Fatal Reckoning Read online

Without looking up, Hill nodded. “He interned with me out of grad school. I helped him get the job at the DEA. He was brilliant. One of the best up-and-coming federal agents I ever worked with. He was going to do big things.”

  Lieutenant Archelotta came into the pit, looking pale and shocked. “Pat Connolly was murdered?”

  “You knew him too?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah. He was in IT at the DEA. We worked together several times, and I knew him also through an IT association for LEOs.” He used the acronym for law enforcement officers. “He was...”

  “Brilliant,” Avery said again.

  “Indeed,” Archie said. “I can’t believe it. And he just got married.”

  “His wife was here,” Sam said. “It was dreadful.”

  Archie groaned. “Ugh.”

  They were still standing there when Freddie, Cameron and Jeannie came into the pit, looking tired and spent.

  “The shooter is in Booking,” Freddie said.

  “Thanks for a great job, all of you,” Sam said.

  “We had some good help from people who saw it go down,” Cameron said.

  “We’ll need to make a statement to the press,” Malone said to Sam. “Can you do that and then I’ll meet you in the locker?”

  “Yeah, okay.” She conferred with Freddie, wrote down the pertinent info and scanned the rap sheet that Jeannie printed out, detailing the lengthy criminal record of the man charged with shooting Connolly. “What the hell was this guy still doing on the streets?”

  “That’s a very good question.” Cameron sounded frustrated. “And now an innocent guy is dead. It’s so fucking wrong.”

  Sam had never heard the überprofessional Green drop an f-bomb. “Yes, it is, but at least we got swift justice for his family.”

  “Cold comfort,” Freddie said.

  “Let’s call it a day here and pick up my dad’s case in the morning.” Sam had a feeling she wouldn’t get much out of them at this point in the day. “Thanks for your good work on behalf of Agent Connolly.” While they prepared to leave, she headed for the lobby to make a statement to the press. When they saw her coming, they snapped to attention. Before they could begin shouting questions at her, Sam stepped up to the podium.

  “At just after two thirty eastern time today, thirty-one-year-old Drug Enforcement Administration Agent Patrick Connolly was killed instantly by a bullet discharged from a weapon fired during an altercation between two men. Agent Connolly, who was on the sidewalk across the street, was shot in the chest. James Zander, who is well-known to the MPD and has a lengthy record, was arrested a short time later by Homicide detectives who credit eyewitnesses for assisting in the speedy resolution of this case. Mr. Zander will be charged with one count of felony murder, and I expect that additional gun charges will be filed by the U.S. Attorney. Agent Connolly was newly married and leaves his wife, Veronica. He was described by colleagues as brilliant in the area of information technology as it pertains to criminal investigations. That’s all I have at this time.”

  She ignored their shouted questions as she turned to go back inside to meet Malone in the evidence locker, where he was already working.

  “This is everything from that December.” He gestured to a shelf in the vast storage area where he’d removed several boxes and plastic tubs from the shelf. “How’d the statement go?”

  “Fine.”

  “Another tough one, huh?”

  “They’re all tough, but some are worse than others, such as the well-respected and newly married DEA agent who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “You want to pick this up tomorrow?”

  “No, I’d like to get it done.”

  They spent two hours going through every piece of evidence collected during the month of her father’s shooting, as well as the items from the month after, but there was no sign of the bag. “Where would it be?” Sam wanted to punch something.

  “Tomorrow, you should interview the first responders who were on the scene. One of them might remember seeing it.”

  “We’ll start there. Thanks for the help in here.”

  They put the room back to rights before heading out. When she was in the car, Sam placed a call to Nick, who answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, babe.”

  The sound of his voice filled her with relief. “Are you still at work?”

  “Yep. You?”

  “Just leaving. Are you heading home anytime soon?”

  “Not quite yet.” He sounded tired and stressed.

  “You mind if I stop by?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  Sam smiled. He was so damned sweet. “I don’t want to interrupt world domination or anything.”

  “Please come and interrupt me. I just got out of a budget meeting that made my head hurt and gave me heartburn. No end in sight for this continuing resolution that’s running the government at the moment.”

  “I don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to know, but I’m sorry about the headache and the heartburn. I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SAM LEFT HQ and directed the car through rush-hour traffic as she made her way to Pennsylvania Avenue to go to her husband’s office at the White House. And yes, that sentence still made her want to giggle madly nearly a year after he’d accepted the president’s invitation to be his new vice president. They’d had no idea then the many changes his new role would bring to their lives, primarily the security that surrounded Nick and Scotty at all times.

  That had been quite an adjustment, to say the least, not to mention that it took thirty minutes for Nick to leave the house. He hated that, and so did she. They both missed the ability to be spontaneous, to come and go as they pleased, to operate in the anonymity people took for granted until they lost it forever.

