Fatal Affair

by Marie Force

  Sam called Nick from the car.

  “Hey, babe,” he said.

  She took a moment to enjoy the easy familiarity they had slid into, as if they’d been together for years rather than days.

  “Sam?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “It is now that I’m talking to you. What’re you doing?”

  “I’m sitting on your bed trying to write what I have to say at the funeral tomorrow. It’s just dawned on me that I have to speak in front of the president and most of Congress.”

  Sam released a low whistle. “I don’t think I could do it.”

  “Sure you could. You just took on the Washington press corps.”

  “You saw that, huh?”

  “Yep. I heard it’s serious between us. Did you know that?”

  Laughing, she said, “I’ve heard that rumor.”

  “Say it again, Sam,” he said, his voice gruff and sexy.

  Her heart contracted. “Say what?” she asked, even though she knew exactly what he was after.

  “Don’t play coy with me. Say it.”

  “When I see you.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “I’m almost home. Want to meet me outside and go for a walk? I promised I’d take you to the market.”

  “So you did. Was that only yesterday?”

  “Sure was. Meet me on the corner in five? If I come in, I’ll get trapped, and I need some air.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He was waiting for her when she parked in front of the house and set out toward the corner.

  Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him in jeans and a black leather jacket, and she couldn’t help but break into a jog to get to him faster. She hurled herself into his outstretched arms and squealed when he lifted her right off her feet.

  His mouth descended on hers for a hot, breathtaking kiss.

  “Mmm,” she said against his lips. “I missed you.”

  “You just saw me a couple of hours ago.”

  “Long time.” She burrowed into his neck to nibble on warm skin.

  He trembled and tightened his hold on her. “What happened to your ban on PDA?”

  “Momentary lapse.”

  “I like it.” He returned her to terra firma and tipped her chin up. “There was something you were going to tell me?”

  She thought about playing coy again, but as she looked up at his handsome face, she found she couldn’t do it. “I love you. Big.”

  His hazel eyes danced with delight. “Big, huh?”

  “Scary big.”

  “Not scary.” He hugged her. “Because I love you bigger.”

  “Not possible.”

  “Bet?” Laughing at the face she made at him, he slipped his arm around her shoulders for the walk to the market.

  A melting pot of crafts, colors, nationalities, smells and textures, Eastern Market was mobbed with last-minute Christmas shoppers braving the damp chill to bargain with bundled-up vendors.

  “You aren’t going to believe this, but I’ve never been here,” he confessed as they passed a row of fragrant Christmas trees.

  She stared up at him. “Are you serious? You’ve worked a few blocks from here for how long?”

  “Well, I worked for a congressman before John, so I guess almost fourteen years.”

  “That’s sad, Nick. Truly pathetic. The flea market is open every weekend, year round.”

  “So I’ve heard,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I figured, you know, flea market—junk. I never expected all this hand-crafted stuff.”

  “You can get anything here, and it’s usually better than what you can buy in a store.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Hey, Sam,” one of the vendors called.

  “How’s business, Rico?”

  “Booming, thank God. Heard about you on the news last night. You okay?”

  “Just fine. No worries.”

  “Glad to hear it. Bring your dad down one of these weekends.”

  “I will.”

  After several similar exchanges, Nick said, “Do you know all these people or does it just seem that way?”

  She shrugged as she sorted through a table of fluffy knitted scarves. “This is my hood. I’m a regular.” Twisting a hot pink scarf around her neck, she pirouetted in front of him. “What do you think?”

  He turned up his nose. “Not your color, babe.”

  “My niece Brooke firmly believes that no one over the age of four should wear pink.”

  “That’s funny. How old is she?”

  “Fifteen going on thirty. You’ll meet her later.” Returning the scarf to the table, she glanced over at the next kiosk and spotted a beautifully framed painting of the Capitol that she had to have for him. Dying to get a closer look at it, she rubbed her hands together and blew into them. “Do you feel like some hot chocolate?”

  “Sure.”

  “They’re selling it right over there.”

  Eyeing her suspiciously, he looked over to where she pointed. “All right.”

  Flashing a brilliant smile, she went up on tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you, honey.”

  “What’re you up to?”

  “Nothing.” She gave him a little push. “Go.”

  The moment he crossed the street, she spun around and pounced on the unsuspecting artist in the neighboring booth. “That one. Right there. How much?”

  “Three-fifty.”

  “Sold. Will you take a check?”

  “With a license.”

  “Be quick.”

  They completed the transaction in record time, and Sam accepted the package wrapped in brown paper moments before Nick returned with two steaming cups of hot chocolate.

  “What did you buy?”

  “Something for my dad.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Samantha. Does this mean I have to buy something for you, too?”

  “Only if you plan to get lucky in the New Year,” she said with a saucy smile.

  “In that case, what looks good to you? Sky’s the limit.”

  Laughing and teasing, they were navigating the crowd on their way to the indoor food market when a flash of metal caught Sam’s eye. Everything shifted into slow motion as she realized it was a gun. In the span of a second, she shoved Nick out of the way, dropped the painting and her hot chocolate, drew her own weapon and lunged at the shooter.

