Fatal Reckoning Page 14

  “Aw, babe, that’s very sweet of you.”

  “So maybe I would live in sin, but I wouldn’t get married again.”

  With his hands on her face, he kissed her. “No matter what happens, I’d want you to do whatever it took to be happy. I don’t care what that entails. Just be happy, Samantha.”

  “I could never, ever, ever be truly happy again without you.”

  “Yes, you could.”

  “No, I really couldn’t, so please don’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you, but in light of what we do for a living and the crazy-ass world we live in, I think it’s important that we have this conversation.”

  “Maybe so, but I hope you’re not expecting me to sleep tonight as I contemplate the horror of life without you.”

  “Sounds like I need to make sure you’re completely exhausted by your very much alive husband so you’ll get the sleep you need.” He rolled her under him and kissed her more intently.

  She responded to him the way she always did, body and soul, but as he removed her pajamas and made love to her, the morbid conversation and the feelings of dread stayed with her long after they reached a highly satisfying conclusion. Sam fell into restless sleep plagued by worst-case scenarios.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AS PLANNED, FREDDIE picked her up at six thirty the next morning, and they stopped to pick up his car where they’d left it the day before in Adams Morgan. Sam was grouchy and out of sorts after a rough night of disturbing dreams—or rather, nightmares. Because if any of them ever came to fruition, they would be her worst nightmare come true. She understood why Nick had wanted to talk about what they would do if the worst possible thing happened, but the dreadful topic had left a pit in her gut that she rubbed anxiously as she settled into her office and fired up her computer.

  Somehow she was managing to survive losing her dad. Despite what she’d said to Nick last night, she’d never survive losing him. Life as she knew it would be over without him. She’d give up everything but Scotty. Aubrey and Alden would have to go somewhere where they could be properly loved, because she wouldn’t have it in her.

  “Stop.” She said the word out loud, hoping her spinning mind would hear and take heed.

  Dr. Trulo came into her office. “What are we stopping?”

  “My disturbing thoughts.”

  “Why are you having disturbing thoughts? Other than the obvious, of course.”

  She waved him all the way in and gestured for him to close the door. “Last night, Nick wanted to talk about what we’d do if the worst thing happened to either of us.”

  “Oh.” Trulo took a seat in her visitor’s chair. “I take it that left you feeling anxious.”

  “That’s one word for how it left me feeling.”

  “It’s a tough topic, but one that should be addressed in a marriage, especially one as high profile as yours.”

  “I suppose.”

  “It’s unthinkable, right?”

  “Completely.”

  “Last week, it was unthinkable that you could lose your father, and here we are. Somehow life goes on.”

  “Not if Nick dies, it doesn’t.”

  “Yes, it will. Whether you want it to or not.”

  Sam put her hands over her ears and shook her head.

  Trulo chuckled. “If there’s a cost to having great love in our lives, it’s the fear of losing it.”

  “Leave it to you to sum it up in one sentence.”

  “Why, thank you. That’s my job. Nick is showing you how much he loves you by making sure you’d be okay if the worst thing should happen. I’m sure that’s his only concern.”

  “It is. And vice versa, as long as he’s not too happy with my replacement.”

  Trulo laughed hard at that. “Which I’m sure you mentioned.”

  “Duh.”

  “I know it’s hard when you’ve allowed yourself to entertain a worst-case scenario, but you should put it out of your mind. You had the conversation. Now you need to convince yourself that it was just a conversation. It hasn’t actually happened, and there’s no reason to believe it will.”

  “Working on that.” She offered a wan smile. “This helps, thanks. I assume you didn’t come down to talk about my doomsday prophecy.”

  “I didn’t, but I’m always glad to help you. I hope you know that.”

  “I do, and I appreciate it.”

  “I came to talk about your support group idea. I can’t stop thinking about it since you brought it up.”

  “It’s been on my mind a lot too.”

  “In my experience, whenever I get something in my head that won’t get out, that means it’s an idea I need to pursue.”

  “I agree. Is it something we need to run up the flagpole before we go any further?”

  “Probably, but I expect it’d be well received. But I was thinking...and tell me if this is way out of line...”

  Intrigued, Sam said, “I’m listening.”

  “What if we did it in conjunction with both your roles—as the lieutenant of the Homicide division and as second lady?”

  She mulled that over. “I wouldn’t want to do something like this for the attention it would bring to me.”

  “Understood, but I think it could help to shine the light on the fallout of violent crime, the people who’re left behind. It could also help to promote your efforts as second lady to support law enforcement. I don’t want to pressure you to do something you aren’t comfortable with. Think about it and let me know. In the meantime, I’ll run the idea up the flagpole, giving you full credit, of course.”

  She waved that off. “I don’t care about the credit.”

