Fatal Invasion (The Fatal Series) Read online

  “Hmmm, Holland,” she said.

  “Sam, it’s Christina. I’m sorry to wake you, but Tommy has been admitted to GW.”

  “How come?”

  “They won’t tell me, and we’re... Well, we’re not together anymore.” She closed her eyes tight against the rush of new tears but that couldn’t contain them. “I need to focus on Alex. I can’t take care of Tommy too.”

  “I can’t come there myself right now, but I’ll send Carlucci and Dominguez over,” she said, referring to the squad’s third-shift detectives.

  “Whatever. I just wanted someone to know where he is.”

  “Christina—”

  “I’m sorry, but I just can’t. Not now.”

  “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Sam.” Christina had done what she could by notifying his boss. The rest was out of her hands. The only thing she cared about now was nursing Alex back to health and then figuring out the rest of her life—a life that no longer included Tommy Gonzales.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  SAM CLOSED HER PHONE, moaning at the new wrinkle. Always something. Rarely did she get a totally uneventful day, but even by her usual standards, this has been one hell of a twenty-four hours.

  “What’s wrong?” Nick asked.

  More than anything, Sam hated that the phone had woken him. “That was Christina. Gonzo is in the hospital.”

  “How come?”

  “She didn’t know, and it doesn’t sound like she cares.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “She told me earlier she’s done with him.”

  Nick yawned and ran his hands through his hair as he pondered that. “Why don’t we go over there and check on them?”

  “Now?”

  “Were you busy?”

  “Yes, I was busy sleeping—and so were you.”

  “Now we’re awake, and our friends need us.”

  “We can’t go anywhere,” she reminded him. “We’ve got extra kids tonight.”

  “Right,” he said, sighing. “What do we do?”

  “I’ll send Carlucci and Dominguez over there to check on him.” Sam opened her phone and called Carlucci, who answered on the first ring.

  “Hello, Lieutenant.”

  “Hi there. I need a favor.” She explained what’d happened and asked Carlucci and her partner to go to GW to check on Gonzo.

  “We’re on it.”

  “Give me an update by text after you see him?”

  “Will do. I was composing an email to you so you’d see it first thing. We got confirmation that the remains found in the house were Jameson and Cleo Beauclair.”

  “Well, at least we know for sure now and can go from here.”

  “We’re working on a few things tonight and should know more by the end of our shift.”

  “Brief Jeannie in the morning.”

  “Will do. I’ll shoot you a text after we see Gonzo.”

  “Thank you.” Sam closed the phone and tried to relax, but her mind raced with questions and concerns. “I can’t believe this is happening the week of Freddie’s wedding. Gonzo is one of his groomsmen.”

  Nick turned on his side and reached for her. “Freddie will understand. He knows what Gonzo has been through.”

  Sam snuggled up to him, wide-awake and spinning. “I haven’t been paying close enough attention to Gonzo. He seemed better, so I backed off. But now I wonder if he hasn’t been on simmer this whole time, waiting to boil over when he couldn’t contain the grief any longer.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. You have a lot of responsibility, and he’s made it clear he doesn’t want people hovering over him. I’ve been just as negligent. I can’t recall the last time I talked to Christina.”

  “You’re busy too.”

  “I shouldn’t ever be too busy for my friends.” He caressed her back in small, soothing circles. “Maybe this is just a blip for them.”

  “I don’t think it is,” Sam said. “If you could’ve seen her earlier, you’d agree. I’ve never seen her so furious, except for the day I half accused her of killing John.”

  “Half accused?” he asked, chuckling.

  “Okay, full-on accused.” Sam flattened her hand on his abdomen, which rippled under her palm. “She said she’s done with Gonzo, and I believed her.”

  “What would that mean for Alex?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t see her giving him up without a fight.”

  “Jeez.”

  A noise from outside the door had her sitting up and then reaching for the robe she’d placed on the end of the bed in case she had to get up during the night.

  “What?” Nick asked.

  “I heard something. I’m going to check on the kids.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  She had definitely heard something. “I’ll be right back.” Sam opened the bedroom door and Max glanced at her. “Did I hear something?”

  “I think one of the little ones is awake.”

  Sam went to look into Scotty’s room, where Alden was sitting up. She went to him. “Hey, buddy, are you okay?”

  He shook his head and popped his thumb into his mouth.

  Sam held out her arms, inviting him to let her comfort him.

  For a long moment, he only looked at her but didn’t move. Then he leaned forward.

  Sam picked him up, and he wrapped his arms and legs around her, clinging to her. She brought him back to her room and sat on the bed, holding him while he quivered. “It’s okay, honey,” she said softly. “You’re okay.”

  Nick pulled the covers over them.

  She gave him a grateful smile.

  Poor baby. He mouthed the words, so Alden wouldn’t hear him.

  Sam rubbed his back until Alden fell back to sleep, but she was awake for a long time after she got him settled back in bed, wondering what would become of the two children who’d lost the most important people in their lives.

