Fatal Flaw Read online

  “You’re okay, baby,” he whispered as his lips brushed her forehead. “You’re safe. You’re loved. Everything is just fine.”

  Tears spilled from her tightly closed eyes, wetting his chest and her face. He’d been so good. So patient. So understanding. She wanted to give something back to him, to regain some of what they’d lost at the hands of a monster. If only she could be sure it wouldn’t somehow make things worse.

  Tentatively, she moved her hand over his chest to find his abdominal muscles rigid with tension.

  “Jeannie?”

  If she spoke, if she said a single word, she might lose her nerve. So she stayed quiet as her hand relearned the body she had come to know so well—as well as her own.

  Michael stayed so still she wondered if he was breathing.

  Even as she caressed him, the tears continued to leak from her eyes. Summoning the courage to continue, she sent her hand under the covers. She found him fully erect and throbbing.

  “Sorry,” he said through what sound like gritted teeth. “Can’t help—”

  “It’s okay.” She raised herself up to trail kisses over his stomach as she stroked him.

  He sucked in a sharp deep breath when he realized her intention. “Jeannie, honey, you don’t have to…Oh…Jesus.”

  Taking him into her mouth, she used her tongue the way he liked, all the while telling herself this was not the man who had hurt her. This was the man who loved her, who had stood by her through the darkest days of her life. This was the man she loved. She let her hair cover her face so he wouldn’t see the tears that kept coming despite her desire to get through this without them.

  “Oh, that’s good, baby. So good.” His fingers combed through her hair, encouraging her, but the rest of him remained still—even his hips, which would normally be contributing to this act. Without moving a muscle, he gave her exactly what she needed. Total control.

  Jeannie had forgotten the power that came with taking a man in her mouth, of bringing him pleasure with her lips and tongue and hand.

  “Jeannie…”

  She recognized the note of warning in his tone.

  “It’s been so long…I can’t…”

  Rather than retreat, she used her free hand to cup his balls and lightly squeeze, sending him—as she knew it would—into intense release.

  His chest expanded with each deep breath he took as she kissed her way to his lips. Strong arms encircled her, again not too tight, not confining. “Wow,” he said after a long period of silence. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  “Are you complaining?” she asked, attempting a playful tone.

  “No. No complaints.” He ran his hands over her back, soothing rather than seducing. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve been right here.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t apologize.” Brushing the dampness from her cheeks, he studied her face. “Could I…maybe…return the favor?”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “We could take it super slow. So slow.”

  She could see the yearning in his face and hear it in his voice. “What if I can’t?”

  “Then we stop and try again another time. And we keep trying until you don’t feel the need to stop.”

  Her damned eyes filled again, and Jeannie brushed impatiently at the tears. They were putting a damper on her attempt to reclaim this important part of her life.

  “Hey,” he said, using his thumbs to sweep away the tears. “We don’t have to.”

  “I want to. Just ignore the tears. I can’t seem to stop them.”

  With his big hands framing her face, he kissed her gently. When she thought of the devouring way he used to kiss her, his show of restraint made her sad once again for all they’d lost. But they would get it back. If it took the rest of their lives, they would find their way. That determination was new and, perhaps, an indication she might be recovering a small bit of who she’d once been.

  “I want to turn over,” he said. “Can we do that?”

  The new position would put him above her, over her.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he said, tuning into her immediate anxiety.

  “No, we can.” She rolled off him and settled on her back, looking up at him.

  He stayed on his side, his head propped on a pillow as he placed his hand on her quivering belly. “Just say stop,” he said softly. “At any point.”

  Jeannie bit her bottom lip and nodded as his hand began to move. Even though this man’s touch couldn’t be confused with that of any other, she kept her eyes open so there would be no mistaking whose hand took a slow journey over her belly, arm and neck. He made the same patient trip three times before he included her breast.

  She reminded herself that she knew exactly whose hand caressed her, whose fingers coaxed her nipple to life, and this man loved her. Despite her best efforts to control the panic and keep it from taking over, it closed in on her anyway. As if an elephant were suddenly sitting on her chest, Jeannie fought for every breath.

  Michael quickly removed his hand. “Breathe, honey.”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to get any air to her lungs.

  He grabbed her shoulders, forced her to sit up and gave her a gentle but insistent shake. “Breathe!”

  Spots danced before her eyes, and then as suddenly as the panic had seized her, it let her go. She sucked in deep, gulping breaths, grateful for every one.

  “Christ almighty,” Michael whispered as he reached for her.

  Despite her fear of the panic, she clung to him. “Sorry,” she said when she could speak again.

  “No, no. It was me. Too much too soon. I shouldn’t have—”

  Jeannie tightened her arms around him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I thought I was ready.”

  Now she had reason to wonder if she’d ever be ready. And if she eventually got there, would he still be waiting?

  Chapter 8

  On the way to pick up the card from Jeannie in the morning, Sam’s thoughts were full of her father and his rapidly deteriorating health. She’d been alarmed earlier to see how much sicker he’d gotten overnight. Celia had assured Sam that she would be taking him to the doctor first thing, and there was no need for Sam to stay home from work—except she probably should have because she’d be good for nothing today. Listening to him struggle for every breath had filled her with overwhelming anxiety.

  She knocked on Jeannie’s door, wondering if she should’ve called first. Probably. Hearing the series of deadbolts disengaging, she stood up a little straighter, trying to shake off the dread that hung over her after seeing her dad.

  The door swung open, and Sam was sorry to see that Jeannie looked like she hadn’t slept a wink.

