Fatal Consequences

by Marie Force

  “I want to be there when you arrest Cook.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  “Freddie, you have plans. Important plans. Go.”

  “What about the reports?”

  He usually handled them because of her dyslexia. “I’ll take care of them this time. All I need is for you to call Regina’s and Maria’s parents and let them know we got the guy who killed their daughters. Then you’re done.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I promised you a night off, so get to it.”

  “I don’t feel right about leaving before we’re finished.”

  “We are finished. I’m going to arrest Cook and Cheri, the call girl ring’s administrative assistant. I’ll send them back with patrol to be booked, and then I’m going home too. I’ll do the paperwork in the morning.”

  “All right,” he said, frowning. “If you insist.”

  “I insist.” She rested a hand on his arm. “I hope it all goes your way tonight. I really do.”

  “Thanks. I hope so too. I’ll be here in the morning to help with the reports.”

  “Sleep in. I’ll see you at ten.” She left him in his cubicle and headed out to the parking lot, her detail in tow. “I’m going to have you transport two people back to HQ for me, and then you’re released from babysitting duty. Case closed.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Lieutenant.”

  Sam studied the two eager young faces. “Thanks,” she said begrudgingly. “For keeping an eye on me the last few days.”

  “Our pleasure,” one of them said with a cheeky grin. Sam smiled. Apparently, she still could turn a head or two. It was small solace in the midst of the physical and emotional pain of losing another baby.

  On the way to Capitol Hill, Nick called. Sam saw his number on the caller ID and decided to wait to take his call until after she’d arrested Cook. He was better off not knowing what was happening until it was over and done with. She didn’t want anyone questioning him later about what he knew and when he knew it. Her phone dinged to indicate a voicemail message from him, which she would retrieve later. At the moment, it took all she had to focus on the task at hand while enduring the regular waves of pain cycling through her gut.

  The police cruiser following her slid into the next parking space in a lot adjacent to the Hart Office Building. Sam noticed that the space reserved for Nick was empty. Hit with a blast of nerves over the grim news she’d have to share with him when she saw him later, she wondered if he had a campaign event that evening. She hoped not. She wanted to go home and feel his strong arms around her.

  A black Cadillac Coup de Ville occupied the spot next to Nick’s, which was reserved for the senior senator from Virginia.

  Sam made her way to Cook’s office, which was twice the size of that occupied by his junior counterpart. Having been there before, she knew the layout and strolled straight past Cook’s startled receptionist on her way to the senator’s vast corner office. She barged past numerous staffers and straight into Cook’s inner sanctum. He was in a meeting with three other men and two women.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he said, startling when he realized who’d come to call.

  “Senator Robert Cook, you’re under arrest for solicitation of prostitution, running a prostitution ring and racketeering. I’m sure that once we dig a little deeper, we’ll be adding money laundering and other charges to the list.”

  “You can’t come in here and accuse me of these egregious charges without an ounce of proof to back up your claims.”

  “Oh, I’ve got proof.” She stepped around his massive desk to cuff him. “You have the right to remain silent.” He struggled against the cuffs as she recited the Miranda warning. The other people in the room watched the proceedings in stunned silence.

  “What proof do you have?”

  “Your good friends Daniels and Bartholomew are fully prepared to testify against you, as is one of the women you paid for sex.”

  “What about them?” he cried. “Daniels and Bartholomew—and Sanborn? They’re in it up to their necks too!”

  “Daniels and Bartholomew have agreed to testify against you and Sanborn.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “Immunity on the prostitution charges.”

  “And I don’t get the same courtesy?”

  Sam thought of the way he’d threatened Nick during the Sinclair investigation. It gave her tremendous pleasure to say, “Sorry, but I don’t need you. I’ve already got enough to put Sanborn away for life.”

  “You fucking bitch,” he said, seething. “You motherfucking whore.”

  “You’ve got some nerve calling me a whore, Senator. Or should I call you Mr. Cook? Convicted felons can’t serve in the United States Senate, can they?” She turned to her audience of shocked staffers. “Anyone know the answer to that? Been a while since high school social studies for me.”

  “You’re enjoying this,” Cook said through gritted teeth.

  Sam leaned in close to him. “You bet your ass I am.” She marched him out of the Hart Building, past startled congressional staffers and one thrilled news photographer, and stowed him in the backseat of the patrol car. “Follow me,” she said to the two officers, who appeared as stunned as the staffers when they recognized their passenger. “When we get to Seventh Street, one of you stay with him and the other come with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Back in her car, Sam absorbed a particularly painful cramp before she started the engine and headed for Cheri Anderson’s house, a few blocks from Sam’s and far too close for comfort to the apartment Peter Gibson had rented after their divorce. The thought of running into him only added to the sick feeling in her belly.

  Sensing Cook glaring at her from the car, Sam climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. The patrol officer hung back at the foot of the stairs.

