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

by Karen Robards

  “Ms. Davenport?”

  “Once,” she said softly. “He said it would be amazing for me to have two guys at the same time.” A shudder rippled through Tara’s petite frame.

  “Did it seem to you that he’d done that before?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you said what to this request?”

  “I told him that I was perfectly satisfied with just him. He seemed annoyed that I said no.”

  “That must’ve been disappointing,” Sam said.

  “It was.”

  “Were you disappointed enough to kill him, Ms. Davenport?”

  She blanched. “Kill him? You think I killed him?”

  Her shock was so genuine that it all but knocked her off the list of suspects. “If you could just answer the question.”

  “No, I wasn’t disappointed enough to kill him. I didn’t kill him.”

  “Have you told anyone else about why your relationship with the senator ended?”

  “No. It’s not something I’d ever talk about with even my closest friends. It’s mortifying, to be honest.”

  “How did you feel when you heard he was dead?”

  “Sad. I was overwhelmed with sadness. But to be honest, I wasn’t entirely surprised that someone killed him. If you treat people the way he treated me, it’s going to catch up to you eventually.”

  “I need you to stay available and in town for the time being.”

  “I’m working through the holidays,” she said, her voice flat, devoid of hope or animation. “I’ll be here.”

  * * *

  “I HAVE TROUBLE understanding his type,” Freddie said when they left the restaurant.

  “You would. Do you think he was gay?”

  “And in the closet? Working it out on women?”

  “He certainly went for a type. The porcelain blonde. No way Tara is strong enough to get a knife through him on one stroke.”

  “I was thinking that very same thing.” He paused and seemed to be pondering something. “So you know how we always joke that we spend more time together than we do with our own families?”

  “You’re the joker. I’m the serious law enforcement professional.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Your point?”

  “I’ve known you a long time. Partnered with you over a year.”

  “Do you have a point? ’Cause if you could get to it in this decade, I’d like to get back to work.”

  “I have a point,” he huffed. “It’s just when she mentioned Cappuano in there, your face got all red and you had to take your coat off.”

  “I was hot! So what?”

  “You were flustered. And you’re never flustered.”

  Her stomach picked that moment to make its presence known. Never flustered? Ha! She spent half her life flustered but apparently did a good job of hiding it.

  Freddie stopped on the sidewalk and turned to her. “Tell me the truth, Sam. Are you into him?”

  She chose her words carefully. “The job, it takes almost everything I have. I work, I take care of my father, I help my sisters with their kids whenever I can. That’s my life.”

  “Do you think I’d begrudge you wanting more?” His warm brown eyes flashed with emotion. “You think that?”

  “He’s off limits. There’s no point talking about something I can’t have.”

  “Why can’t you have him?”

  “He’s a witness! He found O’Connor. He’ll be wrapped up in this until sentencing.”

  “He didn’t kill anyone. He’s on our side.”

  She shook her head. “It’s a murky ethical pit, and you know it.”

  “You’re right. It’s not clean. Few things in life ever are. But he wants this closed as much as we do, if not more. He flusters you, Sam. That’s an amazing thing, if you ask me.”

  “I’d say unsettling is a better word.” Glancing up at him, she added, “You won’t say anything about this at HQ, will you?”

  “Give me some credit, and while you’re at it, ask your friend Cappuano if there’s any chance the senator was gay.”

  “He’ll say no.”

  “Humor me, and before you drag me into another interview that includes questions about peculiar sexual appetites, you’re going to have to do something about mine.”

  She turned up her nose. “Your sexual appetite?”

  “Nope.” He chuckled and rubbed his belly. “The other one.”

  * * *

  SAM PULLED RANK, insisted they have lunch at a vegetarian sandwich shop and was treated to Freddie’s vociferous complaints about the lack of grease.

  “Can’t even get a stinking French fry in this place,” he muttered as Sam downed her small veggie sub and wondered if it really had fewer than six grams of fat. No doubt every gram would find its way to her ass.

  “If you’re done sulking, we need to hit Total Fitness on Sixteenth.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you taking up working out to go with this diet you’re on?”

  “Just because I choose to eat healthily doesn’t mean I’m on a diet. Another of the senator’s ladies works at the gym as a personal trainer.” She consulted her notebook. “Elin Svendsen.”

  Freddie perked right up. “Swedish?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Blonde, buff and Swedish? This day is suddenly on the upswing.”

  “Why, Freddie, I thought you were above such base human emotions as lust.”

  “Just because I’m choosy doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a little eye candy as much as the next guy.”

  “This insight into the male psyche is fascinating. Truly.”

  “I’m here to serve.”

  Elin Svendsen was not only buff, she looked like she’d be capable of kicking some serious ass when provoked. Easily five-ten or-eleven, with white blonde hair, icy blue eyes and a figure that could stop a train dead on its tracks, Sam decided she wouldn’t want to meet up with Elin in a dark alley.

  They caught her between clients and followed her into the club’s juice bar, which wasn’t due to open for another hour. They declined her offer of fruit smoothies.

