First the calm. Then the storm...

Escaping DC during the dog days of summer is one of the smartest moves Washington metro police lieutenant Samantha Holland ever made. Beach walks aren’t quite as romantic with the Secret Service in tow, but Sam and her husband, Vice President Nick Cappuano, cherish the chance to recharge and reconnect—especially with a scandal swirling around the administration.

No sooner are they back home than a fatal drive-by shooting sets the city on edge. The teenage victim is barely older than Sam and Nick’s son, Scotty. As more deaths follow, Sam and her team play beat the clock to stop the ruthless killers. With Nick facing his greatest challenge—one that could drastically change all their lives and even end Sam’s career—will the mounting pressure deepen or damage their bond?

Also By Marie Force

The Fatal Series by New York Times bestselling author Marie Force

Suggested reading order

One Night with You (the Fatal Series prequel novella)

Fatal Affair

Fatal Justice

Fatal Consequences

Fatal Destiny

Fatal Flaw

Fatal Deception

Fatal Mistake

Fatal Jeopardy

Fatal Scandal

Fatal Frenzy

Fatal Identity

Fatal Threat

Fatal Chaos

And look for the next sizzling Fatal book

Fatal Invasion

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Fatal Chaos

Marie Force

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07047-8

FATAL CHAOS

© 2018 HTJB, Inc.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Praise for the Fatal Series by New York Times bestselling author Marie Force

“Force’s skill is also evident in the way that she develops the characters, from the murdered and mutilated senator to the detective and chief of staff who are trying to solve the case. The heroine, Sam, is especially complex and her secrets add depth to this mystery… This novel is The O.C. does D.C., and you just can’t get enough.”

—RT Book Reviews on Fatal Affair (4½ stars)

“Force pushes the boundaries by deftly using political issues like immigration to create an intricate mystery.”

—RT Book Reviews on Fatal Consequences (4 stars)

“The romance, the mystery, the ongoing story lines…everything about these books has me sitting on the edge of my seat and begging for more. I am anxiously awaiting the next in the series. I give Fatal Deception an A.”

—TheBookPushers.com

“The suspense is thick, the passion between Nick and Sam just keeps getting hotter and hotter.”

—Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews on Fatal Deception

“The perfect mesh of mystery and romance.”

—Night Owl Reviews on Fatal Scandal (5 stars)

For Emily & Jake

Class of 2017

I’m so proud to be your mom.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Author’s Note

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

“‘WHAT DID THE president know and when did he know it? That will be the question Congress faces as members return to Washington from the summer recess. Hearings begin next week, investigating President David Nelson’s potential involvement in his son’s sinister scheme against Vice President Nick Cappuano and his family.’”

Listening to her brother-in-law Spencer read from the morning edition of the Washington Star, Sam looked across the breakfast table at her husband, Nick, and saw a flash of dismay cross his handsome face. He dreaded the hearings, the attention, the renewed interest in the scandal that had rocked the nation’s capital earlier in the summer. Sam and her Homicide squad had uncovered the nefarious plot hatched by Nelson’s son Christopher in a failed effort to discredit Nick, all because Christopher had presidential aspirations of his own.

The sitting president claimed to have no knowledge of what his son had been up to and continued to proclaim his innocence throughout the dog days of summer. In the meantime, Nick was left hanging, waiting to hear if Nelson would be impeached or forced to resign.

Sam knew exactly what Nick was thinking. As much as they wanted Christopher Nelson to fry for what he’d put them through, the last thing Nick wanted—the last thing they wanted—was to see the president forced from office. Because that would mean... No. It was too much to even think about, and Sam refused to allow that stress to creep into her relaxing vacation. Standing, she said, “I’m going to take a walk.”

Nick jumped up. “I’ll go with you.”

“Was it something I said?” Spencer asked.

“Duh,” his wife, Sam’s sister Angela, said as she fed their daughter, Ella, who was seated in a high chair at the end of the long picnic-style table. “You think they want to talk about that BS?”

“Sorry, guys,” Spencer said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No worries,” Nick said. “It’s not going away, as much as we wish it would.”

“But you don’t have to deal with it this week,” Spencer said. “My bad.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Nick held out a hand to Sam. “Let’s walk.”

She took his hand and followed him through the sliding glass doors to the deck, where several members of his Secret Service detail were gathered at a table, drinking coffee.

John “Brant” Brantly Jr., the lead agent on Nick’s detail, stood when he saw them coming. “Good morning, Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Cappuano.”

“Morning, Brant,” Nick said. “We’d like to take a walk on the beach.”

“Of course, sir. Give us a few minutes to make that happen.”

Sam watched Nick’s jaw tighten with frustration. He hated having to ask permission to do something as simple as take a walk with his wife. She dropped his hand, slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest, hoping to give him something else to think about.

He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, his body relaxing in stages as the agents conferred and planned for a simple walk on the beach. Except nothing was ever simple. Not anymore. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. When it was just the two of them, alone together, it was still as simple as it had ever been, even as the world went mad around them. As they did when the madness swirled, they closed ranks, spent as much time alone as they possibly could and weathered the storm the best way they knew how, by keeping their heads down, their mouths shut and their arms wrapped around each other.

The press was desperate for interviews from either, or preferably both, but other than a perfunctory statement issued from Nick’s office after Christopher Nelson’s arrest, they hadn’t said a word about the controversy swirling around the president and his son or how it affected them. Nor had they offered any speculation on what it could mean for them if Nelson was forced to resign.

They were taking it one day, one hour, one minute at a time.

It had done them good to get out of Washington for this beach getaway with their extended family. Sam had spent weeks coordinating with the Secret Service to make it happen. Planning the vacation had been a huge undertaking that included finding a beachfront property big enough for all of them that met security requirements, clearing Nick’s schedule, taking vacation from her job as the Metro Police Department’s Homicide lieutenant and ensuring her paralyzed father would be able to join them for a visit. But the hassle had been so worth it.

In the three days they’d been here, Nick had been more relaxed than he’d been in weeks. Not to mention, he was actually sleeping rather than being tortured by the insomnia that plagued him, particularly during stressful times. Sam was determined to ensure he continued to relax and didn’t think too far into the future about what might happen when they returned to town the day before Labor Day.

“If you’re ready, Mr. Vice President,” Brant said a few minutes later.

Neither Sam nor Nick commented that they’d been “ready” fifteen minutes ago.

Nick kept an arm around her as they followed the detail down the stairs to the boardwalk that led to Dewey Beach on the Delaware coast. They’d garnered quite a bit of attention from people on the beach, but for the most part, they’d been left alone to enjoy their vacation. If by “left alone” you could overlook the Secret Service agents and the media that were camped nearby, hoping for a glimpse of the second family—or perhaps an exclusive, which wasn’t going to happen.

As they walked toward the water’s edge, Sam made a conscious effort to forget the agents trailing close behind them so she could focus exclusively on her husband. “Sorry about that back there,” she said.

“No need to be sorry. He was just reading the headlines plastered across the front pages of every paper in the country.”

“Still... We were hoping for a total break from it.”

“Then we should’ve confiscated every smartphone, unplugged the TV and forbidden newspaper deliveries,” he said with a note of humor in his voice. “Or we should’ve taken our vacation on the moon, where we’d be out of satellite range.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange that next year.”

“I don’t care where we are. As long as you and Scotty are there, I’m good.”

“Even if Washington chaos interferes?”

“What would our lives be like without a little Washington chaos to keep things interesting?”

“Um, is that a rhetorical question?”

“Yeah, babe,” he said with a chuckle. “Maybe when we retire, we could get a place out here so we can walk on the beach every day. I could get used to this.”

“What’s this word you speak of? Retire? Who’s planning to retire?”

Laughing, he said, “Only you would see that as a dirty word.”

“It’s a disgusting word, and I never want to hear it out of your mouth again.”

“Yes, dear,” he said in the long-suffering tone of husbands everywhere. “But the beach house... That might be possible even if we never do that R word thing, yes?”

“I might be willing to consider that. It sure is beautiful here.”

Seagulls squawked overhead as the waves crashed against the shore. A few families had gotten an early start, and as Sam and Nick walked past, they nodded to say hello to the stunned people they encountered. One man was so surprised to see them that he seemed to forget he’d taken his toddler to fill a bucket with water. Only Brant’s quick action stopped the child from being sucked off the beach by a wave.

Brant handed the sandy toddler to his grateful father. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting to see the vice president and his wife on the beach.”

“He must be living under a rock,” Sam muttered to Nick. “The whole freaking world knows where we are.”

“This must be what it feels like for a goldfish stuck in a bowl,” Nick said. “Constantly being watched as he swims in circles.”

“Speaking of swimming...” Sam dropped her arm from around his waist, kicked off her sandals, pulled the cover-up over her head and ran for the surf, calling over her shoulder, “Catch me if you can.”

She dived into a wave and resurfaced to look for Nick, but didn’t see him on the beach or in the water. Then a tug from below dragged her underwater. She came up sputtering as her husband laughed at her reaction.

“I caught ya,” he said, bringing her into his embrace. “I’ll always catch you, Samantha.” Turning his back to the shore, where the Secret Service, photographers with long-range lenses and other gawkers were probably watching them, he kissed her.

Sam was tempted to look over his shoulder to see if they were attracting even more attention, but she forced herself to stay focused on him and this moment alone in the fishbowl. She curled her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck, raising her face to the warm sunshine.

His hands slid up her ribs to cup her breasts under the water, running his thumbs over the hard points of her nipples.

“Mr. Vice President, don’t you have enough chaos and scandal swirling around you without making it worse?”

“If it means I get to cop a feel of my gorgeous cop, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Cop away,” she said with a sigh. After all, when had she ever objected to him putting his hands on her? She gasped when she realized he’d untied the bottom half of her black bikini top. “Nick!”

“Shhh.”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“No, I’m playing with my gorgeous wife.” As he pinched her nipples between his fingers, he captured her mouth in a deep, searching kiss that had her forgetting where they were and who might be watching. She couldn’t spare the brain cells to care when her every thought was focused on him and the way he made her feel every time he touched her.

“It’s not fair that you’re getting me all hot and bothered when we can’t do anything about it for hours and hours.”

“I feel a nap coming on.”

“We can’t today. Freddie and Elin are coming out for the day.”

Nick moaned—loudly. “Whose big idea was it to have friends?”

“Not mine. That’s for sure.”

His chuckle made her smile. “You’ll have to make it up to me at bedtime.”

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Vice President?”

“All sorts of dirty things. In the meantime,” he said, nuzzling her neck and setting her on fire despite the cold water, “we need to talk about what we’re going to do if this thing with Nelson goes bad.”

“We have to talk about that now?”

“At some point, and now is as good a time as any.”

“If we’re going to talk about the possibility of you becoming president, you need to put my boobs away.”

He stuck out his lip in a little-boy pout. “I don’t wanna. They’re my favorite toys.”

“Boobs or doomsday. You can’t have both.”

“I hate this day, and it’s only ten o’clock.”

Sam laughed and patted his head as he tied her back into her bathing suit. “Why do you want to talk about this now when we’re trying to pretend it’s not happening?”

“I got a call yesterday from Brandon Halliwell,” he said of the Democratic National Committee chairman. “They’re making plans. Just in case.”

She eyed him warily. “What kind of plans?”

“Well, he asked me if I’ve thought about who I might want to be my vice president.”

Sam stared at him, poleaxed by the implications. “Come on. No way. What did you say, and why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”

“Because yesterday was a really great day at the beach, and I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I told him I haven’t given it a thought, and I don’t intend to unless I absolutely have to. He said I absolutely have to.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the party believes Nelson won’t be able to hold on to his presidency.”

“Please drown me right now. Hold my head under and keep it there. That’ll be a less painful way to go.”

He laughed, and then kissed her. “Maybe we could hold each other under and go together.”

“We can’t do that to Scotty, and besides, Brant would rescue us, that bastard.”

“Yeah, he would.”

“Could we fake our own deaths and take Scotty with us?” she asked, brightening.

“I like that idea. We could take over an island in the South Pacific and live off coconuts, rum and nonstop sex. I could totally get on board with that plan.”

“Scotty would miss his friends, baseball and video games. And the nonstop sex might annoy him too.”

Nick kissed her nose and then her lips. “And you’d miss your dad, your sisters and your squad.”

“How can this be actually happening? You were appointed vice president and could inherit the presidency. Is that even legal?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It would make me the ‘luckiest’ politician in history by getting to hold the two highest offices in the land without spending a single day on the campaign trail.”

“Yay for luck,” she said, profoundly depressed by the prospect. Sure, they’d known it was possible he could ascend to the presidency if he became vice president, but neither of them had ever thought it would actually happen—not like this anyway. “Maybe Nelson really had no knowledge of what his son was up to.”

“That’s entirely possible, but Halliwell doesn’t think it’s going to matter in the final analysis. It’s telling that the party is preparing for life after Nelson. It means his own supporters are turning against him, and the hearings haven’t even started yet.”

Sam closed her eyes, put her hands over her ears and began to chant. “Lalalalalalalala. Can’t hear you.”

He tweaked her nipples, which startled her out of her tantrum. “That’s no way for the potential first lady to behave.”

“Still can’t hear you. Lalalalalala.”

This time he kissed the protest off her lips, subduing her the way only he could. He kissed her until she had forgotten what she was protesting. Oh right. That. Ugh! “No matter what happens, one thing will never change and that’s you and me and us and this. We got this. No matter what. Tell me you agree.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Samantha... I need this. I need you. Tell me.”

She gave him her best mulish look.