  “You deserve the credit for a brilliant idea. I can see this becoming a national effort to better support the victims we encounter on the job—and to better support the law enforcement officers, like Sergeant Gonzales and Detective McBride—who suffer in the aftermath of things they experienced on the job.”

  Sam nodded. “Our culture encourages officers to keep their suffering to themselves or run the risk of encountering trouble on the job. That’s another thing I’d like to address through this group.”

  “That stigma is something I spend a lot of time on a daily basis to overcome with the officers I work with. Anything we can do to bring attention to the very real traumas police officers face on the job would be beneficial.”

  “I’ll talk to my team at the White House—and yes, it’s still weird to say that sentence.”

  Trulo laughed. “I can’t imagine that sentence ever gets routine.”

  “It won’t for me. That’s for sure. But I’ll get some opinions and let you know.”

  “Let’s keep in touch about this—and the trial.”

  At the reminder of Stahl’s upcoming trial, Sam sagged into her chair. “Don’t remind me.”

  “You could ask Faith to request a continuance. The judge would take into consideration your recent loss.”

  “I want to get it over with, so I never have to think about him again. The sooner the better.”

  “Come see me if you need to before you testify.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Not that long ago, she would’ve dodged him, made excuses, gone out of her way to avoid anything that smacked of headshrinking. However, having seen the benefit of therapy after Stahl attacked her, she was thankful to know Trulo was available if she needed help in weathering this next storm.

  “Speaking of Stahl.” Sam checked her watch. “I have an appointment with Faith Miller in three minutes.”

  Trulo stood. “I’ll let you get ready for that. I’ll be in touch.” He smiled and winked on his way out the door.

  Sam shook her head in amusement. The doctor who’d once represented a formidable obstacle to returning to duty had become a trusted friend and co
lleague since he helped her find a way through the nightmare of being kidnapped, attacked and certain she was going to die at the hands of her former lieutenant. Stahl hated her for being Skip’s daughter, for being good at her job, for being well regarded by her fellow officers, and who knows what other reasons had twisted his mind to the point that he could wrap her in razor wire and threaten to set her on fire.

  She shuddered thinking about that day and the absolute certainty that she would never see Nick, Scotty or her beloved family again.

  A knock on the door had her looking up at Faith, who, like her identical triplet sisters, had soft brown hair, green eyes and a curvy figure. As always, she wore a sharp suit with her signature stiletto heels.

  “Come in.”

  Faith stepped into the office and closed the door.

  Sam wanted to know what her team was doing in the conference room and what was happening with Conklin, but she had to endure this meeting before she could get back to what she should be doing.

  “How’re you doing?”

  “Just great.” Sam poured on the sarcasm. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting for days.”

  Faith laughed. “I’m sure. Sorry that we have to do it, but you know the drill by now.”

  “All too well.”

  Having their story straight and her testimony rock-solid would be critical to ensuring Stahl never saw the light of day again. She would do anything she could to make sure of that.

  It took ninety minutes to go through the testimony step by step.

  Sam recited the facts of the two times Stahl had attacked her from memories she would never forget. In some ways, testifying had never been simpler. She’d lived every second of it, done everything she could to survive and went through the details one after the other in response to Faith’s strategic questions.

  “I think we’re ready,” Faith finally declared.

  Sam’s stomach hurt, and a headache had settled over her left eye. Talking about shit she’d much sooner forget never came naturally, but it was a necessary evil in situations like this. Underline the word evil.

  “You’re going to be great. The key thing, as you know, is to not let his presence in the courtroom get to you. After you identify him, don’t look at him again.”

  “I won’t, don’t worry. He’s the last thing I ever want to look at.” Her plan was to look directly at Nick, who’d vowed to be in the front row when she testified, as much as she wished he wouldn’t come. He’d never let her go through that without him, but it pained her to think of him hearing those details again. That day had been worse for him, in many ways, than it had been for her.

  Faith put her legal pads and pens in her tote bag and stood to leave. “I wanted to say that I thought the services for your dad were amazing, and your eulogy was so...” She shook her head, grimacing when tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make it about me, but losing him has been hard for a lot of us. I hope you know that.”

  “I do and I appreciate the affection directed his way and mine.”

  “We loved him, Sam. Everyone loved him. He was so nice to my sisters and me when we started at the USA’s office. We were young and green and learning the ropes, and he was endlessly patient with us, answering questions and generally helping us in any way he could.”

  Sam had never heard that before but certainly wasn’t surprised. “That sounds like him.”

  “I remember the last time I saw him before the shooting. I had a meeting with the chief and when I came out your dad was in the lobby talking to Helen. He was making her laugh, and I just remember thinking what a great guy he was. He had that messenger bag he used to carry...”

  “We called it the man purse.”

  “Yes!” Faith laughed. “Everyone teased him about it, but he wore it like part of his uniform across his chest. He cracked a joke about running late for happy hour at O’Leary’s that made us laugh. The next time I saw him, months later, he was in that chair and...” She released a deep breath. “I loved him. I just wanted you to know that.”