  “Do you mind if I make one for myself? My energy is starting to flag. Been a long morning.”

  “Not at all,” Sam said. “Do you mind if we record this?”

  “Nope.”

  Noticing Freddie had his eyes glued to Elin’s every movement, Sam nudged him to get his head back in the game.

  He replied with a chagrined smile.

  Elin joined them at the table with a strawberry smoothie. “If you’re here to ask if I killed John O’Connor, I didn’t.”

  “Where were you the night of the murder, between ten p.m. and seven a.m.?”

  “I had a date and was home by two or so.”

  “Alone?”

  She nodded.

  “Your date’s name?”

  “Jimmy Chen. He’s a member here. We go out once in a while. No biggie.”

  “You never left your house after you got home?”

  “Not until I left for work the next morning.”

  “Where did you meet the senator?”

  “Here. He hired me to train him, we hit it off, one thing led to another…”

  “And how long ago was this?”

  “Three or four months ago.” Sam did some quick math and realized he was seeing Elin and Tara at the same time.

  “Do you have a key to his apartment?”

  “I set him up with some home workout equipment, and he gave me a key so I could get in when he was at work to put it together.”

  “Did you give the key back to him?”

  She thought about that for a moment. “You know, I don’t think I ever did. Hmmm.”

  With a glance, Sam handed the ball to Freddie.

  “Oh, um, what was the nature of your relationship with the senator, Ms. Svendsen?” he asked.

  Sam had never seen him so tongue-tied around a woman and planned to poke at him about it the moment they left.
r />   “Mostly we had sex.”

  Freddie’s face flushed with embarrassment.

  Sam sat back to enjoy the show. Folding her arms, she sent the message that she had no plans to bail him out.

  “Could you, or I mean, would you mind if I asked you to be more specific about the, ah, sex you had with the senator?” Using Sam’s words, he added, “Was it, um, the usual deal or more?”

  Seeming to cue in to Freddie’s exquisite discomfort, Elin smiled as she leaned toward him. “It was more, Detective. Much more. We were very well matched sexually.”

  Freddie cleared his throat.

  “Were you still tearing up the sheets with the senator when he was killed?” Sam asked, realizing they were going to be there all day if she waited for Freddie to get on with it.

  “No, we called it off a month or so ago.”

  “Who’s doing?”

  “Mine.” She shrugged. “I was getting bored. It was time to move on.”

  “How did he take it when you ended it?”

  “He was fine with it. This wasn’t a love match, Sergeant. It was purely physical.”

  “Did he ever try to bring other people into the relationship.”

  “He did more than try.” Elin seemed to be enjoying the effect she was having on Freddie. “We had a couple of memorable threesomes.”

  Sam glanced at Freddie to find his mouth hanging halfway open. She wanted to smack it shut.

  “Male or female?” Sam asked.

  “One of each on two separate occasions.”

  “Who sought out the extra parties?” Sam asked.

  “I did. I know a lot of people from working here, and it was easier for me in light of who he was.”

  “What was his interaction with the other guy?”

  “Hardly any. He was for me, not John.”

  “So John didn’t have any kind of sex with him?”

  Elin thought about that for a minute. “I think the guy sucked John’s dick, but John didn’t do anything to him.”

  “Did these ‘extras’ know who he was?”

  “Nope. We just introduced him as ‘John.’ We didn’t get into our life stories.”

  Sam left her with the standard line about staying available.

  “Detectives?” Elin said as they headed for the door.

  They turned back to her.

  “He wasn’t ‘the one’ for me, but he was a good guy. He didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

  Sam nodded and pushed open the door, thinking the definition of “good guy” was all a matter of perspective.

  “Did you enjoy that?” Freddie snapped the moment they were back in the cold air.

  “Enjoy what?”

  “Making me ask her those questions.”

  Sam stopped and turned to face him. “If you can’t ask the questions, any question, any time, you shouldn’t be carrying a gold shield, Detective.”

  “You’re right.” He sagged a bit as the anger seemed to leave him all at once. “I know you are, but it’s just so freaking embarrassing asking a woman I’ve never met about what kind of sex she had with a dead senator.”

  “You think I like it any more than you do? It’s part of the job. The best way to figure out who killed him is to figure out who and what he was.”

  “You’re right, and I apologize for going queasy on you. It won’t happen again.”

  “Yes, it will,” she said with a sigh. “The day it doesn’t bother you to ask those kind of questions is the day you’re no longer Freddie Cruz. It’s supposed to bother you. Just don’t let it stop you from doing what needs to be done.”

  “I won’t,” he vowed. “See what I mean about learning from you? That’s what I meant. Right there.”

  “Kiss my ass, Cruz.”

  “While that’s a lovely offer and one I take very seriously, I don’t think it would be appropriate in light of our professional relationship. You know, with you being my superior officer and all.”

  She used her best withering look to shut him up. “If you’re quite through, can we go see what Noel Jordan has to say about his wife’s ex?”

  “One thing we can say for Svendsen is that she certainly would’ve had the strength to get that knife through him in one shot.”