  * * *

  GONZO DIDN’T KNOW where he was when he woke out of a sound sleep. He battled the mask on his face and frantically searched for the jacket that contained his medication. Where was his jacket? He started to sit up but realized he was attached to monitors and an IV. What the fuck was going on?

  “Mr. Gonzales,” a woman said as she came into the room, “you need to remain still, or you’ll disrupt your IV.”

  “I don’t need an IV.”

  “You do need it. You were badly dehydrated among other things when you came in. Your heart rate, respiration and blood pressure bottomed out.”

  “They did?” Why didn’t he remember any of this?

  “They did, and the doctor wants you to rest and take it easy while we rehydrate you and monitor your heart rate and blood pressure for the next twelve to twenty-four hours.”

  “I can’t be here that long. We have a new case, and I have to get back to work. And my son, he’s sick. I can’t do this right now.”

  “Mr. Gonzales, please. You need to relax.”

  A doctor came into the room, and Gonzo recognized him as Anderson, the E.R. doc who’d had numerous encounters with Sam. “Is there a problem, Sergeant?”

  “No,” Gonzo said, scowling. “No problem.”

  “If you could give us a minute,” Anderson said to the nurse.

  “Sure.” She left the room, the door closing behind her.

  Anderson pulled up a stool and sat, arms crossed, expression firm. “Want to tell me what’s been going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He referred to the chart he’d brought in with him. “Your blood work was positive for opiates. That and other symptoms have me wondering if you’re struggling with substance abuse.”

  “I’m on prescription painkillers for a back injury.”

 
“What’re you taking?”

  Gonzo licked lips gone dry all of a sudden. “Vicodin.”

  “Who prescribed them?”

  “I don’t remember the guy’s name. I saw him at one of those drop-in clinics.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know. Those clinics are everywhere. I don’t remember which one I went to.”

  “I’m going to be straight with you, Sergeant. Is that all right?”

  Gonzo eyed him warily. “I guess.”

  “I see opioid addicts in my E.R. every day. I know what opioid addiction looks like, how it presents, and your symptoms match up with what I see on a somewhat regular basis.”

  Gonzo stared at him as if he had two heads. “I am not an addict. I’m on a prescription for a back injury sustained on the job. Since when does that make someone an addict?”

  “When was the injury?”

  “July.”

  “Were you seen here?”

  “No. I told you, I went to a walk-in clinic a few weeks later when the pain didn’t go away.”

  “And you don’t remember the name of that clinic?”

  “No.” Gonzo maintained eye contact, refusing to blink or squirm or do anything that might make this worse than it already was. Inside, he panicked at the thought of his command somehow finding out that Anderson was accusing him of being a freaking addict. He was not an addict. He was in pain, and the meds helped. Wasn’t that what they were for?

  “What pharmacy do you use?”

  Feeling cornered, Gonzo tried to think of how best to answer that question. “I don’t know. My girlfriend takes care of that for me.”

  Anderson’s eyebrows went up. “You don’t know what pharmacy you use?”

  “I work a lot, as you know, because you see me here quite frequently. Most days I work ten or twelve hours, so yes, my girlfriend takes care of that kind of stuff for me because I don’t have time.” The scene with Christina from earlier came rushing back to remind him that he no longer had a girlfriend. “Or she did anyway.”

  “Past tense?”

  “She broke up with me.”

  “When?”

  “A couple of hours ago.”

  “How come?”

  “Is that information you need to diagnose my medical condition?”

  “Possibly.”

  “How so?”

  “It might help to explain some of your symptoms. I like that explanation a hell of a lot better than the possibility of you abusing pain medication.”

  Gonzo realized the breakup might be his way out of the pill inquisition. “She broke up with me because I haven’t been a very good boyfriend or father since my partner was killed on the job nine months ago.”

  “I was really sorry about Arnold. I knew him a little. He was a good guy.”

  “Yes, he was.” Gonzo gritted his teeth against the predictable blast of pain that seized him whenever he thought of his late partner.

  “It must be hard to deal with, even now, after all this time.”

  To Gonzo, it felt like it’d only been minutes since that awful night. Nine months. How was that possible? “It is.”

  “I’m not here to bust your balls, Sarge. But if you need help, you’d be far better off asking for it than developing a reliance on pain meds. Take my word for it, you don’t want to get hooked on that shit. Getting off it is a bitch.”

  At the thought of being cut off from the pills that provided the only relief he could find, Gonzo began to sweat. “I’m not hooked on anything. I just have a lot on my plate right now, and when my girlfriend dumped me... She’s the only mother my kid has ever known. It’s complicated. That’s all this was.”

  Anderson stared him down for a long moment before he finally nodded, scribbled something on the chart and stood. “I want you under observation for the next twelve hours. After that, you can go.”

  “I need to work. I’m on duty at seven.”