He tipped his head adorably, imploring her with his eyes and that face. Dear God, that face... She loved him more than anything, and there was, literally, nothing she wouldn’t do for him, which she proved beyond a shadow of a doubt when she said, “We’ve got this. No matter what.”

His arms banded around her as he rested his face against the curve of her neck, his nearness sending tingles to all her most important places. “It’s going to be okay, babe. I promise.”

He’d never broken a promise to her yet, so she held on to his assurances as tightly as she held on to him while he guided them over every wave that threatened to topple them. But deep inside, in a place she rarely allowed her thoughts to stray, she was afraid—deeply afraid of what was to come for him—and for them.

CHAPTER TWO

LATER THAT NIGHT, gathered around a fire on the beach with Nick, her sisters and their husbands, as well as Sam’s partner, Freddie Cruz and his fiancée, Elin Svendsen, Sam tried to relax and enjoy the stories, the laughter, the endless flow of cocktails and the s’mores that Sam’s brother-in-law Mike made for everyone. They’d talked Freddie and Elin into spending the night on the pullout sofa in the living room, and she’d even gotten her straitlaced partner to indulge in a few beers. Scotty and his cousins had been sent to bed an hour ago.

With a full moon hanging over the beach, a sky filled with stars, a warm breeze blowing in from the ocean and most of her favorite people beside her or nearby, Sam should’ve been having the time of her life. But she hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling of foreboding from this morning, or forget what Nick had told her about the call from Halliwell. They had a policy of not keeping stuff from each other, but she wished he’d kept that bombshell to himself, at least until their vacation was over.

Apparently, she sucked at hiding her disquiet, because people had been asking her all day what was wrong, including her astute partner, who looked at her now with concern and dismay.

“Ah, screw it,” Sam said, startling the others with her outburst. “Tell them what you told me earlier.”

Nick glanced at her. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you have to. If I have to be freaking out about it, everyone else does too.”

“The rules according to Sam,” Tracy said with a grin. “Spill it, Nick.”

“The DNC chair, Halliwell, called yesterday to ask if I had a vice president in mind.”

The statement was met with complete silence.

“Fuck,” Spencer finally said. “That means the party is losing confidence in Nelson’s ability to hang on.”

“Right.” Nick tended to the fire, adding another log and poking at it until the flame flared up.

No one said a word, and Sam began to regret tossing a bomb into their good time. “I didn’t mean to ruin everyone’s fun.”

“You didn’t,” Angela said. “This is a big deal. No wonder you’ve been so quiet today.”

“You should’ve enjoyed the quiet while you had the chance,” Sam said, smiling at her sister.

“What did you say to Halliwell, Nick?” Freddie asked.

“I told him I haven’t given a single thought to a VP—and I won’t until I have to. He said it might be time to start thinking.”

“From everything Nelson has said and done since his son’s arrest,” Mike said, “I don’t see him going down without a fight.”

“I don’t either,” Nick said. “But he’ll be under tremendous pressure to put the country ahead of himself. Depending on what comes out during the hearings, he may not be able to fight the tide.”

Tracy reached for Sam’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You guys have every good reason to be freaking out.”

Sam held on tight to her sister’s hand. “It’s not like we didn’t know this was possible, but we didn’t expect... Not like this...”

“Why would you expect the sitting president’s son to go so far as to kill your ex-husband for info he could use against you and your vice president husband because the son has political aspirations of his own?” Freddie asked.

Sam smiled at him. “When you put it that way...”

“No one could’ve seen this coming,” Mike said bluntly. “It’s right out of a blockbuster Hollywood thriller, which is why the press is salivating over every detail. I saw one report that the cable news channels are enjoying the highest ratings in history since this story broke.”

“Awesome,” Nick said dryly. “Glad we’re able to help their ratings.”

Leaning on his knees, Mike leaned forward, his expression earnest. “I don’t think either of you has fully grasped just how invested the American people are in seeing justice done for you as much as they want it for the country. People are outraged over what was done to you, the threats made against your family, the murder of Sam’s ex-husband, Nick’s mother’s awful interview, all of it.”

“It’s true,” Tracy said. “Everywhere I go, people ask me how you’re both doing and if you’re okay. Every one of them wants Nelson’s head on a platter, even if he had nothing to do with his son’s scheme.”

Sam glanced at Nick, and he reached for her hand.

“People have been so incredibly kind,” Nick said.

“Not all of them,” Sam said of the vocal detractors who’d sounded the alarm about the possibility of a young, unelected vice president ascending to the presidency should Nelson be forced out of office.

“Most of them,” Nick conceded.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like for you guys to be stuck in this state of limbo, waiting to see how it’s going to play out,” Elin said. “It has to be torturous.”

“It hasn’t been too bad,” Nick said, downplaying it for the sake of those who would worry about him if they grasped the full extent of his anxiety. Only Sam knew how little he slept, how much he brooded and the deep toll the stress had taken on him. “Our plan is to keep our heads down and our mouths shut and let Congress do its job. That’s all we can do.”

“Speaking of keeping our heads down...” Sam yawned dramatically and stretched. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m ready for bed.”

“You know me, babe,” Nick said with a salacious grin. “I’m always ready when you are.”

While the others groaned at his predictable comment, they helped to douse the fire and clean up the bottles and other trash from the beach. Back inside the big, contemporary house, they made fast work of cleaning up the kitchen and getting Freddie and Elin settled in the living room.

“Thanks for a great day,” Freddie said to Sam. Elin had gone to change and use the bathroom.

“I’m glad you guys were able to come out.”

“I hope you know if there’s anything I can do for you through all this, I’m right here.”

Sam squeezed her partner’s arm. “I always know that. I plan to keep very busy planning your bachelor party. I have a to-do list a mile long before next weekend’s festivities.”

His amiable expression hardened into a glare. “There’d better not be any strippers on that list.”

Sam cracked up and patted his indecently handsome face. “My poor, delusional Freddie. Strippers are the very least of what’s on my list.”

He moaned as he shook his head. “Asking you to be my best-man woman is going to turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life.”

“That’s the goal,” Sam said with a cheeky grin.

Elin rejoined them. “Are you torturing him?” she asked Sam.

“Me? Torture him?”

“Every chance she gets.” Freddie held out his hand to his fiancée. “Come protect me from her.”

Elin went to him and wrapped her arms around him. “My poor baby. I’ll make it all better.”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m out,” Sam said, amused by them. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“We’re good,” he said. “Thanks again for having us.”

“Always a pleasure to have the opportunity to torment you, Detective. Sleep tight, and remember there’re children in this house. Keep it clean out here.”

“Good night, Sam.”

She giggled at her own joke as she closed the door to the first-floor master suite.

“What’re you up to, babe?” Nick asked. He was already in bed, book in hand, covers pooled at his waist leaving his gorgeous man chest in full view. He’d left the sliding glass door open to allow the warm sea air into the room.

Sam realized she was staring at him. Sometimes it still amazed her that they’d managed to find each other twice in a lifetime. Even with their lives out of control more often than not, she wouldn’t trade her life with him for a quieter, more predictable existence with any other man.

“Samantha? You okay?”

As she crossed the big room she peeled her maxi dress over her head and tossed it aside, loving the way his gaze heated at the sight of her coming toward him wearing only a skimpy pair of panties.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this lovely show?” he asked as she joined him on the bed, straddling his lap and tossing his book aside. It landed on the floor with a loud thunk. His hands encircled her waist before sliding down to grasp her ass and pull her in closer to him.

“It all began this morning when you started something you couldn’t finish in the water. I’ve been counting down to bedtime ever since.”

“So have I.” His hands roved from her bottom to her back and up to tangle in her hair so he could position her for a deep kiss. “In case I forget to mention it, this beach getaway has been the best idea you’ve ever had. I can’t tell you how badly I needed it.”

“We all needed it. Scotty has had a terrific time with his cousins, and I’m enjoying having a full week with you without work or Dispatch or fundraisers or reporters. I haven’t missed the goddamned reporters up in our faces. The Secret Service gets mad props for keeping them away from us here.”

“They’ll be hungrier than ever when we get back. Are you ready for that?”

Looking down at his handsome face, she shook her head and ran her fingers through the chocolate-brown hair that curled on the ends. “I’m not ready, and I don’t have to be ready for four more blissful days. We’ll cross that Bay Bridge when we get to it. In the meantime...” She bent her head to kiss him with teasing strokes of her tongue that quickly had him straining for more. “We have lots more sex to have before this vacation is over.”

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re the best wife I’ve ever had?”

She snorted with laughter. “I’d better be the only wife you ever have, buster.”

“If you hadn’t shown up at my crime scene that day at the Watergate, I never would’ve married anyone.”

“Your crime scene?” she asked, brow raised.

Nick grinned at her predictable reply. “Somehow the worst day of my life became the best too.”

It’d been a while since he mentioned finding his best friend and boss murdered, but she knew he thought of John O’Connor every day and always spoke of him with fondness and affection.

“What would John say if he could see you now?” Sam asked. “Vice president and people floating the possibility of—”

He kissed the question right off her lips. “Don’t say it. There are so many better things we can do with your mouth than talk about that.”

Smiling, she ran her lips back and forth over his. “Such as?”

“More of this.” He tightened his hold on her hair and kissed her with sweeping strokes of his tongue that had her squirming on top of him, trying to get closer to the rigid length of his cock beneath her.

She broke the kiss, gasping. “I’m down with that.”

“Speaking of going down...”

“I’m down with that too. I’m down with anything you want.”

He raised a swarthy eyebrow, and Sam thought that if the women of America could see their insanely sexy vice president in that moment, they’d lose their collective minds. “Anything?”

“Whatever you want.”

“You’re feeling frisky tonight, my love.”

“I’m on vacation with all my favorite people and currently in bed with my favorite husband. I’m feeling happy tonight.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. I’ve been worried about how you’re handling everything.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m okay if you’re okay.”

“I will always worry about you, and I could be more okay,” he said, raising his hips suggestively.

“Subtle, Mr. VP. Very subtle.”

“A wise woman once told me I suck at subtlety.”

“Sometimes you’re very good at it.” She began with kisses to his lips and face, laying a path along his jaw and then hovering over his ear. Because they had all night and could sleep in, she took her own sweet time, working her way down his neck and along his collarbone. Nuzzling the soft hair on his chest, Sam breathed in the clean fresh scent of home before nudging his nipple with the tip of her tongue.

He sucked in a sharp deep breath and again fisted handfuls of her long hair.

She continued to go slow, dragging her tongue over each hill and valley of his well-defined abdomen, following the soft trail of hair that led to his cock, which was so hard it nearly reached his belly button. “Someone looks happy to see me.”

“He’s always happy to see you. In fact, you’re his favorite person ever.”

Sam snorted with laughter. Sex with him was always fun—and often funny. He made her so damned happy. The least she could do for him was to try to give him something else to think about other than the dark cloud that hung over them, threatening to burst open at any moment.

Speaking of bursting... She wrapped her hand around the thick base of his cock and stroked him the way he liked it, a little rough and fast.

He groaned deeply and raised his hips to encourage her.

She drew the wide head into her mouth and applied subtle suction as she took him in while continuing to stroke him. The combination always drove him crazy, and this time was no exception.

His fingers tangled in her hair as his hips rose and fell in a rhythmic motion.

Sam took him as deep as she could before drawing back and treating him to some tongue action.

“Fuck,” he whispered on a long hiss of air. “Babe...”

Using her free hand, she gave his balls a gentle squeeze as she sucked him in again. That finished him off, as she’d known it would. She stayed with him until he sagged into the mattress, demolished—just the way she wanted him.

“Jesus,” he said when he could speak again. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Hardly.” Sam stretched out next to him and pulled a lightweight blanket over them. “I need you too much to kill you. And besides, that’d be too much paperwork when I’m on vacation.” Sam hated paperwork.

“Whatever I did to deserve that, remind me to do it again tomorrow.”

She laughed. “I just wanted you to think about something other than the thing we can’t stop thinking about.”

“Mission accomplished. You completely fried my hard drive, and now all I can think about is sex. More sex. Lots and lots of sex.”

“Oh crap. What’ve I done? How can you want more sex than you already have?”

“Apparently, my desire for you is limitless.”

“That’s more than fine with me.” Sam yawned and snuggled in closer to him.

“I know you really don’t want me to say this, but I’m still sorry I brought all this additional insanity into our lives when we certainly had enough to begin with.”

“I really don’t want you to say that. You have no reason to apologize to me or Scotty or anyone. You were asked to serve your country. No one can fault you for what’s happened since then.”

“Still... I hate that it’s been so stressful for you and Scotty, even if neither of you says much about it.”

Sam raised herself up on one elbow. “It’s only stressful for us because we can see what it’s doing to you.” She caressed his face, noting the dark circles and lines of exhaustion that were new in the last few months. His insomnia was always merciless but never more so than since he’d become vice president.

“What do you say we agree to take this situation one minute at a time and not get too far ahead of ourselves with what might happen?” she asked.

“I think that’s the only way we can do it.”

“So, no more speculation or talk of vice presidents or conversations with the DNC or anything other than contending with whatever is happening in that very minute?”

“I’ll put out the word that I don’t want to talk about it until or unless I absolutely have to.”

“Excellent.” She dropped her head to his chest and put her arm across his midsection.

“You should know, however, that it’s going to take a lot of distractions to keep my mind from wandering.”

Even though he couldn’t see her face, she rolled her eyes. “Your subtlety still sucks.”

“You just said I was getting better at it.” He moved quickly, taking her by surprise when he came down on top of her, perfectly positioned for further distraction.

