Kick A** Heroines Box Set: The UltimatumFatal AffairAfter the DarkBulletproof SEAL (The Guardian)

by Karen Robards

  “If you could keep that tidbit to yourself, I’d owe you one.”

  He laughed. “I like having you indebted to me. Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  “There is one thing,” she said, playing the hunch. “Do a run on Graham O’Connor’s brother, Robert. I need the deal on his family, offspring in particular. If you can get photos, even better.”

  “Will do,” Gonzo said. “I’ll call you with what I find out. So, um, you saw the papers this morning I assume…”

  Sam’s stomach took a queasy dip that reminded her she hadn’t eaten or had either of the two diet colas she usually relied upon to jumpstart her day. “No, why?”

  “Destiny Johnson is calling you a baby killer.”

  “Is that so?” Sam growled, the dip in her stomach descending into the ache that dogged her in times of stress. Two doctors had been unable to determine the cause. One had suggested she give up soda, which simply wasn’t an option, so she lived with her stomach’s annoying ability to predict her stress level.

  “Don’t take it to heart, Sam. Everyone knows that if she’d been any kind of mother, her kid wouldn’t have been hanging out in a crack house in the first place.”

  “But she has the nerve to call me the baby killer.” Of all the things she could’ve said, that hurt more than anything.

  “I know. She made some pretty serious threats about what she’d do if you testify against her deadbeat husband next week. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from the brass about it.”

  “That’s great.” She rubbed her belly in an effort to find some relief. “Just what I need right now.”

  “Sorry. You know we’re all standing behind you. It was a clean shoot.”

  “Thanks, Gonzo.” Her throat tightened with emotion she couldn’t afford to let in just then. Clearing it away, she said, “Call me if you find anything useful at the cabin. I did a surface run last night, but I was operating on fumes. I could’ve missed something.”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll let you know when we finish.”

  She gave him the O’Connors’s phone number so he could get a key to the cabin from them and signed off. Weaving her way through traffic, she made it to Capitol Hill with minutes to spare and took off running for the Hart Senate Office Building.

  Freddie was pacing in the hallway outside Senator Stenhouse’s office suite. “There you are! I was just about to call you.” His astute eyes took in her day-old suit and landed on her face.

  “I worked all night, I haven’t been home to change yet, and yes, I’ve heard about Destiny Johnson,” she snapped. “So whatever you’re going to say, don’t bother.”

  “As usual, a night without sleep has done wonders for your disposition.”

  “Buzz off, Freddie. I’m truly not in the mood to go ten rounds with you.”

  “What were you doing working all night? And why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come back in.”

  “I went through O’Connor’s place again and then his home in Leesburg.”

  Freddie raised an eyebrow. “By yourself?”

  “Nick Cappuano was with me. He told me about the place in Leesburg and took me there. Otherwise I never would’ve found it. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Me?” Freddie raised his hands defensively. “I’ve got no problems, boss.”

  “Good. Can we get to work then?”

  “I’m following you.”

  “Nice digs,” she muttered under her breath as Stenhouse’s assistant showed them into a massive corner office that was triple the size of that assigned to the junior senator from Virginia.

  Stenhouse, tall and lean with silver hair and sharp, frosty blue eyes, stood up when they came in. He dismissed the assistant with orders to close the door behind her. “I’m on a tight schedule, Detectives. What can I do for you?”

  Wants to play it that way? Sam thought. Well, so can I. “Detective Cruz, please record this interview with Senate Minority Leader William Stenhouse.” She rattled off the time, date, place and players present.

  “You need my permission to record this,” Stenhouse snapped.

  “Here or downtown. Your choice.”

  He glowered at her for a long moment before he gestured for her to proceed.

  “Where were you on Tuesday evening between ten p.m. and seven a.m.?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Turning to Freddie, she said, “Am I serious, Detective Cruz?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe you’re dead serious.”

  “Answer the question, Senator.”