  At the White House gate, she was waved through. After all, she was the second lady—another thought that still made her laugh. She was probably the worst second lady in history, but she was also considered a trendsetter for continuing in her job, without Secret Service protection, while her husband was in office.

  Coming here was almost routine at this point. Underline the word almost. It would always be surreal to swing by the White House to see her husband during his workday. She even had her own parking space. Hilarious. Inside the West Wing, she made her way to Nick’s office, nodding at people who recognized her and said, “Hello, Mrs. Cappuano,” as she went by. Here, she was Mrs. Cappuano, and that was fine with her when not that long ago she would’ve chafed at being Mrs. Anything. She’d never changed her name after she married Peter, a topic that had caused conflict between them, but then again, everything had caused conflict between them.

  She’d happily changed her legal name when she married Nick, probably because she knew this marriage was forever whereas the first time around had been a mess from the get-go. Marrying Peter when she’d been pining for Nick had been among the biggest mistakes of her life. And then when she’d learned that the reason she’d never seen Nick again was because Peter hadn’t given her his messages...

  God, she couldn’t think about that without her blood boiling, even after all the time she’d been back together with Nick. She’d never forgive Peter for what he’d denied her and Nick with his lies and deceit. He was gone now, a victim of murder at the hands of someone who’d been trying to discredit her and Nick, and while she was sad for the way his life had ended, she remained bitter about the hell he’d put her—and Nick—through.

  Outside Nick’s office, one of the admins—Sam could never remember all their names—smiled and told her to go on in. “He’s expecting you.”

  Three little words that made her heart flutter with anticipation, knowing he was on the other side of the door and that he’d taken the time to tell his staff she was coming. She ope
ned the door and stepped inside.

  He was behind the big desk that had belonged to another vice president—she forgot which one—and looked up at her, smiling.

  God, that smile, that face, those eyes... She loved him unreasonably.

  He got up and came around the desk, holding out his arms to her.

  She went to him, let him wrap her up in his warm, loving embrace and immediately felt better.

  “This is a nice surprise.” He kissed the top of her head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?”

  “I needed this.” She held on tighter, and so did he.

  “I’m always happy to provide this.”

  They stood that way, wrapped up in each other, for a long time before he guided her to the sofa and brought her down on his lap. “What’s wrong? Besides the obvious, of course.”

  “Tough homicide today. A newly married, highly respected DEA agent cut down by a stray bullet fired during an argument across the street.”

  “Ah, God. That’s awful.”

  “It was awful. The poor wife. She works with Darren, so he took me to her.” Sam shook her head. Recalling Roni’s awful shock and grief was unbearable. “It was bad.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that so soon after your own shocking loss.”

  “It’s not about me.”

  “They’re all about you, Sam. You take them all personally, which makes you damned good at your job.”

  “I guess. It’s just so fucking sad. I kept thinking that she had her whole life figured out, and then it’s just gone in the blink of an eye.” She glanced at him. “Even though we played worst-case scenario last night, I don’t know how I would ever deal with that if it happened to me.”

  “It won’t.”

  “Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I never do. Kiss me.”

  She knew he was trying to change the subject, to take her mind off the pervasive sadness, but she never said no to kissing him. Her lips connected with his, which was all it took to make her want much more than she was going to get while they were in his office. He leaned his forehead against hers, stroking his fingers through her hair and generally making everything that was wrong in her world right again just by caring so much.

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting, babe.”

  “Lots of people are hurting.”

  “I’m sorry you are hurting.”

  “I’ve been talking to Dr. Trulo about maybe doing something for people like the woman today, something to support them more than we do now.”

  “Like what?”

  “A support group, maybe, for the victims that’re left behind when someone is murdered.”

  “That’d be amazing.”

  “He suggested I do it as both the Homicide squad commander and as second lady. He thought it might become a national movement if I lend my lofty title to it. What would you think of that?”

  “I think that’s a fantastic idea on his part—and yours.”

  “It’s in the earliest stages, but this thing today brought home again how badly it’s needed. I took her to see her husband at the morgue, and in most cases, I wouldn’t see her again until the case goes to trial. The thought of being able to do something more for her and so many others is very appealing to me.”

  “I love it. You’d help a lot of people even more than you already do with something like this.”

  “Perhaps I’d also help myself at the same time.”

  “No doubt.” He guided her head to his shoulder. “I know you have to be missing him something fierce.”

  “I am but working on his case again is helping. We’re actually making a little headway.”

  “Wouldn’t it be something...”

  “Yes, it would.”

  “What’s the latest with Conklin?”

  “Farnsworth and Malone are investigating that personally and were able to prove that Davis called Conklin every year on the anniversary of my father’s shooting.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Farnsworth is taking it right to Tom Forrester.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “What I don’t get is why he would keep that from the rest of us. I can’t stop asking why.”