“Nice move,” Sam said, gazing up at the gorgeous hazel eyes that always looked at her with love and affection and desire and a million other emotions that couldn’t be easily summarized in mere words.

“You liked that?”

She nodded, loving that he seemed so pleased with himself. “I like all your moves.”

“How about this one?” With one determined tug, he ripped the silk panties from her body and entered her in a single thrust that buried him to the hilt.

“That was a good one too,” she said when she had caught her breath.

He nuzzled her neck as he began to move. “Hold on to me, babe, and don’t let go. No matter what.”

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, wanting him as close as she could get him. “I’ll never let go.”

CHAPTER THREE

THEY RETURNED TO the city on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend with a morose thirteen-year-old in full mourning for the end of summer vacation. “It’s so unfair,” Scotty said, “that vacation goes by so fast and the school year crawls.”

“I used to feel the same way,” Sam said. “The end of vacation was like torture.”

“It is torture!” Scotty agreed. “No more sleeping late or watching TV until midnight or going to the beach or baseball camp or anything fun for months.”

“I feel you, buddy,” Sam said.

“Samantha,” Nick said in the stern tone he saved for special occasions, “this might be a good opportunity to remind our son of the value of education and how important it is that he give eighth grade his full effort so he can use this year to prepare for high school.”

Sam and Scotty exchanged glances. “Nah,” they said together, cracking up and high-fiving.

“You two think you’re so funny,” Nick said.

“We are funny,” Scotty said, “and you’re no help whatsoever in this situation. Do you think I want to hear about high school when I have a whole year of eighth grade algebra to suffer through first?”

“He does make a good point,” Sam said, earning a glare from her husband. “One minute at a time, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick said, recognizing defeat when it stared him in the face.

The Secret Service motorcade arrived at the Ninth Street checkpoint, where they were stopped for much longer than usual.

“What’s the delay, Brant?” Nick asked.

“Huge media swarm.”

And just that quickly they were reminded of what they were coming home to. It took the Secret Service ten minutes to clear a path for the motorcade to proceed onto Ninth Street. As they alighted from the car, shouts for comment about the upcoming hearings, the president’s son, whether Nick was preparing to be president and other things they couldn’t make out filled the air around them.

“Welcome home,” Nick said grimly as he eyed the massive gathering outside the gate. “The neighbors must be thrilled to have us back.”

Escorted by agents in front of and behind them, they went up the ramp outside their double townhouse to the front door manned by a new agent on Scotty’s detail.

“Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Cappuano, Scotty... Welcome home. Hope you had a nice vacation.”

“Thanks, Liam,” Nick said. “It was a great vacation.”

“That ended far too soon,” Scotty added. “One more day and then back to the grind.”

“What’s this I hear?” Skip Holland asked as he manipulated his electric wheelchair through the big living room to greet them. Sam’s dad and his wife, Celia, had come out to the beach for a day but had chosen not to stay for the whole time. Sam suspected that he hadn’t wanted to disrupt their good time with his medical needs, but he’d never say so. “Is someone unhappy to be heading back to school?”

“Unhappy is putting it mildly,” Sam said.

“School is a necessary evil,” Skip said bluntly.

“I’m surrounded by educational rebels,” Nick said, throwing up his hands.

Scotty laughed. “I definitely landed in the right family.”

His statement hit Sam square in the heart. She loved hearing him say things like that, especially when they had reason to wonder if he would someday resent the limitations he would experience as he grew older surrounded by Secret Service agents watching his every move. For now, he was as happy and well-adjusted as could be—except when the first day of school loomed.

Sam bent to kiss her dad’s forehead, one of the few places he still had sensation after being shot on the job three and a half years ago. “How you doing, Skippy?”

“Hanging in, baby girl. How was the rest of the vacation?”

“Fantastic, delightful and amazing,” Sam said. “I can’t wait to go back next year.”

“A whole year.” Scotty moaned as he flopped on the couch. “I’ll never make it.”

“Go get unpacked, Drama Queen,” Sam said to her son.

“Do I hafta?”

“Yes, you hafta. And take a shower too.”

“And so it begins,” Scotty said to Skip, dismay radiating from him.

Skip laughed at his theatrics. “Part of being a man is doing things you don’t want to do because it’s the right thing. Just ask your dad. He knows all about it.”

“He knows all too well,” Sam said.

“Now you guys are making me feel bad for whining,” Scotty said. “Compared to Dad, I ain’t got no problems. And don’t tell me ain’t ain’t a word. It was used for effect.”

Sam cracked up along with her husband and father. What had they ever done for entertainment before Scotty came into their lives? She went to her son and hugged him. “I promise we’ll do everything we can to make the reentry as painless as possible, beginning with a bowl of ice cream as big as your head after you unpack and shower. Deal?”

He flashed that irrepressible grin that reminded her so much of Nick’s. Even though they didn’t share DNA, father and son were alike in many ways—except in their attitudes toward education. In that way, he was entirely Sam’s son. “Deal.” Dragging his suitcase behind him, he scampered up the stairs, the suitcase banging on every step as he went.

“That kid,” Nick said, shaking his head.

“Is the best,” Skip added. “I get such a kick out of him.”

“Don’t we all?” Sam said. “He has us firmly wrapped around all ten of his fingers, but we can’t let him know that or we’ll lose complete control of the asylum.”

“I know a little something about being wrapped around a certain someone’s little finger,” Skip said with a meaningful smile for Sam. “And if you don’t want him to turn out like you, proceed with caution.”

“Hey!” Sam laughed at the impish expression on the one side of her father’s face that hadn’t been left frozen by the stroke he’d suffered after being shot.

Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID, groaning loudly when she saw the number for Dispatch. “Not yet! I’m still on vacation until midnight!”

“You don’t have to take the call,” Nick reminded her.

“If they’re calling me before I’m officially back, whatever it is must be bad.” She flipped open her phone. “Holland.”

“Lieutenant, I was asked to inform you of a fatal drive-by shooting of a teenager in Southeast.” The dispatcher rattled off an address in the Penn Branch neighborhood, southeast of the Anacostia River. “Are you able to report to the scene?”

Sam’s stomach ached at the thought of a child roughly the same age as her own son being gunned down in her city. “I’ll be there.” She closed the phone and told her dad and Nick what’d happened.

“Ah crap,” Skip said. “The kids are the worst.”

“Sorry to hear it, babe,” Nick said, putting his arm around her and kissing her temple.

She looked up at him. “I have to go, even though I’m not officially back on duty yet. Hope you understand.”

“Of course I do. Just be careful out there.”

“I always am.” She kissed him, and then kissed her dad’s forehead again. “I’m going to change my clothes.” A crime scene was no place for another of the maxi dresses she’d bought for the beach.

“Let me know about the case when you get a chance,” Skip said.

“You know I will.” Sam dashed upstairs to the closet that Nick had made for her in the smallest bedroom and changed out of the dress and into jeans, a T-shirt and running shoes. She grabbed an MPD sweatshirt since HQ was like a meat locker this time of year with the AC set to frost.

Crossing the hall to her bedroom, she went to the locked drawer in her bedside table to retrieve her service weapon, badge and the notebook that she jammed into a back pocket of her jeans as she ran for the stairs. Adrenaline pumped through her as it always did when a new case required her focus.

In the living room, Nick waited to see her off.

“Did Dad leave?”

“Yeah, he said he’ll talk to you later.”

“And you’ll see to the bowl of ice cream as big as his head for the boy when he gets out of the shower?”

“I will,” he said with a smile.

“Tell him I’m sorry I had to leave.”

“I’ll do that too.” He kissed her. “Thanks for a great vacation. You have no idea how badly I needed it.”

“I think I have a small idea. Whatever happens in the next few weeks, we’ll handle it the way we always do. Try not to worry.”

“That’s like telling me not to breathe, but I can do it for you.” He kissed her again. “The whole world wants a piece of us right now, so be extra vigilant. Don’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”

As a modern, independent woman, she ought to hate when he showed his alpha side, but she didn’t hate it. She loved that he was so protective of her. “I won’t. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Liam opened the front door for her and nodded to her as she headed for the ramp and the tricked-out black BMW Nick had outfitted for any possible on-the-job emergency she might encounter. The windows and side panels were bulletproof, the technology so sophisticated she’d never understand how it all worked and she had provisions for three days off the grid if it ever came to that.

As she drove the short distance from her Capitol Hill home to the crime scene, she called Freddie.

“Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you. Did you hear some hoodlums in Southeast threw a welcome party for me?”

“I got the call, and I’m on the way. But aren’t you off duty until midnight?”

“They called me, gave me the choice, and I’m on the way too.”

“Oh good. I hate cases involving kids. I’m glad you’ll be there.”

“Do you have anything more about the kid who was killed?”

“I know as much as you do.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a few.” Sam tossed the phone to the passenger seat and pressed down on the accelerator, eager to get back in the game. She couldn’t imagine any other life for herself than one that included chasing down murderers and throwing their guilty asses in jail.

If things went sideways with Nelson and Nick became president, would she be forced to give up her job? When he became vice president, they learned that only the president, vice president, president-elect and vice president-elect were required to have Secret Service protection. That was how she’d managed to hang on to her job, for now, without a detail in tow. But being first lady would be a whole new ballgame, and she was under no illusions about what that would probably mean for her.

“Take your own advice and don’t think about that until you have to.” The very thought of being sidelined in the gilded cage that was the White House made her break out into a cold sweat that had her turning off the AC and opening the window to let in the stifling humidity.

The unusually heavy traffic was indicative of a home game for the DC Federals baseball team, one of several possible explanations for gridlock on the Sunday night of a holiday weekend.

Sam drove into the Penn Branch neighborhood, made up of a mix of middle-class single-family homes and poverty-ridden housing projects. The neighborhood formed a triangle between Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast and Branch Avenue Southeast. Sam pulled onto Hilltop Terrace Southeast. Rows of townhomes lined the street, which was currently filled with emergency vehicles. She parked behind a squad car and took off toward the epicenter of action half a block away.

Patrol had taped off the area where a crowd had formed around the covered body. From the other side of the street, Sam saw Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Lindsey McNamara working her way through the large crowd with her deputy, Dr. Byron Tomlinson.

Sam zeroed in on a wailing black woman being supported by two equally distraught young women. Her gut clenched with empathy for the woman, who had to be the victim’s mother. How anyone survived losing a child to violence was beyond her. She could barely stand to work cases that involved kids.

“What’ve we got?” she asked Officer Beckett, who greeted her at the tapeline.

He held it up for her to go under. “Jamal Jackson, fifteen, picked off in a drive-by as he was walking home with friends.”

“Do we have the friends?”

Beckett nodded toward the stairs of a nearby townhouse where two traumatized teenage boys sat on the stoop under the care of another Patrol officer and two EMTs.

“The mom was all over him when we arrived,” Beckett said, letting her know their crime scene had been compromised.

“Let me see.” She followed Beckett to the covered body and squatted for a closer look as he lifted the fabric to reveal the handsome boy who’d been struck in the right side of the head by the bullet. A tragic waste of a young life.

Sam glanced up at Lindsey, noting her red hair was up its customary ponytail and her hazel eyes brimmed with compassion. “Let me get the mom out of here before you get started, Doc.”

“Good idea. And welcome back. We missed you.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Sam stood. “What do we know about the family?” she asked Beckett.

He consulted his notebook. “Danita Jackson, single mom of three. Jamal was her youngest. Those are her daughters, Misty and Tamara, with her. Misty told me he’s never been in any trouble. Honor roll student, hard worker, plays basketball in a rec league and at school.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered.

“You said it, LT.”

“How’d they hear about it?”

“One of the friends called Tamara.”

She took a deep breath and sought the fortitude she needed to talk to Jamal’s devastated mother and sisters. “Mrs. Jackson.” Sam showed her gold shield. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, MPD.”

“We know who you are,” one of the daughters said.

Sam had become accustomed to that response since Nick became vice president. “May I have a word with you across the street?”

“This way, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales said as he arrived on the scene with Freddie. They cleared a path for Sam to escort the three women to the other side of the street and down the block, away from the fray of first responders, neighbors and reporters who’d begun to arrive.

“I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Sam kept half an eye on the reporters who were being waylaid by Beckett and the other Patrol officers.

“I don’t want your sympathy,” Danita said between sobs. “I want the person who killed my baby!” She began to wail, and her daughters tried to comfort her through their own distress.

“I want that too, and I’ll do everything in my power to find the person who did this.” Sam withdrew the notebook from her back pocket. “Can you tell me where he was coming from?”

“They went to see the new IMAX movie at the Air and Space Museum.” Danita wiped tears from her face. “My baby wanted to be an astronaut. He was obsessed with space and flying. He was going to make something of himself.”

Sam’s heart broke as she took notes. “Did your son have any conflicts with anyone?”

“Not that I knew of. Everyone liked him. He had lots of friends.”

“And no involvement with gangs?”

“Absolutely not! He knew I’d have his ass if he even talked to those people. I stayed on top of him. I always knew where he was and who he was with. I did everything I could to keep him out of trouble. How could this have happened to my son?” She broke down again, and her daughters tried to comfort her as tears ran down their faces. In a softer tone, she said, “He was a good boy, Lieutenant. A son any mother would be proud of.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. We’ll do everything we can to get justice for Jamal.”

“What will it matter?” Tamara asked bitterly. “It won’t bring him back.”

“No, it won’t, but it’ll ensure that whoever did this can’t do it to anyone else. I’ll need contact information for each of you.” She handed her notebook and pen to Misty. She wrote down the information and returned the notebook to Sam.