  Sam got up, came around the desk and hugged Faith. “Thank you so much for telling me that.”

  “I hope you know how much we all wish there was something we could do to make this easier for you.”

  “I do know, and it’s very much appreciated. We’ve been amazed and overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support.”

  “He deserves every bit of respect and admiration we can give him.”

  “I agree.”

  Faith took a deep breath, recovered her composure and offered a small smile. “I’ll see you in court, if not before.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Faith left and Sam gave herself a minute to regroup to prepare to join her team in the conference room. Faith’s memories of Skip had touched her deeply. In the years since his injury, it had been difficult at times to remember how he’d been before the shooting. But she could picture the scene Faith had described—Skip making everyone laugh as he took off for an end-of-shift drink with whoever showed up to join him at O’Leary’s. On many a day, Sam had been one of the officers bellied up to the bar with him, constantly reminding him not to call her baby girl in front of their colleagues.

  He would laugh and remind her that she’d always be his baby girl and anyone who had a problem with that could kiss his ass. If he hadn’t fully comprehended how difficult it could be for her in a department in which her father was the number two officer, well, he’d had far more positive qualities than negative. His greatest “sin” in her mind had been wanting to make things easier for her, which was one thing they had argued about. She hadn’t wanted any special treatment—ever. But he didn’t know any other way to treat her but specially. It had been their one major bone of contention in a lifetime as soul mates.

  Her throat tightened as a swell of emotion blindsided her. Not here. Not in the office. Not now. Remembering him as the tall, strong, robust, muscular man he’d once been made her burn to find the person who’d taken that and so many other things from him and the rest of them. Faith’s mention of the man purse reminded her of days she hadn’t thought about in a very long time. She’d been too busy coping with the new normal that had followed his injury to think of the little things that had made up their routine before the shooting.

  Determined to soldier through, to stay focused on the case and the new leads that were continuing to pour in, she gathered up her notes and the personal files she’d kept since the shooting and started for the conference room, stopping short halfway there.

  The man purse.

  Where was the man purse? Feeling as if her body had been plugged into an electrical outlet, she forced herself to move, to go into the conference room, where the others were reading and talking as Cruz added info to one of the big dry-erase boards they used to detail their cases. Murder boards, they called them. There was now a murder board for her father, complete with photos of Skip before and after the shooting.

  They stopped what they were doing when she came in. “Where’s my father’s...”

  Freddie pointed to a box on the floor.

  Sam knelt next to it and took the lid off to begin going through the family photos, awards, citations and other items that were taken from his office after he was medically retired. The bag wasn’t in there, but why would it be? It had been with him at the time of the shooting. So where was it now?

  She stood so quickly she experienced a head rush. “I’ll be back.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “I need to go home.” She headed for the door, aware they were watching her the way they would a lunatic.

  “Sam!” Freddie followed her. “What’s going on?”

  “I—I’ll be back.” Had she ever seen the man purse again after that day? She couldn’t recall, and the not knowing would make her crazy until she found it. Maybe it was nothing, bu
t until she knew for sure, she had to find it. In her office, she grabbed her keys and ran for the morgue exit, aware of Freddie giving chase.

  They pushed through the double doors into the chilly autumn breeze. “What’s wrong?”

  She’d forgotten her jacket but wouldn’t be going back for it. As she jumped into the driver’s side of her black BMW, Freddie got in the passenger seat, barely closing the door before she peeled out of the parking lot and pointed the car toward Capitol Hill.

  “Tell me. You’re freaking me out.”

  “My dad carried a messenger bag to and from work.”

  “Okay...”

  “Faith said something about it earlier, and I told her we used to call it the man purse.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “He took a lot of ribbing about that bag.”

  “So what’s that got to do with where we’re going?”

  “I can’t say for certain that I’ve seen that bag since the shooting.”

  He gasped. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. May be nothing. May be something.” She tightened her grip on the wheel, frustrated and furious with herself for not thinking of it sooner.

  “Don’t, Sam.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t be thinking that you should’ve thought of the bag before now.”

  “Well, I fucking should have! He had it with him every goddamned day!”

  “I’ve asked you not to use the Lord’s name in vain.”

  “Has there ever been a better time for a good goddamn?”

  “Sam!”

  “Well, has there? What if all this time...”

  “Stop. Don’t go there until you know. There’s no point in speculating.”

  She drove faster than she should have, dodging in and out of traffic, refusing to let anything as ridiculous as traffic keep her from getting to Ninth Street as quickly as she could. Swerving to avoid a car, she nearly took out a woman pushing a stroller in a crosswalk.

  “Sam...” Freddie grasped the handle above the passenger window. “Slow down, will you? The last thing we need is more paperwork if you kill someone.”