  “It’s possible the answer to that question might be the break you’ve been waiting for.”

  “Maybe, but at what cost? You know? What was Conklin involved with that was more important than getting justice for my dad?”

  “If anyone can figure out the answer to that question, you can.”

  “It’s going to come down to money, power or sex. If you’re looking for motive in most crimes, it usually involves one of those three things. Part of me doesn’t want to know.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I should go so you can get back to work and finish up.”

  “I can take work home with me. I’ve had enough of this place today.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “The budget crap is draining.”

  “And? What else?”

  His deep sigh put her on immediate alert. “There’re apparently some major rumblings from the other side of the aisle about us taking in two kids who’ll require Secret Service protection at taxpayer expense.”

  “Seriously? What if we’d had twins of our own when you were in office?”

  “From what I hear, that would be viewed differently than volunteering to take in other people’s children.”

  “That’s such bullshit. We have the right to expand our family if we choose to.”

  “And that’s exactly what I told Terry to pass along to those who have objections.”

  “How big of a deal is this going to be?”

  “We’ve had reporters from CNN, NBC, the Washington Post and the New York Times call for statements today.”

  Sam experienced a sinking feeling at realizing it would be a very big deal with those outlets nosing around. “What did you tell them?”

  “The same thing you just said—that we have the right to expand our family at any time, even when I’m in office, and that we also have the right to have our family protected from people who’d do us harm simply because of the office I hold. Terry thinks it’s going to be a bit of a thing.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? You haven’t done anything.”

  “I brought home two kids without a thought as to what it could mean for all of us.”

  “And I’d certainly hope if you had it to do over again, you’d do exactly the same thing despite any heartburn it might cause us. As I’ve said repeatedly—our heartburn is nothing compared to their heartache.”

  “I love you so much, Nick. All the time, but the way you’ve gone to bat for two kids who aren’t yours makes me love you even more than I already did.”

  “Same goes, babe. I love the way you saw them and had to help. I’ll never regret stepping up for them.”

  “Even if there’s a massive shitstorm?”

  “Even then. Especially then.” He kissed her again. “Let’s get the hell out of here and go home to our family.”

  * * *

  HOURS LATER, AFTER spending quality time with the kids, which included lasagna for dinner and a competitive game of Candy Land that Scotty had won, baths, bedtime stories and a few tears from two little ones, who were still missing their beloved parents, Sam curled up to Nick in bed, exhausted and drained.

  He caressed her arm as she breathed in the familiar scent of him, the scent of home. “I used to dream about having what we do now,” he said. “A family to call my own. There’s nothing else quite like it.”

  “No, there really isn’t. I just worry about what’ll happen when Elijah finishes school.”

  “You want my prediction?”

  Sam eyed him with surprise. “You ha
ve one?”

  “Babe, you know me. I’m always thinking ten steps ahead, and my guess is by the time he graduates, the kids will be so settled with us, he wouldn’t dream of disrupting them. And besides, he’s going to be a twenty-two-year-old recent college grad. What’s he going to do with two seven-year-olds?”

  “Don’t forget that recent college grad will have billions at his disposal. He could pay for whatever help he needs.”

  “Granted, but he won’t want to disrupt them—again. They’re not going anywhere, Samantha. If we want them, and I think we both agree that we do, they’ll be with us until they leave home.”

  “I’m afraid to hope for that, only to be disappointed when he comes to collect them. What if he does want them when he graduates? Maybe we should talk to him about that at some point.”

  He sighed. “Probably.”

  “So how big of a shitstorm are we looking at over the Secret Service issue?”

  “Trevor just texted that he had thirty inquiries about it today alone,” Nick said, referring to his communications director.

  “Damn it.”

  “Don’t worry about. We’ll handle it, and it’ll blow over like everything always does.”

  “I thought the outpouring of sympathy for the loss of my dad would last a little longer than it did.”

  “I’m sorry if something to do with my job is cutting short the mourning for him. You know I’d never want that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry you’re sad tonight.”

  “For people I don’t even know.”

  “It’s a very sad thing.”

  “Yeah, for sure.” As she wallowed in the loving embrace of her beloved husband, Sam thought of Roni and ached for her.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Joe Farnsworth arrived ten minutes early for his eight o’clock appointment with Tom Forrester. The admin offered him coffee, which Joe gratefully accepted. He’d had another sleepless night as his mind raced with the potential implications of what he’d come to discuss with Forrester.

  If he allowed himself to delve too deeply into the why or how of Conklin’s actions, he would lose his mind. That his closest aid and longtime friend could’ve kept something like this out of the official reporting of Skip’s shooting and then continued to hide it for four years... The job of chief often overwhelmed him, but few things had ever hit him as hard as this had.