Thomas and to me.”
“I apologize in advance for what I’m about to ask you… But I need to know where the senator slept when he was here.”
Her eyes flashed with anger and embarrassment. “Where do you think he slept?”
“Was he involved with other women?” Freddie hated the pain his question obviously caused her.
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “But my son doesn’t know that, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“It didn’t bother you? That he was with other women?”
“Of course it bothered me, but I didn’t expect him to be celibate the other twenty-seven days a month.”
“Did you discuss the other women in his life?”
“We did not.”
“Not even when he was with Natalie for three years?”
“He had his life, and I had mine,” she snapped. “One weekend a month, we belonged to each other.”
“Have you ever been married?”
She laughed. “Where do you think I would’ve stashed my husband on the third weekend of every month when my longtime lover came to visit?”
“So that’s a no?”
“I’ve never been married.”
“When he was here,” Freddie said, trying not to stumble over the words, “you had sexual relations with him?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to the case.”
“It’s relevant, and I need you to answer the question.”
“Yes, I had sex with him! As much and as often as I could! Are you satisfied?”
“Was there anything, um, unusual about the kind of sex you had with him?”
She stood up. “We’re finished here. I won’t allow you to come into my home and debase the most important relationship in my life.”
Freddie stayed seated to give her the perceived advantage as he dropped the final bomb. “Did he ever try to get you to have rough sex or anal sex with him?”
She stared at him, astounded. “I want you to leave. Right now.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can answer the question here or I can take you back to Washington so you can answer it there. It’s your call.”
Her hands on her hips, her eyes shot daggers at him. “John O’Connor was never anything but a perfect gentleman with me. Every woman should have a lover as gentle and sweet. Now if there’s nothing further, I want you to leave my home.”
“Will you be attending the funeral in Washington?”
“Since there’s no longer an O’Connor in office, I can’t see any reason for my son and me to hide out anymore. We’re planning to go. John’s attorney called me today to tell me we need to be at the reading of the will the day after the funeral. I’m sure Graham and Laine are thrilled about that.”
“Have they ever h
ad any contact with Thomas?”
“Not since the day after he was born.”
“The media will be all over you.”
He admired the courageous lift of her chin. “John suffered over the fact that he couldn’t acknowledge his son. The least I can do for him is rectify that now that he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry again for your loss, Ms. Donaldson, and I’m sorry to have upset you with my questions.”
She shrugged off his apology. “If it helps the investigation, then I guess it will have been worth it.”
“You’ve been a big help.”
At the door, she said, “Detective? Get the person who did this to my John.” Her eyes filled with new tears. “Please.”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
Chapter 25
The Watergate lobby was mobbed, but when Nick walked in the mob went silent, parting to allow him passage to the elevator. He recognized some of the faces—his grandmother, his father, Mr. Pacheco from seventh grade science, Lucy Jenkins who’d lived next door and Graham O’Connor. Why was he here? With the vote this afternoon, John wouldn’t have time for one of their regular lunches.
Nick tried to tell him John was busy, but Graham wouldn’t listen. He just smiled, like he knew something Nick didn’t know. Behind him, was that…Sam? Sam Holland? She hadn’t returned his calls, but that was a long time ago. He’d always wanted to see her again. Reaching out, he tried to get to her.
She smiled and slipped away.
“No! Not again. Come back. Sam!”
John’s sister Lizbeth cried and clawed at him, her face red and swollen. “John’s hurt! Help him, Nick. Help him!”
Nick ran for the elevator, pushed the up button frantically, but the doors wouldn’t open. Banging on the metal doors until his hands were bruised, he finally bolted for the stairs and ran up six flights. Gasping for air, he emerged into the hallway. A woman dashed from John’s apartment carrying a bloody knife, her face covered by a knitted scarf.
“John!” Nick sprinted into the apartment.
“Hey, Cappy,” John said, emerging from the bedroom, blood coursing from the open wound in his neck. “What’s up?”
“John…” Nick pressed his hands against John’s neck, trying to make it stop. How could he lose this much blood and stay conscious? “Help! Somebody help us!”
“It’s okay, Cappy.” John’s hand landed on Nick’s shoulder. “I’ll be all right.”
Nick looked up to find John’s face morphing into a smiling skeleton. He screamed.
“Nick,” Sam said. “Wake up. Babe, wake up.”
His head ached, his mouth was dry, his eyes gritty. “What?”
Sam brushed the hair off his forehead and kissed his cheek. “You were dreaming.”
Nick rested a hand over his racing heart. “John was there. He was still alive. There was so much blood. I tried to make it stop.” His throat tightening, he closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stop it.”
She held him close, running her fingers through his hair. “You couldn’t have stopped it,” she whispered.
“The stuff I’ve found out about him…since it happened… None of it matters. He was my friend.”
“Yes.” She pressed her lips to his forehead. “That’ll never change.”
“He was the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. We had this…language. It was all ours. The staff used to shake their heads when we’d get going. They had no idea what we were talking about. But we did. We always did.”
Sam tightened her hold on him.
“I miss him,” he whispered. “I really miss him. I just can’t believe I’m never going to see him again.”