  The door swung open. An attractive woman in her early forties took in Sam’s badge as well as the officer standing on the sidewalk and released a deep sigh. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Sam gestured for the other officer to wait outside and followed the woman into a comfortable home. Dressed in khakis and a Catholic University T-shirt, Cheri Anderson looked like a typical suburban mom. That the Catholic U grad was running a prostitution ring out of her home would’ve struck Sam as almost comical if it wasn’t for what had happened to Regina, Maria and Jeannie as a result of the criminal activity.

  “When I heard on the news that Daniels, Bartholomew and Sanborn had been arrested, I figured it was only a matter of time before they blamed the whole thing on me and sent you here.”

  “For what it’s worth, Daniels didn’t give up your name easily. I tied it to his immunity deal.”

  Blue eyes flashed with rage. “So he gets immunity, and I go down for the whole thing?”

  “I want Sanborn. He’s the one who murdered two women and kidnapped and raped a police officer.”

  “He’s an evil son of a bitch. I’ve always known that. When I heard Regina and Maria had been murdered…I knew it was him. He was so furious when I told him they were pregnant. They were no longer any use to him, and he feared they’d be tempted to venture into blackmail since their immigration status was so tenuous. When I heard they were dead…”

  “You knew it was him.”

  “Yes.” She glanced up at Sam, eyes bright with tears. “To be honest, I’ve been worried about my own safety. Two days ago, I bought a gun.” She gestured to the artwork decorating her refrigerator. “Having a gun in a house where my children live terrifies me, but I couldn’t let him get me too.”

  “How did they recruit you?”

  “I worked for Sanborn at the DNC for a couple of years before I had my son. My husband and I, we had a plan—he’d work and I’d stay home with the kids. Then he got laid off just before my son was born. I’d already resigned from the DNC, so we were in a bad place financially. Sanborn must’ve heard about that from on
e of my former colleagues. He called me, asked if I’d be interested in a business opportunity, and of course I snapped it up, even though I was mortified when I realized what I’d be doing.” She shrugged. “We needed the money.”

  “What did you tell your husband?”

  “That the DNC had asked me to do some work for them from home.”

  “And he never questioned that?”

  She shook her head. “I handle all the household money. He has no idea…”

  “This might be a good time to tell him.”

  Nodding, Cheri wiped away tears and reached for a CD case on the counter. “Clients, employees, finances, records—the entire business. I signed a very restrictive confidentiality agreement when I started with them, but I assume that’s null and void now that they’re all in jail.”

  Sam took the CD from her. “How many careers and marriages will this ruin?”

  “Scores.” Folding her arms in a protective stance, Cheri said, “What will happen to me?”

  “Are you willing testify against the four principals?”

  “To stay out of jail? You bet.”

  “Let me talk to the U.S. attorney and see what I can do.”

  “Are you going to arrest me?”

  Sam slipped the CD that cemented her case into her coat pocket. “Not right now. I may be back, though.”

  Cheri’s gaze locked on a photo of her children. “I’ll be here.”

  Sam sent her detail to HQ and called Captain Malone to let him know that Senator Cook was on his way. She told him of her decision to hold off on arresting Cheri Anderson for the time being—and why.

  “Good call. By the way, DNA came back on Maria’s baby—a match for Tillinghast.”

  “You can let him know that when you spring him and let his family out of protective custody.”

  “Will do. What else can I do to help you clean up the details? I know you’re not feeling well and you probably want to get home.”

  “You can have Selina Rameriz’s detail notify her that we’ve arrested the four principals, and tell her the information she gave me was critical to closing the case.”

  “Will do.”

  “Let her know I’ll check in with her in the next few days about the next steps.”

  “Got it. Good work, Lieutenant—as always.”

  “Glad to put this one behind me. I’ll be in tomorrow to go through the CD Anderson gave me so we can get busy ruining the lives of some other high-ranking scumbags.”

  His laughter sparked hers. “A lot of times this job truly sucks, but other times, it truly doesn’t.”

  “Eloquently put, Captain.”

  “Go home and put your feet up. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Thanks for handling Cook.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Sam hung up with him and called Jeannie McBride’s cell number. Michael answered.

  “This is Lieutenant Holland. How’s Jeannie?”

  “Settled in at my place and sleeping. The trip home seemed to wear her out.”

  “Do me a favor when she wakes up, and tell her we got the bastard.”

  “Oh God, that’s such a relief,” he said, sounding jubilant. “She’ll be so glad to hear that.”

  “Tell her I’ll be by to check on her in the next day or two.”

  “I will. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for us.”

  “No problem.” Before she stashed the phone in her coat pocket, Sam sent a text to Shelby and her sisters to postpone the dress plans. She couldn’t deal with that tonight. Leaning against her car, she took a moment in the fading daylight to breathe in the cold February air and absorb the satisfaction of another case successfully closed.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Shocked out of her reverie, she spun around to find Peter Gibson giving her the once-over. Before he’d affixed crude bombs to her car and Nick’s, Sam had never thought to be afraid of her ex-husband. Antagonistic? Absolutely. But afraid? Never. However, when she remembered the bomb-making materials, the photos of her on the job and the newspaper articles about her they’d found in his apartment…Seeing him now, released from jail on a technicality, Sam experienced true terror for the first time since Clarence Reese carjacked her and held her hostage.