Sam gave her a business card. “If there’s anything I can do for any of you, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call. My cell number is on there.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Danita said. “I so admire you and your husband. I never dreamed that this is how I might meet you.”

Sam squeezed her arm. “Please call me if I can help.”

She nodded and Sam left them to cross the street, ducking back under the tape. “Tell me about the friends,” she said to Beckett.

Consulting his notes, he said, “Vincent Andina on the left and Corey Richie on the right. I ran all three boys, and only Richie popped up as being in the system for a misdemeanor that was adjudicated in juvie. EMTs checked them out, and they’re as okay as they can be under the circumstances. A little shell-shocked, but that’s to be expected.”

“Good work, Beckett. Thank you.” She approached the two boys who sat together on the stairs of a townhouse. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD.”

“You’re the chick that nailed that guy at the parade,” Vincent said. Like Jamal, he was black but had dyed his hair blond.

“Yeah, that was me.”

“That was cool.”

“Glad you thought so. I’d like to speak to you separately, if you don’t mind. Vincent, can you please come with me?”

He exchanged glances with Corey, who was Hispanic. “I guess so.”

Sam walked him a hundred feet from where his friend sat on the stoop. “Can you tell me what happened today?”

“We went to the movies at the Air and Space. Jamal... He liked that space shit and begged us to go with him so he wouldn’t have to go by himself. It was pretty cool.”

“How’d you get there?” Sam asked.

“Took the bus,” Vincent said, “and we was walking home when this car came flying down the street. It was going so fast that we kinda jumped out of the way cuz we were afraid it might hit us. Then there was a loud boom and Jamal... He just went down.”

“Did you get a good look at the car?”

He shook his head. “It happened so fast,” Vincent said. “The car was long gone by the time we realized Jamal had been shot.”

“Think about it. Was it a regular car or a truck or an SUV? Any detail you can give us would help.”

For a long moment, he was quiet as he tried to remember. “I think it was black. And a regular car. Not a truck or an SUV. But I can’t be sure. It was like a flash flying by us, and when we heard the boom, I got kind of confused about what was happening. I was on the inside. Jamal was closest to the street and Corey was in the middle.” Vincent wiped a tear off his face. “Why would anyone want to hurt Jamal? He was the nicest kid.”

“It’s very possible,” Sam said, “that these guys, whoever they are, were looking to hurt someone, and it didn’t matter who it was.”

“That’s so fucked-up,” Vincent said.

“I agree. I have to ask if any of you had any contact with gangs or friends who are in gangs.”

“We all know people who are into that shit, but we aren’t.”

“Did Jamal or either of you have any beefs with anyone?”

“Nah,” Vincent said. “Nothing that would get us shot. Some chirping and crap on Twitter. Whatever. No one wanted us dead. Least not that we knew about.”

“You’ve been very helpful.” She handed him her card. “If you think of anything else, call me. Even if it’s the smallest detail that comes back to you tomorrow or the next day or chatter you see online. Call me.”

He nodded in acknowledgment.

“I’m really sorry about your friend.”

“Thanks,” Vincent said, wiping more tears from his face.

She had a similar conversation with Corey, who didn’t add anything new to what Vincent had told her. Sam went to talk to Beckett. “Have their parents been called?”

“They’re on their way.”

“Don’t bring them down here. Meet them at the corner or something. They don’t need to see this.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Beckett ushered the boys to the far end of the street.

“What’s the plan, Lieutenant?” Gonzo asked as Sam took a good look around at the nearby houses.

“We need an APB for a fast-moving black sedan. Make sure they know these people are armed and not afraid to shoot.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Gonzo said.

“What do we have for cameras around here?”

“There’s one at either end of the block, and I’ve already asked Archie to pull the feed,” Gonzo said of Lieutenant Archelotta, who ran the IT squad.

As Lindsey wheeled Jamal’s body to the Medical Examiner’s truck, Sam said, “Let’s canvass the crowd and go door-to-door to see if anyone else witnessed the shooting. When we get back to the house, I want to go through all their social media accounts. My gut is telling me this is random, but we need to check all the boxes.”

They spent the next hour talking to each person at the scene and knocking on every door on the street but didn’t find any other witnesses to the shooting. A few had heard the boom of the shot and had rushed outside to see what’d happened. None of them reported seeing the car or the shooter.

When they’d done what they could, they turned things over to the Crime Scene detectives. “Let’s pick it up at HQ and see what Archie has for us.”

CHAPTER FOUR

AS SAM APPROACHED her car, she noticed Darren Tabor from the Washington Star leaning against it, typing madly on his smartphone.

“Get off my car, Darren. You’ll scratch the paint.”

“I see the vacation didn’t do anything to sweeten you up, Lieutenant.”

Though his comment amused her, Sam didn’t let him see that. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want. The whole world is waiting for a comment from you or the vice president about what’s going on with Nelson and how you guys feel about the possibility of becoming president and first lady.”

“You’re going to have to continue waiting. I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Come on, Sam. You’ve got to be worried about it. How could you not be?”

“The only thing I’m worried about is the really good kid who was just gunned down in my city. He has my full attention.”

“How’re you going to do this job if you become first lady?”

“I asked you nicely to get off my car, Darren. I’ve got work to do, and you’re in my way.”

He pushed himself off the car. “Will you give me something when you can?”

“Have a good day, Darren.”

“I thought we were friends, Sam. Friends give friends a break.”

Sam laughed at that. “And what will you do for me, as my friend?”

“I’d write a nice story about what a fantastic president and first lady you guys would be. A hell of a lot better than what we have now. That’s for sure.”

“I thought the press was supposed to be impartial?”

“Come on, Sam. You guys gotta say something!”

“No, we actually don’t. If you want to do me a favor, Darren, write me a front-page story about the good kid who was killed here today and how senseless gun violence is.”

“If I do that, will you give me something on the Nelson thing?”

“See you later.” Sam got into the car, started the engine and drove away, leaving him glaring at her. She was so sick and tired of people trying to get them to comment on the Nelson situation. What did they expect them to say? We hope the president, whose son threatened to dismember the children we love and had my ex-husband tortured and killed, manages to hold on to his presidency so we don’t have to deal with it?

In truth, Sam wasn’t sure what to hope for. Half of her wanted Nelson and his entire family behind bars for what Christopher had put her family through with the horrific threats that had been levied against Scotty, her beloved nieces and nephews and Nick’s much-younger half-brothers. The far more rational side of her hoped that maybe Nelson could somehow prove he’d had no idea what his son was doing and hold on to his presidency.

She and Nick were painfully aware that the DNC expected him to be their candidate in the next election, but they had a couple of years before anything had to be decided for certain, and they’d hoped to enjoy those years in relative peace and quiet that had been badly disrupted by Christopher Nelson’s shenanigans.

“Here I am obsessing about that crap again when I have far bigger things to worry about.” She placed a call to her commander, Captain Malone, to report in about the new case.

“Welcome back, Lieutenant. I’d tell you we missed you, but of course you know that.”

Sam rolled her eyes at the predictable comment from her friend and mentor. “I’m sure you enjoyed the vacation from me as much as I enjoyed the vacation from all of you.”

“You hurt my feelings, Lieutenant.”

“Ha! You have to have feelings before they can be hurt.”

His low guffaw made her smile. “To what do I owe the honor of this Sunday night phone call?”

“I got called back early for a drive-by shooting of a fifteen-year-old in Southeast.”

“Ah damn. What’ve you got?”

Sam filled him in on what they knew so far, which wasn’t much. “The next step is reviewing the film to see if there’s anything we can use to track down the car.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Will do. I’ll give it a couple more hours tonight and then pick it up in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan. Hope it was a relaxing time off for you.”

“As relaxing as it can be when your husband is caught up in the lead story in every newspaper and on every news station in the country.”

“I can’t even imagine the stress you guys have to be dealing with.”

“We’re trying to pretend it’s not happening until we have to.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Easier said than done.”

“I’ll bet. It’s such an unbelievable thing. How could Nelson not know what his son was up to? Even if he could somehow prove he wasn’t involved, I’m not sure I’d believe him.”

“I know. Privately, we feel the same, but we’re hoping that somehow he can hang on.”

“I’m not sure how either of you are sleeping at night.”

“We’re finding ways to exhaust ourselves so we’ll sleep like babies.”

“Jesus, Sam,” he said with a huff. “I’m your boss, for Christ’s sake.”

She busted up laughing. “Just looking for some comic relief.”

His low chuckle echoed through the phone. “You’re too much, Holland.”

“I hear that a lot. Speaking of too much, any rumbles from U.S. Attorney Forrester and the grand jury?”

“Not that I’ve heard, but you know how hush-hush that process is.”

“Yeah, true. I just wish we could get an answer one way or the other. Imagine if Nelson resigns, Nick becomes president and I get indicted for assaulting Ramsey all in the same day.”

“Your imagination has run wild. No one thinks you’re going to be indicted. You and your husband are among the most popular people in the country. Forrester knew what he was doing, taking your case to the people. They’ll never indict you.”

“I hope you’re right. And PS, I’d do it again if I had it to do over.”

“No, you wouldn’t, because you’re a highly decorated police officer who’s above such behavior as punching a fellow officer, even if he deserves it.”

“I’m really not above it,” she said with a snort.

“Yes, you are. That’s my final word on the matter. Hit me up later with an update on the drive-by.”

“Will do.” Sam slapped her phone closed and tossed it on the passenger seat. The subject of her colleague Sergeant Ramsey always rankled, especially as she twisted in the wind for months waiting to hear if she would be indicted for punching him in the face and knocking him backward down a flight of stairs. A concussion and broken wrist were the least of what he deserved for what he’d said to her about deserving the torturous attack Lieutenant Stahl had perpetrated on her.

Sam’s rise through the department ranks hadn’t come without her fair share of enemies, who believed she’d gotten to where she was because of her father. Skip had been deputy chief when he was shot by an unknown assailant three months shy of retirement. Her failure to close that most important case of her career was something that hung over every day of her life. She would neither rest nor retire until her father’s shooter had been caught.

That was just one of many reasons to sweat the current situation with Nelson. How would she continue to track down leads and follow up on her father’s case if she were taken off the job? She shuddered at the thought of being sidelined. That couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen. She’d see to that.

At HQ, she entered the building through the morgue entrance and stopped first to check in with Lindsey.

Sam strolled into the examination area, where antiseptic smells and gruesome sights greeted her. Under the bright lights Jamal’s injury was even more devastating than it had appeared on the street. “At least he died instantly.”

“There is that.” Lindsey held up an evidence bag containing the bullet. “Nine millimeter. I’ll send it to the lab for analysis.”

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Not yet. I’ll have my report to you in the morning.”

“Thanks for coming in on a holiday weekend,” Sam said.

“This job doesn’t recognize weekends or holidays, as you well know.”

“Or vacations,” Sam added. “I’m back early to work this one.”

“I hate when it’s a kid,” Lindsey said. “That makes it a thousand times worse.”

“I know. He’s only two years older than Scotty.” Sam cringed at the thought of losing her own son so senselessly.

“Your son is surrounded by Secret Service who’d never let anything happen to him,” Lindsey said, reading her mind.

“That’s the one major benefit of Nick being VP.”

“Not too many others lately, huh?”

“Nope.” Sam took another long last look at Jamal, vowing to get justice on his behalf no matter what she had to do. “I’d better get to it.”

“Good to have you back even if the circumstances suck.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Sam left the morgue and ran into Freddie, who walked toward her from the detectives’ pit. “What’s up?”

“I was coming to check in with Lindsey, but looks like you’re one step ahead of me as always.”

He fell in beside her as they made their way to the pit. “You say that like it’s a surprise that I’m always one step ahead of you.”

“Actually, it’s the story of my life.”

“Why does hearing that bring me such unmitigated pleasure?”

“Because you’re a coldhearted woman, Lieutenant.”

Sam pretended to dab at her eyes. “You flatter me, Detective.”

His snort of laughter helped to lighten the dark mood that always descended upon her when someone was murdered in her city, especially a child.

“Only you would take that as a compliment.”

“That’s why you love me so much.”

“Whatever you say. What’s the plan?”

“I want to start my murder board and see what Archie was able to grab off the video feed. After that, I’ll brief Carlucci and Dominguez and turn it over to them. We’ll pick it up in the morning.”

“Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Carlucci and Dominguez are off tonight. It’s Sunday.”

“Damn it. Whose idea was it to give them time off?”

“I believe the union mandates that we all get two days a week off from this nuthouse.”

“Bloody unions. Who’s covering Homicide tonight?”

“Um, we are?”

“No, we’re not. I’m technically still on vacation, and you’re supposed to be off today too.”

“I don’t mind staying for a while to figure out what we’ve got and what we need to do next.”

“Fine. I’ll stay to help with that, but we’re not working all night.”

“You’re the boss, LT.”

“Yes, I am. Let’s go see Archie.” They went up the same stairs Ramsey had fallen down to get to the second-floor home of IT, which was lit up like a weekday, and SVU, which was dark. That meant there was no chance she might run into Ramsey while she was up there.

“How did I know I’d be hearing from you guys?” Lieutenant Archelotta asked, grinning at them from his post in front of a massive monitor. Several other IT detectives were working in cubicles.

“We’re predictable that way.” Sam was still grappling with the fact that her brief relationship with him had been made public during the investigation into her ex-husband’s murder. Her current husband had been none too happy to hear that she’d once been involved with the handsome IT detective, even if it was only a brief fling after her first marriage ended. “What’ve you got from the scene?”