  “Baby killer!” the woman shrieked as she fired an erratic shot.

  People screamed and dove for cover as Sam wrestled the heavy-set woman to the ground and struggled to disarm her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nick’s black shoe.

  “Get back!” she cried as the woman’s elbow connected with her cheekbone.

  Nick stomped on the woman’s hand, and the gun clanked to the cobblestone street.

  “Don’t touch it!” Sam said to him as she cuffed the crying woman.

  “You killed Quentin! You killed our baby!”

  Something about the voice was familiar. “Marquis killed Quentin,” Sam growled into the woman’s ear as she tightened the cuffs. Flipping her over, she wasn’t surprised to find Destiny Johnson’s sister Dawn under her. “Was anyone hit?” Sam asked Nick.

  “I don’t think so.” He looked down at her with a pale face and big, shocked eyes. “I heard someone call 911.”

  “Thanks for the assist.”

  “No problem.”

  As the market slowly returned to normal around them, Sam sat on a curb with Dawn until a couple of uniforms arrived to take statements and cart her off. Sam promised to write up her portion of the report and get it to them later.

  “Nice job, Sam,” one of the vendors called to her.

  “Thanks,” she said as Nick helped her up.

  The moment she was upright, the pain she had managed to stave off during the confrontation with Dawn roared through her, leaving her breathless and weak in its wake.

  “Jesus Christ, Sam,” Ni
ck muttered.

  “S’okay,” she said, bent in half as she took deep breaths. “Just give me a second.” It took several minutes, but she was finally able to straighten only to find his hazel eyes hot with dismay and anger. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.” He took hold of her arm to steer her toward home. “And don’t you ever push me out of the way again so you can dive at a gun, do you hear me? Don’t ever do that again.”

  Startled by his tone, she stopped and turned to face him. “It’s instinct and training. You can’t fault me for that.”

  “How do you think it makes me feel, as a man, when the woman I love pushes me out of harm’s way so she can throw herself in front of it? Huh?”

  “I have no idea,” she said sincerely.

  “Well, let me tell you, it makes me feel like a useless, dickless moron.”

  “I’m not the kind of woman who needs a big strong man to protect her, Nick. If that’s what you want or need, you’ve got the wrong girl.”

  “And you think I’m the kind of man who needs his woman to protect him? Is that what you want?”

  “Why are we fighting?” she asked, perplexed. “I saw a shooter. I took her down. What the hell did I do wrong?”

  “You pushed me out of the way!”

  “Excuse me for not wanting your dumb ass to get killed. Next time I’ll let her blow your head off. Would that be better?”

  “Now you’re just being a jerk.”

  Stunned and dismayed, she stared at him and said a silent thanks a lot to Dawn for turning their romantic afternoon to shit. “I’m the jerk? Whatever.” Without a care as to whether he followed her or not, she stomped off toward home. When she got there, she heard voices in the kitchen and figured her sister Tracy’s family had arrived. But rather than go see them, Sam went straight upstairs, needing a few minutes to get herself together first.

  What’s his problem anyway? She fumed as she shrugged off her coat, tossed it over her desk chair and flopped down on the bed. What did I do besides try to protect his sorry ass? The ache in her stomach was no match for the pain in her heart. This was exactly why she had stayed away from relationships since she split with Peter. If she never felt this shitty again, it would be just fine with her.

  Nick came in a few minutes later, carrying the package she had abandoned in the chaos. “I believe this is yours,” he said as he put it on her desk and took off his coat.

  She couldn’t believe she had forgotten all about the painting. “Thanks.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers over her sore cheek.

  Sam winced when he grazed the spot where Dawn’s elbow had connected.

  “You should put some ice on that.” He laced his fingers through hers. “Between the bump on your head, the bruises on your chest and neck, and now this, you’re quite a colorful mess.”

  “It’s not usually like this. I swear to God, it’s never this crazy.”

  “That’s good to know, because I don’t think I could handle this much drama on a daily basis.” He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed each of her fingers. “I’m sorry I overreacted.”

  Sam’s mouth fell open. “Did you just apologize?”

  “Yeah,” he huffed. “So?”

  “I didn’t think guys did that. This is a first for me. You’ll have to excuse me while I take a moment to enjoy it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m about to take it back.”

  She laughed. “Please don’t.” Reaching up to touch the soft hair that curled over his ear, she studied the face she had come to love so much in such a short time. “I’m trying to understand why you got so upset.”

  “You did what you were trained to do, and just because I didn’t like it doesn’t mean you were wrong.”

  “Wow. This is truly quite a moment for me.”

  “Samantha…”

  “I’ll always push you out of the way, Nick. If you can’t deal with that, we’re going to have problems.”

  “We’re going to have problems anyway. So how about we handle it this way? When I’m wrong, I’ll say so. And when you’re wrong, you’ll say so.”

  “I will?”

  “Uh huh. That’s how it works. That’s the only way it works.”

  “Is this you being anal again and cleaning things up?”

  “If that’s how you want to see it.”

  “Fine,” she conceded. “On the sure-to-be rare instances when I’m actually wrong about something, I’ll do my best to admit it. Are you happy?”