  “I’ll write you a note if you need it. I assume that dying would be inconvenient at this juncture in your life.”

  Despite the sarcastic delivery, the doctor’s warning had his attention. “Fine.”

  “Good. I’ll check on you later.”

  Carlucci and Dominguez came in as Anderson went out.

  “What’re you guys doing here?” Gonzo asked his colleagues.

  “Heard you were here and wanted to check on you,” Dominguez said.

  “Heard from who?”

  “The LT,” Carlucci said.

  Great, so Sam knows I’m in the hospital, he thought. Fuck. Christina must’ve heard about what happened and called her. That’s just great. “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Are they releasing you?” Dominguez asked.

  “I have to be monitored for twelve hours. Then they’ll release me. You can let Sam know I’ll be out tomorrow. Or I guess it’s today.”

  “We’ll tell her,” Carlucci said.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” Dominguez asked.

  “I’m fine. What’s the latest with the case?”

  “We got a positive ID on the fire victims, Jameson and Cleo Beauclair,” Dominguez said.

  “What took so long?”

  “He had teeth missing.”

  “I heard that,” Gonzo said. Some of the shit they experienced on this job would make a sane person crazy.

  He’d had reason to wonder over the last nine months if he’d be able to continue doing the job indefinitely after losing Arnold. When he heard things like what’d happened to the Beauclairs, he became even more uncertain about his future. Sometimes it was just too much. It was all too fucking much. “Will you ask Sam to have someone send me an update later, so I can keep up? I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

  “Will do.” Dominguez squeezed his shoulder. “Let us know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks for coming by.”

  For a long time after they left, Gonzo stared at the ceiling, the events of the last nine months running through his mind, taking him from the first seconds after Arnold was shot to the horrific gurgling noises that came from him in his final seconds of life to the awful task of telling Arnold’s parents to the funeral to the bleak aftermath of disaster in which nothing he had done had dulled the excruciating pain he’d lived with every second since that terrible night.

  Nothing, that is, except the pills. They helped. They got him through the day. They allowed him to function somewhat normally. He’d taken too many during a particularly awful day. That’s all this was. He could scale it back. That was doable. But giving them up completely?

  No way in hell could he do that.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JUST AFTER SIX O’CLOCK in the morning, a light knock on the bedroom door woke Sam from a sound sleep twenty minutes before her alarm was due to go off. Wanting Nick to sleep a while longer, she carefully got up, put on her robe, tied the belt and pushed the hair back from her face. She took her phone off the bedside charger, put it in the pocket of her robe and opened the door to Brant. Did he ever go home?

  “Very sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Cappuano, but we have a Dolores Finklestein from Child and Family Services at the checkpoint demanding to see you and the vice president immediately.”

  “All right,” Sam said, resigned to beginning a new day with a new challenge. “If you’ll let her in, we’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “Very good.”

  Sam closed the door and went to wake Nick. “Hey,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Wake up. CFS is here about the kids.”

  “What do they want?” he asked, mumbling as his eyes remained closed.

  “Probably to tell us that we went about this all wrong, and now they have to get involved.”

  “Great.” He sat up, ran his fingers through his hair and put an arm around her. �
�Are they going to take them?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Smiling, he kissed her temple. “That’s my tiger.”

  Sam went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair and then crossed the hall to her closet to change into yoga pants and a sweatshirt. As she stepped into the hall, Nick came out of their room wearing a navy sweater with faded jeans. Keeping her voice down so the agent outside Scotty’s room wouldn’t hear her, she said, “This would be a good time to pour on the sexy vice-presidential charm.”

  Nick scowled at her. “Whatever that is.”

  “It’s you being you. Women everywhere swoon in your presence. Make her swoon.”

  “Are you angling for a spanking, my love?”

  “Oh yes, please. Can we do that later?”

  “Samantha.” With his hand on her ass, he directed her toward the stairs. “Behave. I mean it. If you send me down there with a boner, she’ll have the kids out of here in five minutes.”

  Sam smothered a giggle that was busting to get out. She managed to maintain her decorum. Just barely.

  Dolores Finklestein had steel-gray hair, a stout shape and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

  Sam was immediately intimidated, which didn’t happen very often. “Mrs. Finklestein, I’m Samantha Cappuano.” She decided to play the second lady card since it suited her purposes. “This is my husband, Nick.”

  “It’s Ms. Finklestein, and it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” She shook both their hands and took the seat Sam offered.

  She and Nick sat on a love seat, and Sam reached for his hand, hoping to demonstrate their unity. “What can we do for you, ma’am?”

  Nick squeezed her hand, probably in response to her unusual deference toward authority.

  Whatever. She’d do what she had to in order to protect those sweet babies.

  “I understand that Aubrey and Alden Beauclair were released into your custody last night. I’m here to collect them.”

  “Ah, collect them?” Sam asked, her mouth suddenly dry as she glanced at Nick.