“Not much, unfortunately. Take a look.” He clicked onto a different screen and played the video feed that showed a fast-moving car and a flash of light that had to be the gunshot, but the details were fuzzy because of the car’s rate of speed.

“Anything on other cameras in the area?” Freddie asked.

“We’re combing through that footage now. I’ll let you know if we see anything that might be helpful.”

“Thanks, Archie.”

“Wish I could do more to help, but we’ll keep trying. I hate when crap like this happens to kids.”

Sam squeezed his shoulder. “We all do. Thanks for your help.”

“Sure thing.”

“Well,” Sam said to Freddie when they were on their way back downstairs, “that takes us right back to square one without a thread to pull.”

“Let’s set up the board. That always leads to threads.”

“You read my mind, Detective.”

They went into the conference room and turned on the lights. Sam stopped short at the sight of the murder board for her ex-husband that hadn’t yet been dismantled, even though Peter’s case had been closed for several weeks.

“We weren’t sure if you wanted us to take care of that or if you wanted to do it yourself,” Freddie said.

Sam’s gaze landed on the postmortem photo of Peter’s bruised and battered face. He’d been tortured by Christopher Nelson’s henchman in an effort to gain information about Sam and Nick that could be used to discredit them. It still amazed her that despite their tumultuous history, Peter had tried to protect her in the end. That was the least of what he’d owed her, but it surprised her nonetheless.

“You guys can take it apart tomorrow. We don’t need it anymore.”

“Will do.” He went to a second dry-erase board and wrote Jamal Jackson, 15 across the top in red ink. Then he pinned a photo of Jamal to the left side of the board.

“Where’d you get that?” Sam asked, taking in the smiling face of the boy who’d been murdered.

“Off his Instagram account.”

Next to that, Freddie pinned a photo of Jamal taken from the crime scene and made notes about the time of death and the information Vincent and Corey had given them about the shooting. Then he drew a line from Jamal to a listing of his mother and sisters’ names.

“You can add that he was shot with a nine-millimeter weapon,” Sam said. “Lindsey is sending the bullet out for analysis.”

Freddie made a note of the bullet information. “What else?”

“That’s all we’ve got for now.”

“Where do you want to start?”

“While every instinct I have tells me this was random, we have to make sure of that. So we dig into his life, the friends’ lives, the mother’s life, the sisters’ lives.”

“Why the mother and sisters?”

“If someone had a beef with one of them, taking out Jamal could be retribution. Nothing would surprise me.”

“It’s a thread,” Freddie conceded.

“We’ll start with the people closest to him and work our way out.” She checked her watch and saw that it was after nine o’clock. “I don’t think we should go to the Jacksons’ house tonight. The morning will be soon enough.”

“Agreed.”

Sam was about to suggest they call it a night when Gonzo came into the conference room wearing a grim expression.

“We’ve got another fatal drive-by.”

CHAPTER FIVE

ACCOMPANIED BY FREDDIE and Gonzo, Sam drove to the Eckington neighborhood in the city’s Northwest quadrant. Bordered by Rhode Island Avenue, Metropolitan Branch Trail, Florida Avenue and North Capitol Street, Eckington was an up-and-coming area known for the colorful townhouses featured in the House of Cards television show opening.

“I love this neighborhood,” Freddie said.

“Nick and I used to come up here to the Big Bear Café when we were allowed to actually go places,” Sam said. “Those were the good old days.”

“Take a right on Quincy,” Gonzo said.

Sam did as directed and pulled into the first available space she found on yet another street lined with emergency vehicles. “I hope it’s not a kid.”

“Me too,” Freddie said.

The three of them approached the yellow tapeline where Beckett once again met them. He held up the tape to let them under.

“What’ve we got?” Sam asked.

“Melody Kramer, aged thirty-one. We found a government ID on her that indicates she works at the Department of the Interior, and her license shows she lives two blocks down on Quincy.”

Beckett’s partner lifted the tarp to reveal a pretty blonde who’d been struck in the chest, possibly directly in the heart judging by the blood that had formed a huge puddle under her.

Sam was about to ask if there were witnesses when a shout from behind them had her turning to see a handsome dark-haired man running toward them, looking frantic.

“What happened? Is that Mel? Let me through!”

Sam nodded to Beckett, who raised the yellow tape to let the man pass. She stopped him from proceeding with her hand to his chest. “Sir, please. Don’t go any farther.”

“I have to know...” His voice broke on the last word. “Is that my wife?”

“What’s your wife’s name?”

“Melody Kramer. She walks down this street every night on her way home from the Metro. She texted that she was on her way, so I came to meet her, and I saw the emergency vehicles.” He rubbed at the stubble on his face. “Please tell me that’s not her. Please.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you that the victim is your wife.”

His anguished wail sent chills down her spine. “No, no, no. Please not Mel. Not Mel.” When his legs would’ve buckled under him, Freddie grabbed him and kept him from falling. He clung to Freddie as he broke down into sobs.

Sam helped escort the man to a nearby stoop where they eased him onto a stair.

He dropped his head into his hands.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked.

“Joe Kramer,” he said, his voice muffled by the hands that covered his face.

“We’re so sorry for your loss, Joe.” Sam felt like an impotent asshole. What good would her words of sympathy do him when he’d lost the love of his life? She tried to imagine how she would feel if someone gunned down her husband. No. Just no. She couldn’t bear to entertain the thought.

“She’s pregnant,” he said softly, his head still down. “We just found out three days ago. She was so happy. How could this have happened?”

Sam’s heart broke for him—and his wife. She glanced at Freddie and saw him battling his emotions. Sometimes this job sucked so bad. Well, most of the time it sucked. “Do you have other children?”

Shaking his head, he said, “This was our first. We’ve been trying for a long time.” He looked up at them, devastation etched into his face as it seemed to register with him that he’d lost two loved ones today. “Who would’ve done this to her?”

“We don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”

His shoulders sagged when he seemed to realize that even if they caught the perp it wouldn’t change anything for him. His wife would still be dead.

“Is there someone we can call for you?” Freddie asked.

Joe released a deep breath and wiped tears off his face. “My sister lives in Georgetown. I...I just talked to her an hour ago and told her she’s going to be an aunt.” He broke down again. “I can’t believe this has happened.”

“If you give me your sister’s number, I’ll call her for you,” Freddie said.

Sam was never more thankful to have him as her partner than in situations such as this, which required the gentle touch that came so naturally to him.

“Her name is Sarah.” Joe retrieved his phone, found his sister’s number and handed it to Freddie, who placed the call. He walked a short distance away so Joe wouldn’t have to hear him deliver the dreadful news to his sister.

“What do I do now?” Joe asked, looking up at Sam. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You could help by telling me where she was coming from.”

“She went out for happy hour with some of her colleagues. She joked this morning about how happy hour wouldn’t be quite so happy because she couldn’t drink for nine months. But it was her friend’s birthday, so she wanted to go for a little while. I told her I’d make dinner.” He shook his head in disbelief. “If she hadn’t gone out after work, this wouldn’t have happened.” Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “She would’ve been home two hours ago. She would’ve been safe.”

Sam suspected that twist of fate would haunt him for the rest of his life. She placed a hand on his shoulder, wishing there was more she could do to comfort him.

Freddie walked over to them, his expression bleak, indicating the phone call had been as dreadful as expected. “Your sister is on her way. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“She must be freaking out. They’re very close. They were... Very close.”

“She’s extremely upset. Her husband is coming with her.”

Joe nodded in acknowledgment and stared off into space.

Sam waved one of the EMTs over. “Have a look at him, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Stay with him until the sister gets here,” Sam said to Freddie.

“Will do.”

She walked over to meet Lindsey and Byron.

“Here we go again,” Lindsey said grimly. “What’ve we got?”

“A thirty-one-year-old named Melody Kramer who found out three days ago she was pregnant with her first child.”

“Damn it,” Lindsey said. “What the hell is going on tonight?”

“I don’t know, but we might be looking at the same perp for both shootings.” To Beckett, Sam said, “Any witnesses?”

“A young couple was also on the street when the shooting happened,” Beckett said. “We’ve asked them to wait to speak to you over there.” He pointed to a house across the street where the couple waited with another Patrol officer.

She crossed the street and nodded to the patrolman. To the couple, she extended her hand. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, MPD.”

“Yes, we know.” The woman blushed as she shook Sam’s hand. “I admire you so much.”

“Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Kelsey. This is my boyfriend, Charlie.” Petite with brown hair tinted pink on the ends, she had big brown eyes and mascara streaked from tears. Charlie had to be a foot taller than her, with longish dark hair and a complexion gone pale with shock. They were in their early twenties, or so Sam guessed.

Sam shook Charlie’s proffered hand. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

Kelsey took a deep breath. “We were about a block behind the lady who was shot when this car came flying down the street. It scared the hell out of us. Charlie grabbed me and pulled me in from the edge. There was a really loud boom, and the lady in front of us just went down. By the time we realized what’d happened, the car was long gone.”

“Did either of you get a look at the car?”

“It happened so fast,” Charlie said.

“Which end of the street did it come from?” Sam asked.

Kelsey pointed to the right side. “There.”

“And you were walking toward that intersection?”

They both nodded.

“If there’s anything at all you can tell me about the car, that would be incredibly helpful. Do either of you recall whether it was a sedan or a pickup or an SUV?”

“It was a car,” Kelsey said, seeming quite certain.

“Any idea what color it was?” Sam asked.

“It’s hard to say because the street was dark when it happened,” Charlie said, “but I think it was a dark color, like black or dark blue, maybe.”

“That helps. Thank you.” She gave them each a copy of her business card. “If you think of anything else, even the smallest detail, call me. We never know what’ll blow open a case like this.”

“We will.” A tremble went through Kelsey’s body, making her wobbly.

Charlie put his arm around her. “If that lady hadn’t been there, they might’ve shot at us.”

Kelsey broke down into tears. “It’s so awful.”

“Yes, it is.” They would probably suffer from the trauma for a long time. “Do either of you require medical attention?”

“No,” she said haltingly, looking up at Charlie. “I don’t think so.”

“We’re okay,” he said.

“You may want to consider some sort of counseling to deal with what you saw,” Sam said.

“We’ll think about that,” Kelsey said. “Thank you.”

“You gave the patrolmen your contact info?”

Kelsey nodded. “They said we should go to MPD Headquarters in the morning to make an official statement.”

“Yes, please. We need that on file.”

“We’ll do it first thing,” Charlie said. “Anything we can do to catch whoever did this.”

“Appreciate it,” Sam said. “The Patrol officer can give you a ride home.”

“We live close by,” Kelsey said. “We’re okay to walk.”

“I’d feel better if you’d let him take you. I also have to caution you that you’re material witnesses to a homicide. You’ll need to be very careful until we catch the son of a bitch who’s picking people off in our city.”

Charlie’s complexion became even paler. “This isn’t the only one?”

“Second one tonight,” Sam said.

Charlie glanced at Kelsey. “We... We’ll take the ride.”

Sam signaled to Beckett’s partner and asked him to drive them home. “Make sure you see them inside.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sam crossed the street to return to the scene of Joe Kramer’s nightmare in time to see his distraught sister emerge from a cab and run to him. He stood to meet her and caught her in a hug, both crying hysterically. The woman’s husband followed, putting his arms around them.

“Goddamn, this blows,” Sam said to Freddie, who nodded in agreement. That he didn’t chastise her for using the Lord’s name in vain said a lot about how deeply the family’s grief had affected him.

“Malone called me when he couldn’t get through to you,” Freddie said. “HQ is looking for an update. I told him we might have two instances of the same shooter randomly picking people off on side streets. He wants us to brief the brass as soon as we can.”

“First we need to update the APB to let everyone know we have a second shooting. Let’s get every Patrol officer in the city looking for these assholes.”

“On it.”

While he took care of that, Sam went to see if there was anything else they could do for Joe Kramer and his family.

“C-could we see her?” he asked when she offered the department’s assistance.

“I think it might be better if you wait until we get her back to HQ.”

She watched him process what she wasn’t saying and could almost see him deciding whether to argue the point. But then he sagged with resignation.

“Okay. Whatever you think is best.”

“Could I get your address and contact info?”

“Yeah.” He rattled off his address and phone number, which she recorded in her notebook.

“I’ll be in touch with you as soon as we know anything more, and I’ll ask the Medical Examiner to let you know when Melody will be released to the funeral home of your choice.”

At the mention of funeral homes, his sister buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Her poor husband stood beside them, seeming unsure of what he should do.

Sam wanted to tell him there was nothing he could do other than be there for them, but she held her tongue. They would figure it out the same way everyone else did when their lives were permanently altered by violence. She handed Joe her business card. “If I can do anything for you, day or night, my cell number is on the card. Feel free to use it.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Officer Beckett will see you home.” She signaled to Beckett. “Please make sure Mr. Kramer and his family get home safely.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before he left with Beckett, Joe took a long last look back at the cloth-covered body of his wife, his despair palpable. Only when his sister tugged on his arm, urging him to move, did he finally tear his gaze off his wife and begin to put one foot in front of the other toward a suddenly uncertain future.

Undone by his grief, Sam bent at the waist, hands on her knees as she focused on trying to breathe. She appreciated that Freddie didn’t ask if she was okay or if he could do anything. Rather, he stood close by and let her do what she needed to.

After she’d gotten herself together, she stood to her full height and looked at Freddie. “Let’s find these motherfuckers.”

CHAPTER SIX

THEY RETURNED TO HQ, where Captain Malone met them in the lobby. “I came in when I heard about the second shooting. The chief is here too. Come tell us what you’ve got.”