  Teeth gritted, Stenhouse glared at her. “I was here until ten, ten-thirty, and then I went home.”

  “Which is where?”

  “Old Town Alexandria.”

  “Did you see or speak to anyone after you left here?”

  “My wife is at home in Missouri preparing for the holidays.”

  “So that’s a ‘no’?”

  “That’s a ‘no,’” he growled.

  “How did you feel about the immigration bill Senator O’Connor sponsored?”

  “Useless piece of drivel,” Stenhouse muttered. “The bill has no bones to it, and everyone knows that.”

  “Funny, that’s not what we’ve been told, is it Detective Cruz?”

  “No, ma’am.” Freddie flipped open his notebook and rattled off the statement the president had issued days earlier, calling the immigration reform bill the most important piece of legislation proposed during his first term.

  Stenhouse’s glare could’ve bored a hole through a lesser cop, but Sam barely felt the heat. “Were you irritated to see Graham O’Connor’s son succeeding in the Senate?”

  “Hardly,” he said. “He was nothing to me.”

  “And his father? Was he nothing to you as well?”

  “He was a prick who overstayed his welcome.”

  “How did you feel when you heard his son had been murdered?”

  “It’s a tragedy,” he said in a pathetic attempt at sincerity. “He was a United States senator.”

  “And the son of your longtime rival.”

  Awareness dawned all at once. “Did he tell you I did this? That bastard!” He stalked to the window and stared out for a moment before he turned to them. “I hate his fucking guts. But do I hate him enough to kill his son? No, I don’t. I haven’t given Graham O’Connor a thought in the five years since we saw the last of his sorry ass around here.”

  “I’m sure you’ve had cause to give his son more than a passing thought in the same five years.”

  “His son was in the Senate for one reason and one reason only—his pedigree. The O’Connors have the people of Virginia snowed. John O’Connor was even more useless than his father, and that’s not just my opinion. Ask around.”

  “I’ll do that,” Sam said. “In the meantime, stay available.”

  “What does that mean? Congress will be in holiday recess after tomorrow. I’m heading home to Missouri the day after.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re staying right here until we close this case.”

  “But it’s Christmas! You can’t keep me here against my will.”

  “Detective Cruz, can I keep the senator here against his will?”

  “I believe you can, ma’am.”

  “And do we have a jail cell with his name on it if we hear he leaves the capital region?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We absolutely do.”

  Stenhouse breathed fire as the detectives had their exchange.

  Sam took three steps to close the distance between them. Looking up at the senator, she kept her expression passive and calm. “Neither your rank nor your standing mean a thing to me. This is a homicide investigation, and I won’t hesitate to toss you in a cage if you fail to cooperate. Stay available.”

  With that, she turned, nodded at Freddie to follow her, and left the room.

  She was gratified to hear Stenhouse yell to his assistant, “Get Joe Farnsworth on the line. Right now!”

  * * *


  TERRY O’CONNOR SPENT the days he was sober in a closet-sized office on Independence Avenue. Judging from the lack of anything much on his desk, Sam deduced the job was bogus and most likely a favor to his illustrious father.

  Terry’s already pasty complexion paled when the detectives appeared at his door.

  “Good morning, Mr. O’Connor,” Sam said. “We’re sorry to interrupt your work, but we have a few follow-up questions for you.”

  “Um, sure,” he said, gesturing to a chair.

  Sam took the chair while Freddie hovered in the doorway.

  “I have to leave soon,” Terry said. “We’re going to Richmond.”

  “Yes, I know. We won’t keep you long. Have you made any headway in producing the woman you were with on the night of the murder?”

  Terry seemed to shrink further into his chair. “No.”

  “Did you kill your brother, Terry?”

  Misery turned to shock in an instant. “No!”

  “You had good reason to want him dead. I mean, after all, he was living the life that should’ve been yours and was about to know real success as a senator when the immigration bill passed. Maybe that was just too much for you.”