  “What do you want?” she asked, trying not to think about the way she’d nailed him in the interrogation room and goaded him about her satisfying sex life with Nick.

  “From you? Not a damned thing. You gave me everything I needed when you let your officers knock down my door without a warrant. Thanks for that, by the way. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated it.”

  “You’re required to stay a thousand feet from me and everyone in my family,” Sam reminded him. Since their acrimonious divorce Sam had been hard-pressed to remember what she’d ever seen in him. His sandy-colored hair was now mostly silver, and the face she’d once found handsome was filled with bitterness.

  “This is my neighborhood,” he said. “Maybe I need a restraining order to keep you away from me.”

  “Enjoy your freedom. I predict it won’t last. In fact, we’ve got a pool going at HQ as to how long it’ll take you to fuck up again.”

  His expression one of mock horror, he said, “Who picked today? I hope it wasn’t you. I’d hate to hand you any easy victories.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her heart hammering.

  “Figure it out. Good to see you, Sam. Hope you’re taking good care of your senator. He didn’t look too hot the last time I saw him. You have a nice night now.”

  Nick. Oh God, Nick. Leaving her car, she took off running because it was faster than driving this time of day. In the background, she heard Peter laughing. If he’d done something to Nick, she’d kill him with her own hands. Pulling her phone from her pocket as she ran, her hands shook as she pressed No. 1 on her speed dial. The call went straight to voicemail. “Oh my God. Please…”

  Ignoring the increasingly sharp pain in her abdomen, Sam ran as fast a she could. Odd dots of light danced before her eyes just as the sign for Ninth Street appeared in the distance. “Please, please, please.”

  She rounded the corner and stumbled as she took in the pile of rubble that used to be their front stairs. “Oh,” she whispered. The entire front of the house was in shambles. “No…” Instinctively, she reached for her radio and called for backup, relieved to see no sign of Nick’s car on the street. Her eyes fixed on the wreckage outside their home, Sam inched forward, certain she had to be seeing things. Would Peter really be so stupid as to plant another bomb—on the same day he’d been released from prison?

  Taking a quick look around, she didn’t see any of the shattered glass that had marked the area surrounding the bombing the last time. What the hell was going on? And most important of all, where was Nick?

  Battling his way through rush hour traffic, Nick was riveted by the news on the radio about the arrests of Senator Cook, Speaker Daniels, Mitch Sanborn and Jack Bartholomew. Washington’s political machine was on fire, and Nick was enjoying every minute of it. Even though his party had taken a hard hit, he had no patience for people who took advantage of powerful positions and the public’s trust.

  He’d been forced to shut off his phone, which had been ringing incessantly for hours as the news ripped through the city. He needed to talk to Sam before he discussed the situation with other members of his party or with the reporters who were clamoring for a statement from the senator whose fiancée had arrested some of the heaviest hitters in town.

  All at once it occurred to him that if Cook was forced to resign—and Nick couldn’t see how the older man would be able to hold on to his office after helping to run a prostitution ring for twelve years—then Nick would become the senior senator from Virginia, just fifty days after he took office. The thought made Nick’s head spin, as it had since the day he’d found John O’Connor dead in his apartment.

  Pulling on to Ninth Street, his heart skipped a beat at the sigh
t of flashing lights and emergency vehicles lined up outside his house—again. Sam…Peter… “No,” he whispered as he bolted from the car. “Samantha!” He’d closed half the distance before he saw her talking to another cop, her hands dancing in the air as she gestured to the ruined front stairs. Right in that moment, he realized she hadn’t gotten his message about using the back door, and she’d thought Peter had struck again.

  They’d probably laugh about this. Someday…

  “Samantha!”

  She looked up, and the expression of sheer relief on her face reminded him once again that she loved him more than anyone ever had. Since she seemed frozen in place, he ran to her and swept her up. Right there, in front of no fewer than ten other police officers, the gorgeous cop who despised public displays of affection kissed him square on the lips.

  “There you are,” she whispered, clinging to him.

  “Here I am.”

  “I was so scared. Peter…he said…”

  A jolt of shock zipped through Nick. “You saw him? Already?”

  She nodded. “He made it sound like he’d done something to you. He…I was so scared. I couldn’t find you.”

  Nick tightened his hold on her, surprised to feel dampness on her cheeks. “I’m fine, babe. I asked the contractor to put in a ramp so we can have your dad over. He got called away before he could finish. It was supposed to be a surprise. I’m sorry you were scared.”

  She drew back from him, eyes wide with surprise and emotion. “You’re putting in a ramp?”

  “I thought he’d like to see our place.”

  Hugging him again, she said, “Love you so much.”

  “Love you too, babe.”

  “Not feeling so good,” she said, her eyes closing. “Need to talk to you.”

  He scooped her up and carried her home.

  Epilogue

  Nick stood at the white split rail fence with Graham O’Connor and watched Graham’s daughter Lizbeth lead Scotty around the training ring on a gentle mare. The handsome boy’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he adapted to the horse’s cadence.