To Freddie, Sam said, “Go see if Archie was able to get anything from the video feeds from the Kramer shooting.”

“Will do.”

Sam went with Malone past the Dispatch area to the chief’s office where Joe Farnsworth, known affectionately to Sam and her sisters as “Uncle Joe” when they were growing up, nodded to her. He was one of her father’s closest friends and one of Sam’s greatest supporters.

The chief was on a testy-sounding phone call. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I understand. We feel the same way. Believe me.” He held the phone away from his ear, and Sam could hear the woman talking on the other end but not what she was saying. “Of course I’ll keep you posted. Lieutenant Holland is here now, back from the scene of both shootings.” Another pause. “Yes, we’ll brief the media and let people know what’s happened. We’re doing everything we always do when there’s a homicide in our city.”

After another full minute of listening, he managed to extricate himself from the phone call. “She drives me crazy.”

“I assume that’s our esteemed mayor,” Malone said.

“You assume correctly.” To Sam, Farnsworth said, “Welcome back. I hope you had a nice vacation.”

“We did.”

“Glad to hear it. What’ve we got on the drive-bys?”

Sam filled him in on the details of both shootings.

“Ugh, a kid and a pregnant woman.” Farnsworth sagged into his chair. “What’s your gut telling you, Lieutenant?”

“That we’re looking at random thrill kills, but we’ll dig into the vics to make sure.”

Farnsworth nodded in agreement with her plan. “I hate stuff like this. Hell, I hate all of it.”

“It does keep us in business,” Sam said, going for a moment of levity.

“There is that,” Farnsworth said with a small smile. “How’s your husband doing?”

“He’s great. Never been better.”

“I believe there’s a certain level of denial going on in the Cappuano household,” Malone said to Farnsworth.

“It goes something like this,” Sam said, placing her hands over her ears. “Lalalalalala.”

“Can you picture her as first lady?” Malone asked.

“Not even kinda,” Farnsworth said, “but then again, I couldn’t picture her as second lady either.”

“It’s the whole ‘lady’ part that gets me every time,” Malone said, rubbing his chin as he studied her.

“Very funny, boys,” Sam said, amused by their banter. “How about you spare me the agony of dealing with the media and handle the briefing for me?”

“You know they enjoy it so much more when it’s you, Lieutenant,” Malone said. “Besides, you were at the scene and have the firsthand information.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll do it.”

“I’ll go out with you and take over if it strays into political territory,” Farnsworth said.

“Which it most definitely will,” Sam said. “They’re rabid for info about how we’re dealing with the Nelson fiasco.”

“Have you considered giving them a little something to feed the beast and get them off your backs?” Farnsworth asked.

“We would if we thought a little something would be enough for them,” Sam said. “We’ve decided to stay out of it for now.”

“I can understand that. It’s a tough situation no matter what you do.”

“Which is why we’re doing nothing but riding it out the best way we can until we know what’s going to happen. Let’s get this media briefing done so I can do some real work.”

“I hate to point out that briefing the media counts as real work,” Malone said.

“In my world, it counts as torture,” Sam said.

Farnsworth and Malone came with her as she walked out the main doors to where the usual swarm of reporters had multiplied in the twenty minutes she’d been inside. Word must’ve gotten out that she was back on the job. Awesome.

The reporters began shouting at her the minute she walked out the door. While that wasn’t an unusual occurrence, there was something about the way they came at her this time that caught her off guard. Nick was right. They were ravenous, and she was going to send them away still hungry.

She approached the granite podium that was a permanent installation outside headquarters, never more grateful for the aura of protection it provided than she was now. They continued to scream questions at her about Nick and Nelson and Nelson’s son and whether she was prepared to be first lady and if he was excited to be president and what would they do about Scotty and...

Malone put his fingers in his mouth and blew out a sharp whistle that startled Sam and shut down the screaming. “If you’ll please hold your questions, the Lieutenant will brief you on the drive-by shootings that took place tonight. She will not answer questions about the vice president or anything related to him. Am I clear?”

The assembled crowd muttered among themselves, clearly displeased with the captain’s directive.

“You and your husband have to say something about what’s going on,” one of the bottle blondes from TV said. “People have a right to know that their vice president—and his wife—are prepared to step up if need be.”

Sam wanted to punch her in the face. Of course they were prepared to step up if need be and had been since the day he took the job. That didn’t mean they wanted to.

“Take those questions to the vice president’s office,” Malone said. “Lieutenant Holland will speak only to questions about the shootings. Lieutenant?”

Sam stepped up to the microphone and went through the same recitation of facts she’d given to the chief and captain. “We believe we’re looking for a black sedan with at least two people in it. We caution city residents to be aware of their surroundings when walking on side streets after dark. Anyone who has information about the possible shooter and his or her accomplices should contact MPD. Do not attempt to approach these people on your own. They are armed and extremely dangerous.”

“Is there any indication the two shootings are related?” Darren Tabor asked.

“Witnesses at both scenes reported seeing a dark-colored sedan traveling at a rapid rate of speed. We’ll be looking into any possible connections between the victims as we begin our investigation. That’s all for now. I’ll be back to you when we have more.”

As she walked away from the podium, they began screaming their questions about Nick and Nelson again. They were nothing if not predictable. It wasn’t lost on her that the more intense Nick’s job got, the harder it became to do hers, though she’d never add to his already-formidable burden by sharing that thought with him.

“Keep us posted of any developments,” Malone said when they were inside.

“On all fronts,” Farnsworth said meaningfully.

“Will do.”

Sam was about to leave them to head for the pit when Freddie and Gonzo approached them.

“We’ve got another one,” Freddie said grimly.

* * *

AS SAM DROVE Freddie and Gonzo to Georgetown, they listened to the increasingly frantic chatter on the radio. According to reports from Patrol, the victim was a Georgetown University graduate student who’d been out dancing with his wife and had made the mistake of walking home.

Right after two a.m., they pulled onto P Street Northwest to a scene becoming all too familiar. Emergency vehicles lined the street, and the victim’s covered body had been isolated from the crowd of onlookers by yellow crime scene tape. EMTs tended to a woman who Sam assumed was the victim’s wife.

Fatigue began to tug at the edges of Sam’s consciousness, reminding her that she’d been up since dawn the day before when Nick talked her into taking a last walk on the beach to watch the sunrise before they headed home.

Twenty hours later, her tank was running on empty. She shook off the weariness to give this latest victim her full focus.

Patrolman O’Brien worked the tapeline and nodded to her as she approached. Because O’Brien worked third shift now, she didn’t see much of him around the house.

“Good to see you, Patrolman.”

“Likewise, Lieutenant. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Who’s our vic?”

“Sridhar Kapoor, thirty-five. I looked him up on social media and found out he’s originally from India and was a doctoral student in chemistry at Georgetown. His wife, Rayna, is also a grad student, in global infectious diseases. I wasn’t able to get much from her, except they’d been out with friends and decided to walk home. He was shot in the head from behind. The wife didn’t see the car because the shot propelled him forward, and he took her down with him. By the time she figured out what’d happened, the car was long gone.”

“Is she able to talk to us?”

“She’s hysterical. The paramedics gave her something to calm her down. They were talking about transporting her for observation. You might do better with her in a few hours.”

“I want someone with her at all times until we’re sure this isn’t an orchestrated thing.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll pass that on to the Patrol commander.”

“Any other witnesses?”

“None. The street was empty except for the two of them. A few residents heard the shot and came out to see what was going on. One of them called it in, but he didn’t see the car.”

Sam walked over to lift the tarp for a look at their victim, who’d had the back of his head blown off by the bullet. Then she stood and watched as the paramedics loaded the victim’s wife into the back of an ambulance.

“Find out where they’re taking her,” Sam said to Freddie, who jogged over to talk to the paramedics. “These guys are good, whoever they are,” she said to Gonzo as she took a long look around. “They aren’t your average punks out for a thrill if they can hit someone in the head in the dark from a speeding car.”

“What’re you thinking, LT?”

“We might be looking for a sharpshooter or someone with law enforcement or military training.”

“It’s a thread,” Freddie said when he rejoined them. “We’ll dig into that one right away.”

“Save it for the morning. Let’s get some sleep and start fresh.” To O’Brien, she said, “Knock on every door on the street. Let us know if you find anyone who saw the shooting go down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sam hated when human frailties got in the way of her desire to work around the clock. “I’m out of gas. I’ve got to go home. Let’s pick it up at zero seven hundred at HQ.”

“I’ll take the call if anything else comes in overnight,” Freddie said. “Get some sleep.”

“Thanks.” In a past life, Sam would’ve insisted on being notified. Now she knew she’d be no good to anyone tomorrow if she didn’t get some shut-eye. “I’ll check in with you first thing.”

“You okay to drive?” Freddie asked, looking on with concern.

“Don’t hover, Mom.”

“She’s fine,” he said to Gonzo, who snickered.

“Can you guys get home from here?” she asked.

“Don’t hover, Mom,” Freddie said. “We’re good.”

“I’m out.” Sam’s legs wobbled from exhaustion as she made her way back to her car and headed for home. About halfway there, she acknowledged that she probably shouldn’t be driving. She blasted Bon Jovi and the AC, aiming the vents to direct the cold air on her face. By the time she reached the Ninth Street Secret Service checkpoint, her face was frozen, but she was still awake. Barely.

What the hell? Why was she so freakishly tired after a relaxing vacation that had included tons of sleep? As she pulled into her assigned parking place outside their house, the possible answer to that question had her heart beating faster. Any time she felt different, she wondered if maybe...

“No,” she said out loud. “It’s not that, so don’t even go there. Who can stand the disappointment?” Angry with herself and the direction of her thoughts, she got out of the car and used the last of the gas in her tank to go up the ramp Nick had had built so Skip could visit their home. The memory of that day, of realizing what he’d done for her and why, could still bring tears to her eyes more than a year later.

Jesus. Now she was weepy too? This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

“Good evening, Mrs. Cappuano,” the agent on duty at the door said.

“Good evening, Eric.”

“Is everything all right?” the handsome young agent asked.

“Other than someone shooting innocent people in my city, it’s all good.”

“Heard about that. Tough one. Good luck with it.”

“Thank you.”

The first floor was dark other than a single lamp in the living room. Sam headed directly for the stairs and tiptoed into her bedroom, trying not to disturb Nick in case he was sleeping for once. In the bathroom, she stripped out of her clothes and brushed her teeth. She took a minute to lock up her weapon and badge and set her alarm for six-twenty before sliding into bed, expelling a deep breath as she tried to shake off the disturbing night so she could get some sleep.

“I really hope you’re my wife, or I’m gonna be in big trouble when she gets home.”

Sam smiled and moved closer to him, letting him gather her up in his arms. “Mmm, I’ll take my chances with your wife if this is what I get in return.”

He nuzzled her neck. “I saw a thing about the drive-by shooting on the eleven o’clock news.”

“We had three of them tonight and reason to believe it’s not over yet.”

“I’m sorry, babe. That must’ve made for a tough night.”

“It was awful. One of them had just found out she was pregnant three days ago. They’d been trying for a long time. Her husband was there. He’d been on his way to meet her and came upon the scene.” Sam shuddered, remembering Joe’s awful grief.

“Naturally that hit you hard.”

“They all hit me hard.”

“But that was harder.”

“Yeah.” The tears that’d threatened earlier rolled down her cheeks, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice. Of course, that was wishful thinking. He noticed everything where she was concerned.

“Come here, babe.” He drew her in even closer to him, positioning her head on his chest and wrapping his arms around her. “Hold on to me.”

“Her husband was so crushed. It made me wonder what it would feel like...”

“Don’t go there. I’m surrounded by the best security in the world all the time. Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I never do, sweetheart. You know that.”

“I was so tired when I got home. But now...”

“What? Tell me.”

“I want you to make love to me, and I want it slow and sultry.”

His chest rumbled with laughter. “I can do slow and sultry.” Raising himself up on one elbow, he looked down at her in the glow of the nightlight they left on in the bathroom. “I hate to see you upset.”

“I was upset. I’m better now that there’s going to be slow and sultry.”

Smiling, he leaned in to kiss her with tenderness that rendered her defenseless. Not that she needed defenses with him. But after relying on them so thoroughly her entire adult life, it had taken a while for her to drop them when they’d first been together. Now she might as well have never had them, when he looked at her with more love than she’d ever known could exist between a man and a woman.

Sam reached for him and opened her mouth to the persuasive strokes of his tongue, not that she needed persuading either. She often joked that she was far too easy when it came to him, but he had no objections. As she kissed him and lost herself in his sweet tenderness, she tried not to think of Joe or Sridhar’s wife or Jamal’s mother, but that was easier said than done.

Nick broke the kiss and moved down to kiss her neck and throat on his way to her breasts, each of which he worshipped with light strokes of his tongue and gentle tugs of his lips on her nipples.

The sensations spiraling through her body reminded Sam of floating with him in the surf, riding the waves, one right after the other.

His lips left a trail of desire and need as he moved from her breasts to her belly and below.

With every nerve ending in her body on full alert, she might’ve never been tired for the way he made her feel.

Sam fisted handfuls of his soft hair when he raised her legs to his shoulders and took the slow and sultry theme to a whole new level with his tongue and fingers. He had her on the verge of coming within seconds but then backed off, making her groan with frustration.

He laughed. “All in good time, my love.”

“Only because I love you so much I’ll let you live.”

“Awww, that’s so nice of you.” He started over with soft dabs of his tongue and slow strokes of his fingers that quickly took her to the brink once again.

“Nick... Please...”

“What does my baby want?”