  “I loved my brother, Sergeant. Was I jealous of him? You bet I was. I wanted that job. I wanted it. Down here, you know?” He gestured to his gut. “I’d prepared for it my whole life, so yeah, it bothered me that he had it when he didn’t even want it. But killing him wouldn’t change anything for me. You don’t see the Virginia Democrats lined up outside my office wanting me to take his place, do you?”

  “No.”

  “So what was my motive in killing him?”

  “Pleasure? Revenge?”

  “Do I look like I’ve got the energy to care that much about anything?” he asked, his tone heavy with utter defeat.

  Sam stood up. “I’d still like the name of the woman you say you were with that night.”

  Terry sighed. “So would I, Sergeant. Believe me. So would I.”

  * * *

  OUTSIDE, SAM TURNED to Freddie. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t want it to be him. I mean, think of those poor parents if it was him…”

  Freddie’s endless compassion could be alternatively comforting and aggravating. “He’s a lot more than jealous of his brother. Check out that hole-in-the-wall office. You think it didn’t bug the shit out of him that baby brother was snuggled into that suite in the Hart Building?”

  “Enough to kill him?”

  “I don’t know. I still see a woman for this, but I’m not ruling out the brother angle. Not yet. I’m giving him until the funeral is over to produce his alibi and then he and I are going to have a more formal chat.” She paused before she added, “I need to go home and get changed. Do you mind if we make a quick stop?”

  “Nope. You know I like seeing the deputy chief.”

  “He likes you, too, for some unknown reason.”

  “My wit and charm are hard to resist.”

  “Funny, I seem to have no problem resisting.”

  “You are a rare and unique woman, Sergeant.”

  “And you’d do well to remember that.”

  Freddie laughed and followed her to the car.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SAM WASN’T SURPRISED to receive a call from Chief Farnsworth as she drove home.

  “Good morning, Chief. I assume you’ve heard from Senator Stenhouse.”

  “You assume correctly. Is it really necessary to retain him, Sergeant?”

  “I believe it is, sir. He had a number of political reasons to want to see John O’Connor dead, not the least of which was his hatred for the senator’s father.”

  “Hate is a strong word.”

  “It’s his word.” Glancing at Freddie she said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Detective Cruz, but I believe the senator’s exact words in reference to Graham O’Connor were, ‘I hate his fucking guts.’”

  Freddie nodded his approval.

  “Detective Cruz has confirmed my account, sir.”

  “Tread carefully on this front, Sergeant. Stenhouse can make my life difficult, and if my life is difficult, so is yours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The media is burning a hole in the back of my neck clamoring for information. How close are we to closing this one?”

  “Not as close as I’d like to be. I don’t have a clear-cut suspect at the moment—a few who had motive and opportunity—but no one’s popping for me just yet.”

  “I’d like to see you when you get back to HQ.”

  “About what was in the paper this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can handle that, sir. There’s no need—”

  “My office, four o’clock,” the chief said and ended the call.

  “Shit,” she muttered as she returned the cell phone to her coat pocket.

  “They have to take those kinds of threats against an officer seriously, Sam,” Freddie said. “They have no choice.”

  “She’s a grieving mother who’s looking for someone to blame. I’m convenient.”

  “Too bad she can’t see that her crackhead husband is the one to blame, not you.”

  Sam parked on Ninth Street, rested her hands on the wheel, and looked over at Freddie. “Listen, in the event that she’s not blowing smoke, there could be some trouble in the form of stray bullets flying at me. I’d understand if you wanted to partner up with someone else until this blows over.”

  “Nice try, Sergeant, but you’re stuck with me.”

  “I could have you reassigned.”

  “You could,” he conceded. “But let me ask you this—if someone was taking pot shots at me, would you bail?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you think I would?”

  Under his junk food-loving, cover-boy exterior, Freddie Cruz was made of stuff Sam respected. “All right then,” Sam said, attempting to return things to normal. “When you get your pretty head blown off, don’t come crying to me.”