  “No doubt. And she had a key.”

  “The part about her breaking up with him threw me, though. I can see her being pissed if he dumped her, like he did with Davenport, but if she’s the one who pulled the plug, what’s her motive in offing him?”

  “That’s only her side of the story. Who knows how it really went down? She can tell us she dumped him because he’s not here to refute it.”

  “Here again, I find myself learning from you.”

  “Keep that up and you’re going to piss me off. I like her for the murder. So far, more than anyone else, I like her.”

  “I liked her, too,” he joked.

  “I could tell by the tongue hanging out of your face, but she’s too scary and experienced for an innocent boy like you. She’d chew you up and spit you out.”

  “And that would be bad how exactly?”

  “Pardon me while I get busy poking out my mind’s eye.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  GONZO CALLED AS they made their way toward the Justice Department on Pennsylvania Avenue.

  “What’ve you got?” Sam asked.

  “Nothing so far at the cabin, but I did that run you asked for on Robert O’Connor. Sixty-five years old, lives in Mechanicsville with his wife Sally, age sixty-three. They have three grown children—Sarah, forty, Thomas, thirty-six and Michael, thirty-four. Five grandchildren.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered. “They lied to me.”

  “Do you want me to do some more digging?”

  “No, that’s okay. Were you able to get pictures of the kids?”

  “Yeah, I shot them to your email.”

  “Thanks, Gonzo. Let me know if you turn up anything at the cabin.”

  “It’s slow going. I’ll call you when we’re done.”

  “Who lied to you?” Freddie asked when she had ended the call.

  “O’Connor’s parents.” She explained about the photo she had found at the cabin. “I think John had a son they swept under the rug. I’m going to Chicago tomorrow to find out.”

  “Want me to tag along?”

  “No, I can take this one alone. I need you to confirm the info we got from Davenport and Svendsen about the people they were with the night of the murder. I’d also like you to check security at both their buildings. See if you can catch them coming home that night—or more importantly, going back out.”

  “Got it,” he said, making notes. “I would’ve done that run you had Gonzo do.”

  “Don’t pout, Freddie. An investigation of this magnitude requires we make use of all available resources.”

  After navigating building security and handing over their weapons—something that always left Sam feeling twitchy—she and Freddie were escorted to Jordan’s office. As special assistant attorney general, he sat right next door to the attorney general himself. Jordan was tall with an athletic build, short blond hair that looked like it would be wildly curly if left to grow and sharp blue eyes. He wore a dark pinstriped suit that had clearly been cut just for him. Nothing off-the-rack for this guy, Sam thought, as she noted his almost startling resemblance to John O’Connor. Apparently, the late senator wasn’t the only one who went for a “type.”

  “Detectives,” he said, standing to shake their hands. He gestured for them to make use of the chairs in front of his desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “You’re aware that your wife had a long-term relationship with Senator O’Connor?”

  “I am.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about him?”

  “Occasionally, but nothing more than an off-hand comment or two. She respects me too much to throw him in my face. My wife and I are happily married, and none of our former relationships factor into our marriage.”

  �
�Did you ever meet the senator?”

  “A few times. I’m active in the Virginia Democratic Party, and obviously he was as well.”

  “Did you like him?”

  “I didn’t dislike him, but neither would I say we were anything more than casual acquaintances. So he dated my wife? Big deal. She’s a beautiful woman who had several relationships before me. I don’t expect that her life—or mine—began the day we met. Although,” he said, softening, “in many ways, mine did begin with her.”

  “Can you confirm your whereabouts on the night of the murder? Tuesday between ten p.m. and seven a.m.?”

  He consulted a brown leather book. “On Tuesday evening we attended the annual Christmas fund-raiser/ silent auction for the Capital Region Big Brothers and Big Sisters here in the city. We were home by ten, in bed by ten-thirty. We made love and went to sleep. Is that enough information?”

  “Has your wife ever mentioned anything about her relationship with the senator that made her uncomfortable?”

  For the first time, Jordan’s cool composure wavered. “Uncomfortable in what way?”

  “Any way.”

  “No, but like I said, we’ve never felt the need to share the intimate details of our past relationships.”

  When Sam stood up, Freddie followed her lead. “I know you had plans to be out of town for the holidays,” she said, “but you’ll need to remain in the area.”

  “I’m due to leave for Europe on the third of January. Work-related travel.”

  “Hopefully by then we’ll have cleared this up. Until we do, you and your wife are required to stay local.”

  * * *

  “THOUGHTS?” SHE ASKED Freddie after they had reclaimed their weapons. Relieved to have her gun back, Sam slid hers into her hip harness.

  “First, he knew we were coming. Had that appointment book nice and handy.”

  “No doubt the wife tipped him. But guess what? He lied about one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Big Brothers/Big Sisters thing?”

  Freddie nodded.

  “That was last Tuesday. I know because I was there.”

  Freddie released a low whistle.

  “It doesn’t mean one of them killed the senator, though. It only means there’s something he doesn’t want us to know or his date book is messed up. We still can’t place either of them at the Watergate.”