“You know!”

“My orders were slow and sultry. I’m just doing what I was told.”

Sam sagged into the mattress when it became apparent that he planned to follow her directions to the letter—not that she was complaining. Much. She forced herself to relax and go with his flow, which always led to her satisfaction even when he took his own sweet time.

Before him, she’d tolerated this act more than enjoyed it, but Nick made it impossible not to fully enjoy it.

He sucked lightly on her clit as he drove his fingers into her, curling them to engage her G-spot, which she hadn’t known she had until he had shown her exactly where it was.

Her hips lifted off the bed, trying to get closer to him, to the orgasm that grew and multiplied with every stroke of his tongue and thrust of his fingers. Then he upped the ante by pressing a wet finger against her ass, and she exploded.

“God, it’s so hot when you let go like that,” he said as he brought her down slowly, keeping up the movement of his fingers and tongue until the last of the aftershocks rocked her. Then he kissed his way up her body, paying homage again to each breast before he invited his cock to the party, giving her only the head at first.

Sam squirmed under him, looking for more.

“Is my impatient girl getting fed up with slow and sultry?”

“Yes! To hell with sultry. I want hard and fast.”

He drove into her in one deep thrust that made her come again. That had never happened before him. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her fast, furious and frantic.

Sam clung to him, taking everything he had to give. She wrapped her legs around his hips and met every deep thrust of his cock with unbridled enthusiasm. Only he could make her forget the horror of the last few hours. Only he could transport her out of the insanity of their lives to a place where nothing else mattered but them and the love that sustained them.

At the beginning, she’d expected the passion between them to wane. She’d wondered if they’d survive if it became any more intense than it was then. But it was so much more now, and she’d come to crave the connection she always found with him.

“Samantha... I wish you knew how much I love you.”

“I do. I know. I love you just as much.”

“They haven’t invented a word big enough to describe it.”

She tightened her hold on him and held on until she felt him falter and then go tense as he came deep inside her, reminding her of what she’d wondered earlier and if it could possibly be true. They’d had so many disappointments. She wasn’t sure she could handle another one.

“What do we think of slow and sultry?” he asked after long minutes of contented silence.

“We love it until we want fast and furious.”

Sam felt his lips curve into a smile against her chest and continued to run her fingers through his hair. She was completely addicted to his thick, beautiful hair.

“You can always have whatever you want from me.”

“I know, and that’s what makes me completely unmanageable.”

His soft laughter went a long way toward fixing what had broken inside her earlier. He raised his head and looked down at her before he kissed her lightly. “I like you just the way you are, even when you’re completely unmanageable.”

“Good thing, because any other husband would want to shoot me most of the time.”

“I don’t want to picture you with any other husbands. You’re stuck with this one.”

“There goes my plan for a quickie Dominican divorce if Nelson is forced to resign.”

He stared at her, seeming stunned that she’d joke about such a thing. “That feels rather premeditated.”

Sam laughed and shook her head. “Just a joke. I swear.”

“Now you’ve got me worried.”

“Nick, come on. What would I ever do without you to keep me sane and sated?”

“I do keep you rather sated,” he said with a smug grin.

She brought his head back to rest on her chest. “You certainly do. I never knew it was possible to be so completely sated until I had you.”

“I don’t want you completely sated. I want you always hungry for more.”

“I believe my wanton behavior in the first year and a half of our marriage is indicative of my endless need for more.”

“You said indicative.”

She snorted with laughter. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“This. All of it. The laughter, the slow, the sultry, the fast, the furious. You were just what I needed.”

“I always want to be just what you need.”

“You’re doing a great job so far.” She patted him on the head. “Keep up the good work.”

“I’ll do my best, Lieutenant.”

She fell asleep with her arms wrapped around him and a big smile on her face.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SAM WOKE TO the phone ringing shortly before her alarm would’ve woken her. “Mmm, Holland.” She tried to shake off the cobwebs. Her body would’ve liked five more hours of sleep, but the vacation was over, and it was back to reality.

“Are you awake, Lieutenant?” Malone asked in a booming voice that told her he’d already had several cups of coffee.

Sam hated morning people. “I am now.”

“We had another shooting overnight. I wanted to give you the details before your shift.”

That news had her wide-awake. Nick slept right next to her, on his back, arm thrown over his head. She tore her gaze off his gorgeous face, got out of bed, put on a robe and took the phone across the hall to her closet, closing the door so she could focus on what the captain was telling her without disturbing Nick.

“This one was in Woodley Park.”

Sam gasped at the mention of Freddie and Elin’s neighborhood.

“Twenty-six-year-old Caroline Brinkley was picked off on Woodley Road Northwest at about three-thirty this morning.”

“Any witnesses?”

“None. She was alone, and no one else was on the street at that time.”

“Where was she coming from? Do we know?”

“Detective Cruz is at the scene trying to find out more.”

“I’ll meet him there.”

“And then come back here. We’ve got to get our heads around this before the shooter has a chance to strike again. The press is clamoring for information.”

“I can only imagine. I’ll see you soon.” Sam took a fast shower and got dressed in shorts and a lightweight top, preparing for another long, hot day pounding the pavement. She put her hair up in a messy bun and slathered on sunscreen.

Fifteen minutes after she ended the call with Malone, she had kissed her sleeping husband, retrieved her weapon and cuffs from the bedside drawer and was on her way downstairs. She was surprised to find their assistant, Shelby, in the kitchen with her newborn son, Noah, attached to her in some sort of elaborate harness thingie. She’d rescinded her earlier resignation and returned like nothing had ever happened, which had been a relief to Sam and Nick.

As always, the sight of a baby did funny things to Sam’s insides, and reminded her that she needed to procure a pregnancy test without alerting the world to her suspicions. Difficult task, that.

“What’re you guys doing here?” Sam asked Shelby while taking a second to play with the baby’s foot. He had a light dusting of blond hair and pudgy cheeks. “You’re supposed to be on leave.”

“We were awake and feeling kinda cooped up, so we decided to come see what’s going on over here. You’re up early.”

“I’m going to work.”

“I heard about the shootings and wondered if they’d called you back.”

“Yep, I went back yesterday.”

“It’s so awful that someone is driving around shooting at innocent people. I hope you catch them before anyone else is hurt or killed.”

Sam grabbed a banana from a bowl on the counter. Even during her maternity leave, Shelby made sure their weekly grocery delivery arrived on schedule. “That’s the plan.” After a pause, she said, “So, um, I need a favor, and I don’t want you to say a single word other than ‘okay’ if you’re able to help me, because I can’t talk about it. If I talk about it, I’ll lose my shit, and I can’t lose my shit right now. You know?”

“Umm, I think so,” Shelby said hesitantly. Who could blame her for being hesitant after that lead-in?

“I need a pregnancy test. You got an old one lying around anywhere?”

Shelby’s lips parted and her eyes grew wide, but she didn’t say anything other than, “I have at least ten of them at home. I’ll put a couple in the cabinet under your bathroom sink today. Would that work?”

Sam nodded. “Thank you.”

“Sam—”

“Please, Shelby. I can’t.”

Shelby nodded as she blinked rapidly, probably trying not to cry. Ever since she’d gotten pregnant, she cried over everything, even dog food commercials, according to her fiancé, FBI Special Agent in Charge Avery Hill. “I understand.”

Sam knew she did and appreciated it. “I gotta go.” She kissed baby Noah’s cheek and squeezed Shelby’s arm. “You guys have a good day.”

“You too. Good luck with the case.”

“Thanks. We’re going to need it.”

On her way out, Sam nodded to Melinda, the agent she called Secret Service Barbie.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cappuano.”

“Good morning.” Sam brushed by her and down the ramp, eager to get to the scene and help Freddie. She felt a tiny bit guilty for being less than friendly to the agent who was only doing her job. Something about her bugged Sam. Probably the fact that such a stunningly gorgeous woman was paid to watch her smoking hot husband. “You’re an idiot,” she muttered to herself as she got in the car and headed for the checkpoint.

The agents waved her through, and she directed the car toward Woodley Park, giving thanks to whoever invented Labor Day and gave the federal workforce the day off. Traffic was all but nonexistent as she drove and brooded over why she couldn’t stand Melinda. That was better than brooding over the remote possibility that she could be pregnant. Again.

If it were true, this would be the sixth time. Five miscarriages later, she’d learned to manage her expectations. The last one, which had been Nick’s baby, had been the worst of all. She wanted nothing more than to give him the family he’d never had. He said that she and Scotty were all the family he needed, but she still held out hope that maybe, just maybe, they might get lucky one more time.

She breathed her way through the emotions this topic always roused in her—sadness, disappointment, despair and inadequacy. That last one particularly rankled, as she was known for being more than adequate at her job yet was unable to carry a baby to term. The thing that came so naturally to women all over the world was seemingly impossible for her.

“You can’t spend the whole day obsessing about this.” Sometimes saying it out loud made it easier to take her own advice. “You’ve got too much to do and a city on edge with someone shooting at innocent people. If you spend all day obsessing about this, you won’t get anything done. That’s not an option today.”

By the time she arrived on Woodley Road Northwest, she had her emotions more or less under control and her focus on the task at hand. There’d be time later to fall apart over the other thing, which probably wasn’t even a thing anyway.

She parked on the pretty, leafy street lined with restaurants and walked the short distance to where Freddie and Gonzo were conferring on the sidewalk next to a bloodstain that had been taped off. Lindsey’s team had already removed the body.

Outside the tapeline, the large group of curious bystanders watching the proceedings began to buzz when they saw Sam approach. People were always so curious about other people’s misfortune. It made her sick.

She ducked under the tapeline. “Morning,” she said to Freddie and Gonzo.

“Morning, LT,” Gonzo said. He looked tired and stressed.

“Did you guys get any sleep?”

“Couple hours,” Freddie said. “They called me on this because I was closest.”

“What do we know about the vic?” Sam asked, her gaze shifting to the bloodstain that told part of the story.

Freddie consulted his notes. “Caroline Brinkley, age twenty-six, a waitress at a K Street lounge, was on her way home from work when she was shot in the back.”

“Where’s home?” Sam asked.

Freddie pointed to a four-story building on the corner. “She lives on the second floor with a roommate named Delilah. We’ve notified her, and she gave us the contact information for Caroline’s family in Minnesota. We asked her to let us make the call. We were waiting for you to see how you wanted us to proceed.”

“Ugh.” Sam realized she’d probably have to handle the call that no cop ever wanted to make. And they said rank had its privileges. Whatever. She took the piece of paper with the parents’ names and phone number written on it from Freddie and stuffed it in her pocket. “Canvass?”

“We’ve been up and down the entire block,” Gonzo said. “No witnesses. Archie is pulling the footage from our cameras in the area.”

“Anything else?”

“Lindsey thinks she didn’t die immediately.”

“Goddamn it,” Sam whispered. “How long was she out here before someone called us?”

“Thirty minutes or more. She was dead by the time the first Patrol officer arrived on the scene.”

Sam blew out a deep breath full of frustration. “I want these guys. I want them bad.”

“Patrol is stopping every black sedan they encounter,” Gonzo said. “So far, they’ve pulled over nine different cars, but no sign of a nine millimeter or any other weapons.”

“Let’s head back to the house and regroup,” Sam said. “I’ll make the call to her parents on the way.”

“You want me to do it?” Freddie asked.

She gave him a wan smile, appreciating that he’d offer to do something no one wanted to do. In fact, she ought to let him do it because he was way better at those sorts of things than she’d ever be. But she couldn’t ask him to do something just because she didn’t want to. Not something like this anyway. “Thanks, but I’ve got it. Finish up here, and meet me at HQ.”

“Right behind you, LT,” Gonzo said.

Biting back the feeling of dread over the call she needed to make to parents who had no idea their world was about to implode, Sam got in the car, dialed the number and pressed Send before she could lose her nerve. As the call connected, she shifted the car into Park and drove to the intersection.

“Hello?” a friendly sounding woman said.

“Mrs. Brinkley?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“This is Lieutenant Sam Holland, Metro PD in Washington, D.C.”

Mrs. Brinkley inhaled sharply. “Caroline?”

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to tell you—”

The woman’s piercing screams brought tears to Sam’s eyes. God, she hated this.

A man came on the line. “Who is this?” he asked sharply.

Once again, Sam said, “Lieutenant Sam Holland, Metro PD in Washington, D.C.”

“Oh God, no. Not Caroline.”

In the background, Sam could hear the mother’s heartbroken sobs.

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you she was shot and killed early this morning.”

The man’s guttural moan had Sam brushing at tears while trying to stay focused on the road. This sucked so bad, worse than any other part of her awful job. She had no idea how people survived receiving this kind of news.

“Did you... Do you know who did it?”

“We don’t. Not yet. But we’re working on it. Caroline was the fourth in a string of drive-by shootings throughout the District last night and this morning.”

“So, it was random? It wasn’t anyone she knew?”

“We don’t know that for sure yet, but we don’t believe she knew the shooter.”

“Dear God. How can something like this happen? Caroline was a good girl. She worked hard and was back to school. She was trying to make something of herself.”

“I wish I had the answer to that question, but I’m going to do my best to find out who did this and bring them to justice for Caroline and the other victims.”

“What do we do now? Can we see her?”

At a stoplight, Sam closed her eyes and tried to contain her tears. “We can make that happen if you’d like to come here. I’ll give you my number, and you can call me to arrange it.”

“I’ll take your number. Hang on a minute while I get a pen.”

Sam waited for him and took a couple of deep breaths, hoping her heart would stop pounding. When he returned to the line, she gave him her number. “Feel free to call me anytime. I’m sorry that I have to ask if she had any problems with anyone that you knew of.”