  He stuck out his jaw. “You really think my head is pretty? You’ve never told me that before.”

  “Shut up,” she groaned, reaching for the door handle. “Jesus.”

  “I’ve asked you to refrain from using the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “And I’ve asked you to refrain from preaching your Holy Roller crap to me.” There. Back to normal.

  The ramp that led to Skip Holland’s front door was a stark reminder of the changes wrought by an assailant’s bullet. Inside, Sam called for him and smiled when she heard the whir of his chair.

  “There’s my daughter who blows her curfew and stays out all night.”

  “I left a message that I know you got.” She bent down to kiss his forehead. “So don’t give me any grief.”

  “Morning, Detective Cruz. Have you eaten?”

  “Earlier.” Freddie squeezed Skip’s right hand in greeting. “But you know me, there’s always room for more.”

  “Celia made eggs. I think there’s some left.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Freddie flashed Sam a grin as he headed for the kitchen.

  She rolled her eyes. “Why do you have to encourage him?” she asked her father.

  “He’s a growing boy. Needs his protein.”

  “I hope I’m around when his metabolism slows to a crawl the way mine has.” She reached for the mail stacked on a table. “You look tired.”

  “I could say the same for you, Sergeant. What kept you out all night?”

  “Working the case. You know.” She glanced at him, caught a hint of something in his wise eyes. “What?”

  “I can still read.”

  “Oh.” She released her hair from the ponytail and combed her fingers through it in an attempt to bring some order to it. “You saw the thing in the paper. She’s looking for someone to blame.”

  “What’s being done?”

  She knew he meant by the department and wanting to quell his fears she told him of the meeting Far
nsworth had called.

  “He’ll take you off the streets. Off O’Connor until you’ve testified.”

  “He’ll take me off kicking and screaming. I can’t let a useless excuse for a mother like Destiny Johnson get in the way of the job.”

  “She has a lot of friends—angry friends with guns. Farnsworth won’t have any choice but to put you under protection after the threats she’s made.”

  “If I go under, the case goes with me. I’ll be surprised if they haven’t already picked her up for threatening the life of a police officer.”

  “No doubt, but just because she’s locked up doesn’t mean the threat’s been neutralized.”

  Sam leaned over to press another kiss to his forehead. “Don’t worry.”

  A look of fury crossed the expressive side of his face. “You can say that to me? When I’m sitting in this chair incapable of doing a goddamned thing when the life of my daughter, my child, has been threatened by someone who has not only the will but the means to follow through? Worry is all I’ve got. Don’t take that away from me, Sam, and don’t patronize me. I expect better from you.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.” She expelled a long deep breath as her stomachache returned with a vengeance. Navigating his new reality was a slippery slope, even almost two years later. “Of course you’re right.”

  “You’re to take this seriously and do whatever you’re told by your superior officers. I’m trusting Joe to do his part, so I need your word that you’ll do yours.”

  She reached for his hand and squeezed the one finger that could still feel it. “You have it.”

  “Go get changed and then come down to have some breakfast.”

  Because he was her dad and needed to feel like he still had control over something, she did what she was told without reminding him that she was thirty-four and didn’t have to.

  Over eggs and toast, she and Freddie hashed out the case with Skip while Celia helped him with a cup of coffee.

  “I agree with you about the female angle, the act of passion,” Skip said.

  “We haven’t encountered a woman yet with the emotional baggage toward O’Connor that this would’ve required,” Freddie said.

  “We’re talking to some ex-girlfriends when we leave here, so we’re hoping to get lucky,” Sam said.

  “You’re looking for a cool customer,” Skip said, slipping into the zone. “Someone who keeps tremendous anger bottled up under a refined exterior. You’ll find she’s been abused or had complicated relationships with the significant men in her life—father, ex-husband, ex-lover. Men have disappointed her in some way and whatever the senator did was the final straw. The breaking point.”