  “For some strange reason,” he said, bending to kiss her, “I really am.”

  She slid her fingers into his hair to keep him there. “So am I.”

  Chapter 32

  After dinner, Sam joined her sisters on the porch to share a cigarette. She leaned in to block the air as Tracy lit up while Angela flanked her other side. Each of them took a long drag before passing it on.

  “Oh, I needed that,” Tracy, who at forty was the oldest, said as she exhaled a steady stream of smoke. She shared Sam’s height but had held on to ten extra pounds after each of her three children.

  Angela, at thirty-six, had bounced right back to her svelte shape after giving birth to her son Jack five years earlier.

  The door swung open, and Angela stashed the cigarette behind her back.

  “Mom, Jack is walking back and forth in front of the TV and won’t stop,” whined fifteen-year-old Brooke, brimming with indignation. Her long dark hair, bright blue eyes and porcelain skin gave her a delicate beauty that was a source of great consternation to her parents as the boys began to take an avid interest in her.

  “Sorry,” Angela said. “I’ll get him.”

  Tracy stopped her sister and said to her daughter, “Turn off the TV and spend some time with your cousin. All he wants is your attention.”

  In a huff, Brooke stomped back inside.

  “Sorry about that,” Angela said. “He loves being with the kids.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Tracy said. “They watch enough TV at home. They don’t need to do it here, too.”

  The door opened again, and this time Sam stashed the cigarette behind her back when she saw it was Nick.

  “I was wondering where you all had disappeared to, and your father suggested I check the front porch where I’d find the three of you sharing a cigarette that you think no one knows about. I said, ‘What do you mean, Skip? Samantha doesn’t smoke.’”

  Behind her back, Sam transferred the cigarette to Angela in a move they had perfected over the years. She smiled at Nick. “Of course I don’t smoke. Did you need me?”

  “I was going to ask if you’d mind if we go to my place tonight.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ll be in shortly, and we can take off.”

  “Okay.”

  The moment the door closed behind him, Angela took a drag off the dwindling cigarette. “Mmm. Hubba hubba.”

  Her sisters stared at her.

  “Did you seriously just say ‘hubba hubba’?” Tracy asked.

  “Well, come on. He’s yummy. And did he call you Samantha?”

  Sam shrugged as her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “He likes to call me that.”

  “You must really dig him to put up with that,” Ang said. “How’s the sex?”

  “Angela!” Tracy said.

  “What? Don’t tell me you don’t want to know, too.”

  They waited expectantly for Sam.

  “It’s…you know…amazing.”

  “I remember amazing sex,” Tracy said with a sigh. “At least I think I do.”

  “Stop,” Angela said, bumping Tracy with her hip. “Mike’s still hot for you.”

  “Yeah, I guess. So, Sam, I didn’t want to ask in front of the kids, but this insanity with Peter… Are you okay?”

  “It’s kind of overwhelming to know he hates me enough to want to kill me.”

  “I think it’s more that in his own sick, twisted way he loves you that much,” Tracy said
.

  Angela nodded in agreement.

  Sam told them about meeting Nick years ago and what Peter had done to keep them apart.

  “Motherfucker,” Angela muttered.

  Sam laughed as she extinguished the cigarette. The sick feeling in her stomach and the lingering foul taste reminded her of why she’d quit smoking years ago. “Tell me how you really feel, Ang.”

  “I hate that bastard.”

  “So do I,” Tracy said. “Divorcing him was the best thing you ever did. I couldn’t stand the way he always had to know where you were and what you were doing. He never would’ve gone back inside the way Nick did just now. He would’ve wanted to know what we were talking about.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “When I think about him not giving me those messages… I really wanted to hear from Nick after that night.”

  “You might’ve missed the whole Peter saga altogether,” Tracy said.

  “Maybe everything that happened with Peter, with the babies and stuff, would’ve happened with Nick and it would’ve screwed us up just as bad.”

  Her sisters each slid an arm around her.

  “There’s no point in going there, Sam,” Tracy said.

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell Nick the whole story.”

  “It won’t matter to him,” Ang assured her. “He’s mad about you. He never takes his eyes off you, but not in the creepy way Peter used to. More of an adoring way.”

  “He didn’t have a family growing up, and I know he wants one.”

  “There’re other ways, hon,” Tracy said. “You know that. Don’t worry about it right now. Enjoy this time with him. You deserve to be happy after everything you’ve been through.”

  “Thank you,” Sam said, hugging them. “I’m so glad you guys like him.”

  “Hubba hubba,” Ang said again, and they all laughed.

  “Now how about Dad and Celia?” Sam said.

  Just as Sam and Nick were getting ready to leave Skip’s house, Freddie called. “We’ve got another body, Sergeant.”

  A burst of adrenaline zipped through Sam. “Who?”

  “Tara Davenport.”

  “Oh, shit,” Sam sighed, remembering the timid Capitol Hill waitress they’d interviewed. “Where?”

  “Her apartment.” Freddie rattled off the address. “It’s bad, Sam. Whoever did this made sure she suffered.”