“No, not at all. She has lots of friends. Everyone likes her.”

“Ask your wife when you can, and if you think of anything that might be relevant, please call me.”

“We will.”

“I’ll keep you informed about the investigation. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. We’ll be in touch. I need to see to my wife.”

“Of course.”

The call ended with a click, and Sam had to hold back the urge to throw her phone out the window so she’d never again have to make a call like that one. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, infuriated to be such an emotional basket case. A pang of anxiety struck her in the gut. Emotional outbursts were a hallmark of pregnancy for her. At least they had been in the past.

“We’re not thinking about that today.”

In the time it took to get to HQ, she got herself more or less under control and felt ready to face what promised to be a challenging workday. The usual media scrum outside the main door had doubled overnight, and since she was in no way prepared to face off with them, she drove around to the morgue entrance.

Inside, the frigid AC provided a welcome respite from the stifling humidity. Sam went into the morgue to get an update. She found Lindsey presiding over Caroline’s autopsy.

“What’ve you got for me, Doc?” Sam asked, noting their victim had been a pretty young woman with auburn hair and fair skin.

“Another nine-millimeter slug to add to our collection.” She gestured to the evidence bag containing the chunk of metal that had ended Caroline’s life.

“Gonzo said you don’t think she died instantly?”

“She definitely didn’t. The bullet nicked an artery. I’d say it took about twenty minutes for her to bleed out.”

“Would she have been conscious?”

“That’s hard to say.”

“I’m going to really hope she wasn’t.”

“She had a can of pepper spray rolled up in her hand.” Lindsey pointed to another evidence bag.

“For all the good it did her.” That little detail made Sam so mad—and so sad—for the young woman who’d seemingly done everything right.

“No kidding.” Lindsey glanced at Sam. “You call the family yet?”

“Yeah. That was loads of fun. They want to come here to see her. I told them we’d make it happen.”

“Those poor people. They got their kid to twenty-six. Thought they were in the clear, and then this happens.”

“I hate cases like this. People killing people simply for the thrill of it.”

“Is that the theory?”

“It’s all we’ve got to go on so far. Hopefully, we’ll have more by the end of the day.”

“Are you okay, Sam? You look a little...red around the eyes.”

“I...um, yeah, you know. Tough case. That’s all it is.” She’d learned the hard way to keep her suspicions about a possible pregnancy to herself. That way there were fewer people to tell when it either turned out not to be true or when it went bad. And it always went bad.

“I’m here if you need a friend. I hope you know that.”

“Of course,” Sam said, appalled when tears threatened again. For fuck’s sake. “Gotta hit it. Shoot me your report when it’s finished.”

“Will do.”

Sam headed for the pit, determined to keep her shit together and focus on the case—and only on the case. The four dead bodies in the morgue deserved her full attention, and they would get nothing less.

“I want everyone in the conference room in five,” she said on the way into her office. “Jeannie,” she said to Detective Jeannie McBride, “update the board with the Brinkley info and get Archie and someone from the Gang Unit down here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sam unlocked her office door and flipped on the lights, immediately turning them off when the fluorescent glare hurt her eyes. She hated fluorescent light almost as much as she hated needles and airplanes.

A knock on the door preceded Malone into her office. When he closed the door behind him, Sam had a sinking feeling this day was about to get worse—if that was possible. “What’s up?”

“The chief asked me to talk to you,” he said as he made himself comfortable in her visitor chair.

Her instincts rarely failed her. “About?”

“Stahl.”

That one word could conjure up a million different thoughts for Sam—none of them good. “What about him?”

“We’ve heard from Forrester’s office,” he said of the U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, “that Stahl is willing to enter an Alford plea in your case.”

Sam sat because that was better than her legs going out from under her. “So, he’s willing to concede they have enough to convict him, but he’s not willing to admit his guilt? That son of a bitch.”

“We thought you might say that.” Malone leaned in, elbows on his knees. “Here’s the thing, Sam. If you agree to the plea, he’ll still go away for decades. You won’t be put through the ordeal of the trial and having to relive what happened that day in Marissa Springer’s basement.”

The words “Marissa Springer’s basement” brought it all back. The torture. The razor wire. The gasoline. The absolute certainty she was going to die at the hands of a man who’d once been her commanding officer and had come to despise her. “After what he put me through, I want to hear him say he did it. I want him to admit his guilt in a court of law, or there’s no deal.”

“I hear you, and I understand where you’re coming from. But before we pass that on to Forrester’s team, I want you to take twenty-four hours and think about it from all sides. Talk to Nick and your dad. See what they think. Just take a day, Sam.”

“I don’t need a day. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Still, take the day. Do it because I’m asking you to. I don’t want you to have regrets later when there’s no choice but to testify.”

Affecting her best mulish expression, Sam stared at him, but he stared right back, the bastard. “Fine. If it means so much to you, I’ll sit on it for a day, but I won’t change my mind.”

“Fair enough. What’s next in the shootings investigation?”

“I’m gathering my team in the conference room to figure out our plan of attack.”

“I’ll join you.”

They walked together into the conference room, and once again Sam found herself trying to keep her mind on the case where it belonged. Goddamned Stahl. Like she didn’t have enough going on. He had to rear his ugly head too.

“Let’s walk through it from the top.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

SAM APPROACHED THE murder board and pointed to photos of each victim as she spoke of them. “Jamal Jackson, age fifteen, picked off in the Penn Branch neighborhood. He has a mother and two older sisters who adored him. Melody Kramer, age thirty-one, taken down in Eckington while walking on Quincy on her way home. She was married to Joe and had recently learned that she was expecting their first child after trying to get pregnant for a long time.

“Sridhar Kapoor, age thirty-five, a doctoral student in chemistry at Georgetown, hit on P Street Northwest while walking home with his wife, Rayna, after a night out with friends. She was too despondent to speak to us. We’ll need to get her statement today. And Caroline Brinkley, age twenty-six, shot in the back on Woodley Road Northwest sometime after three o’clock this morning while walking home from her job at a K Street lounge. Dr. McNamara believes it took close to thirty minutes for her to bleed out. According to Caroline’s father in Minnesota, she was a hard worker who was back to school and trying to better herself.”

Sam made eye contact with everyone in the room—Freddie, Gonzo, Jeannie, Archie, Malone and the captain from the Gang unit. What was his name again? “Every one of these four people was alive this time yesterday. Jamal was at an IMAX movie at the Air & Space Museum because he was fascinated with space. Melody was walking on air because she and her husband finally had a child on the way. She joked about going to happy hour for a friend’s birthday and how it wouldn’t be quite so happy now that she couldn’t have a drink. Sridhar was brilliant. A chemistry doctoral student at Georgetown. Think about what that probably entailed. And Caroline... Doing what thousands of other people do in this city every day—walking home from work. She had a can of pepper spray rolled into her hand so she could fend off any would-be assailants.”

Sam took a moment to let that poignant detail register with the others.

Jeannie looked down at the table while Freddie stared at the back wall where Malone stood next to Chief Farnsworth.

“Witness accounts indicate we’re looking for a black sedan,” Sam said.

“I took the liberty of printing up a list of all the cars that meet that description in the DC, Maryland and Northern Virginia area,” Jeannie said, holding a half-inch thick report.

“We’ll start in the city and work our way out.” To Malone and Farnsworth, she said, “We’re going to need help from Patrol and overtime approved for our people.”

“Done,” Farnsworth said. “Whatever you need to catch these bastards before they can hurt anyone else.”

“I don’t think this is over yet, whatever it is,” Sam said.

“I’d tend to agree with you,” the Gang captain said.

His name sat on the tip of her tongue. “What’s your theory, Cap?” she asked.

“This feels like some sort of initiation ritual,” he said. “We’ve seen it before. I’ve got my team talking to their contacts and seeing what they can find out.”

“While I agree that’s a theory, to me this feels more professional. I’d like to look into a possible military or law enforcement angle.”

“What’re you thinking, Lieutenant?” Jeannie asked.

“Whoever is doing this is one hell of a good shot if they can take someone out from a speeding car and hit with deadly accuracy each time. There were no stray shots. In each case, there was only one, and it did the trick. Something tells me we’re looking at more than your average gangbangers here.”

“I’d tend to agree,” the Gang captain said. “But we’re going to put our ears to the ground anyway and see if we hear anything.”

Sam nodded in agreement with his plan. “Please keep us in the loop.”

“Will do.”

“Archie, what’ve you got from the Georgetown and Woodley shootings?” she asked.

“We’re still sifting through our footage as well as the security footage we’ve pulled from multiple other sources in all four neighborhoods. It’s a big job, and we’re moving as fast as we can.”

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Sam said.

Nodding, he said, “I’ll let you know the second we find anything useful.”

“Appreciate it.”

He left the room, and Sam returned her attention to her own team. “We need someone to sift through the social media accounts of all our victims,” Sam said.

“I did it overnight,” Gonzo said, producing a written report that he handed to her.

Sam raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said with a shrug that had her wondering if he was okay. “I didn’t see anything that stood out on any of their accounts. All routine mundane stuff. Nothing that would get them murdered.”

“Thanks for closing that loop,” Sam said.

“No problem.”

“Let’s divide up the black sedans in the District and start there.” To Malone, she said, “I’d like to borrow Beckett and O’Brien from Patrol to help us today. Detective Green starts tomorrow,” she said of Cameron Green, the detective she’d hired from Fairfax County after working with him on a case earlier in the summer. He would replace Detective A.J. Arnold, who had been killed in the line of duty last winter.

Sam fully expected the arrival of Arnold’s replacement to reopen the wound they had carried with them since the night he was killed right in front of Gonzo, his partner. That could be why Gonzo suddenly wasn’t sleeping well again. She’d have to keep an eye on her sergeant and close friend.

“Sure,” Malone said. “We can make that happen.”

“Before we head out,” she said to her team, “I want to make sure you’re paying extra-close attention to your surroundings. If these guys are looking to make a big score, a cop would be one hell of a prize. Watch your backs.”

They replied with “Yes, ma’am,” and “We will.”

Jeannie handed sheets of paper to Freddie, took a stack for herself and Gonzo and made another pile for the two Patrol officers Sam had requested.

“I’ll give the rest to Captain Hernandez,” Jeannie said of the Patrol commander.

“Ask him to make this their top priority and to keep us informed.”

“Yes, ma’am. Will do.” Jeannie left the conference room.

“Someone needs to brief the media,” Malone said. “They’re foaming at the mouth for info about the shootings.”

“They’re always foaming for something,” Sam replied. “Can you handle it today? I’m too much of a distraction these days.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Cruz, let’s get to it.”

“I’m with you, Lieutenant.”

* * *

THEIR FIRST STOP was the George Washington University Hospital where they found Rayna Kapoor in a fifth-floor room guarded by a Patrol officer Sam didn’t recognize. She produced her badge, and Freddie did the same. The officer took a close look at them, as he was required to do. She took advantage of the opportunity to glance at his name tag, which said Keeney.

“How is she?”

“Not great. They gave her something to help her sleep, but she’s awake now and hysterical from what I can hear.”

“Is anyone with her?”

He shook his head. “I asked if she wanted me to call someone for her, and the nurses did too. She said she wants Sri. No one else.”

Sam steeled herself to contend with Rayna’s heartbreak before knocking on the door and entering the room where the blinds were drawn. Other than a small light over the bed, the room was dark. Rayna lay on her side, her arms wrapped around a pillow as she sobbed helplessly.

“Rayna,” Sam said, speaking softly. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD, and this is my partner, Detective Cruz.”

“I know you. I’ve seen you.” She spoke with a distinctive British accent. “You catch all the killers. You’ll catch my Sri’s killer.”

“I’ll do my very best.”

She wiped her face with the sheet. “He can’t be dead. It’s not right. He was fine.”

“Can you tell us what happened?”

Rayna pressed a button to raise her bed slightly. “We... We were out at a club with some friends. People we know from school. It was our first time going out with them or going to a club. Sri, he said we needed to learn how to have fun, that no one should study as much as we do. I didn’t want to go, but I went because he asked me to. Why didn’t he listen to me? I knew we shouldn’t have gone.”

“Why did you feel that way?”

“I don’t know.” She stared at the far wall where the nurses had recorded her information on a dry-erase board. “I had a feeling we shouldn’t go.”

“Had something happened to make you feel that way?”

“Nothing in particular. I get these feelings.” Rayna rubbed her abdomen. “Here. Often they turn out to be sound. I wish this wasn’t one of those times.” She broke down again, her sobs echoing through the small room.

Sam felt awful for pushing her to recount the most traumatic moment of her life, but she needed to know. “So, you were walking home...”

Rayna nodded and wiped her face again. “We were walking on P Street. I wanted to take a cab, but Sri said the fresh air would be good for us after being in the club. He talked me into walking. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s a beautiful night.’ He’s very convincing when he sets his heart on something.” Her face crumpled when she seemed to realize she had spoken of him in the present tense. “He... He was talking about a big presentation he had to make this week at school. There was a loud noise and everything happened at once. He staggered and fell onto me, and I went down with him. I couldn’t tell what was happening until I felt the blood. There was so much blood.” She shuddered and hiccupped as another sob erupted from her chest.

“When did you realize he’d been shot?” Sam asked.

“I didn’t know that until the police came. They told me that’s what happened.”

“Were you injured in the fall?”

“I sprained my wrist,” she said, raising her arm to show Sam the brace she wore.

“Did you see the car or anything that might help us catch the people who did this?”

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