“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could say.”
“You’re helping.” He raised his head, met her eyes.
She leaned in to kiss him. “I want to get the person who did this for his parents and his family. But mostly I want it for you.”
“I’m apt to be a bit of a mess for a while.”
“That’s all right.”
He rested his hand over the hideous bruise on her chest. “This is a hell of a time for us to be starting something. You know that, don’t you?”
“Worst possible time.”
“So it stands to reason we’ll be able to deal with just about anything if we can get through this.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” She smiled and caressed his face. “I need to get back to work.”
“I know. Did you sleep?”
“Big time. I didn’t think I would.”
“You needed it. We both did.” He leaned in to kiss her once more. “Are you or your dad going to mind that I plan to stay here with you until this is over?”
“No. I like having you here, and he doesn’t really care, despite the grief he might give you.”
“I need to go home at some point to get some clothes and make sure the condo association took care of getting the windows fixed.”
“We can arrange that.” She sat up and stretched. “I’m going to grab a shower. Care to join me?”
“I’d love to, but I’m not going to push my luck. I’ll go after you.”
“Wimp.”
“Yep.”
She laughed as she slipped into a robe, and the sound warmed him. He was surprised to realize she had made him feel better, even as the sickening images from the dream lingered. After Sam went into the bathroom, he sat up, gripping his pounding head. The concussion they’d called minor was making a major statement, and whatever they’d used to numb the cut over his eye had worn off, leaving a dull, throbbing ache.
He felt kind of foolish about unloading on Sam, but she hadn’t seemed to mind. Having someone to share the ups and downs with was something he could get used to—as long as that someone was her.
He stood up and groaned when his injured foot protested. Reaching for his jeans, he pulled them on and took a good look around the messy room. Sam had a way of exploding into a space, which was in direct conflict with his need for order. Beginning with the clothes piled on the floor, he went to work on the clutter. By the time she emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, the place was almost livable.
Her eyes all but popped out of her skull. “It’s like you can’t help yourself!”
“Just straightening up. No biggie.”
“I won’t be able to find anything!”
“You couldn’t find anything before.”
“I knew exactly where everything was.”
“No way,” he scoffed. “You’re a slob, Samantha.” He bunched the towel she had wrapped around her into his fist and tugged her close enough to kiss. “A sexy, gorgeous slob, but a slob nonetheless.”
Pouting, she tried to break free of him. “Just because I’m not an anal retentive freakazoid, doesn’t mean I’m a slob.”
“Freakazoid? I’m hurt.” With another hard kiss he released her so she could get dressed. “This is going to be a problem when we live together.”
“Live together?” she sputtered, choking on the words. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“You don’t have to act like the idea is totally repulsive.”
She shoved her long legs into jeans. “We haven’t even been together a week, Nick. I mean…come on.”
Not wanting her to see that she’d hurt him by being so dismissive, he turned away from her to look out the window. He churned with things he’d like to say to her, arguments and persuasions she was clearly not ready to hear. As he stared out into the darkness, a shadow across the street caught his eye. Zeroing in for a closer look, he realized someone was watching the house. He ignored the screaming pain in his foot and the pounding in his head when he bolted for the door and flew down the stairs.
Sam called out to him.
Blasting through the front door and down the ramp, he was almost hit by a car as he ran into the street. The blare of the car’s horn startled him, taking his attention off the shadow for just an instant, but that was all it took.
/> “Watch out, asshole!” the driver yelled out the car window.
By the time Nick recovered his bearings the shadow was long gone.
“Shit! Son of a bitch!”
“What’re you doing?” Sam screamed from the porch.
“Someone was there,” he said, his breath coming out in white puffs in the cold air. “I saw him. Watching the house.”
“So you just run out half-cocked, not to mention half-dressed?”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
She had her hands on her hips in a gesture he recognized by now as her seriously pissed stance. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe tell the cop who was in the room with you?”
He limped back to the ramp and started up to where she waited for him. “I didn’t think of it. All I thought about was getting him.”
“And what were you going to do with him once you got him?”
Squirming under the heat of her blue-eyed glare, he shrugged. “I would’ve figured something out.”
“That’s exactly how civilians get themselves killed by the hundreds every year, thinking they can take the law into their own hands.”
“I don’t need you to lecture me or to keep using the word civilian like it’s some kind of vermin.”
“Vermin’s got to be smarter than you just were.”
“I almost had him.”
“You almost got flattened by a car!”
Fuming, they stood there spitting nails at each other.
“Um, ’scuse me, but ah, I’m back,” Freddie said from the sidewalk. “You said I should come here and, um…”
“Come up,” Sam said, never taking her eyes off Nick. “Go in. I’ll be right there.”
“Gotcha, boss,” Freddie said with a sympathetic smile for Nick as he went by them. “Good to see you again, Mr. Cappuano.”
“Likewise,” Nick said, still focused on Sam. “And you can call me Nick.”
“You should’ve told me what you saw,” Sam said after the door closed behind Freddie. “If you had, I could’ve called it in, and maybe we would’ve nabbed him. Instead, you go off on a Rambo mission that yielded squat.”
Nick contemplated that. “You might have a point.”