  “Come in.” She led Sam to the dining room table where the nonthreatening cards had been boxed up. “Here’s the one.” Jeannie had opened the card before she put it into the evidence bag so Sam was able to read both sides.

  A chill traveled through her as she read the message. The “bang bang you’re dead” line certainly got her attention. Nick would be so vulnerable on the campaign trail.

  “Why would someone do this to you guys?” Jeannie said. “I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do we.”

  Jeannie went into the living room and sat on the sofa, curling her legs under her. “So what’s the next step?”

  “I suppose I have to inform the brass.”

  “And arrange for some sort of security for Nick, I hope.”

  “It’s on the agenda.” Sam sat in the chair across from Jeannie. “Everything okay?”

  Jeannie shrugged. “Define okay.”

  “I, um…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jeannie said, waving her hand.

  “If there’s something you want to talk about, you know you can talk to me.”

  Jeannie shook her head. “You don’t want to talk about this. You want
to get that card and get the hell out of here so you can start figuring out who’s threatening you and your husband.”

  “I’ll admit I’m quite anxious to start looking into that, but if you want to talk, I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”

  Jeannie eyed the lieutenant suspiciously for a long moment. “Why do you suppose we were never really friends? Before?”

  Sam relaxed into the chair, resigned to sticking around for a while. “I, ah, I don’t know, but I suspect it probably was more a failing on my part than yours.”

  Laughing, Jeannie said, “I’d have to agree with you there.”

  Even as she raised her middle finger in protest, Sam was relieved to hear her detective’s laughter again. “Since we’re BFFs now, why don’t you tell me what’s got you so down when you seemed to actually be doing a little better.”

  Jeannie brushed a hand over her black yoga pants. “I was doing better, or I thought I was, until I tried to…you know…with Michael.”

  Sam winced. “What happened?”

  “I freaked out. Hyperventilated. It was quite a show.”

  Sam wanted to say the right thing, but damned if she had any idea what the right thing was. “I know it’s not the same—at all—but Nick and I had a heck of a time getting back on track in that regard after I miscarried.”

  Jeannie gasped. “When did you miscarry?”

  Sam wanted to shoot herself for bringing it up, because confronting the man who’d attacked Jeannie had led to the miscarriage. She knew she needed to tell her detective the truth before she heard it from someone else. “When I arrested Sanborn, I caught an elbow to the gut. One thing led to another.” Sam shrugged. “I was barely pregnant, but it knocked us for a loop.”

  “Oh, God. No one told me.” Jeannie shuddered. “That bastard. What he took from both of us…”

  Sam leaned forward, arms propped on knees. “He took a lot from us. No question about that. But we have to try to keep living our lives so we don’t let him win.”

  “I know that, and I’m trying,” Jeannie said. She paused before she added, “I thought you couldn’t get pregnant.”

  “That’s what I thought too. Surprise.”

  “Oh, Sam! That’s great news! You can try again. When you’re ready.”

  Trying again was the last thing she wanted to talk about. “The point is, it takes a while to get back in the saddle after something traumatic happens—especially what happened to you.”

  “How long will it be before Michael decides he’s had enough of waiting for me to get better?”

  “I doubt he’s put a time limit on it.”

  “He has to be getting sick of having me moping around his house.”

  “Then why don’t you get dressed and come to work with me for a while?”

  “Oh. I don’t think I could.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just…I’m not ready.”

  Even though she was dying to get to work, Sam crossed her legs, folded her arms and got comfortable.

  “Don’t you want to get going?” Jeannie asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, then go already!”

  “My dad is sick.”

  Clearly startled by the sudden change in direction, Jeannie sat up a little straighter. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I suspect we’re going to hear he has pneumonia when Celia gets him to the doctor this morning.”

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Pneumonia is doubly complicated for a quadriplegic.”

  “I can only imagine. You must be freaking out.”

  “I’m trying not to,” Sam conceded. “Do you remember the Tyler Fitzgerald case?”

  Seeming puzzled by the shifting conversation, Jeannie thought for a moment. “The boy who was nabbed from a park and murdered. Years ago. Unsolved, right?”

  Sam nodded. “It was my father’s case—the only one he wasn’t able to close. I’d like to take another look at it. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will see something that was missed the first time around.” After seeing her father so sick earlier, Sam felt a sense of urgency to tie up this loose end for him. She pushed aside the nagging doubt about whether he’d want her to look into it. All she could think about was being able to tell him they’d finally caught Tyler’s killer.

  Jeannie sat perfectly still for a long time—so long Sam suspected she wasn’t going to take the bait. Then she stood. “Give me ten minutes.”

  Watching her head upstairs, Sam smiled. “Yes,” she whispered to the empty room. Then she sent a text to Freddie, asking him to give everyone a head’s up that McBride was coming back—and to play it cool.

  The sergeant working the front desk stopped Sam on her way into HQ. “Lieutenant, the chief is looking for you,” he said, nodding respectfully to Jeannie.

  Sam debated for a moment, and then turned to Jeannie. “Come with me. He’ll be so happy to see you he’ll forget what he wants to get all over me about.”

  Jeannie rolled her eyes. “You know what he wants.”

  The man she’d called Uncle Joe as a child would no doubt be up in arms about the threatening mail she’d received.

  “That’s why I want you with me.” Sam led the way to the chief’s office where the administrative assistant waved her right in.

  “He’s been waiting for you, Lieutenant,” the perky assistant said.

  “Fabulous,” Sam muttered. She swore she heard Jeannie snicker, but when she glanced over her shoulder the other detective was straight-faced.

  In the chief’s office, she discovered he’d called in the cavalry. Deputy Chief Conklin and Captain Malone were seated in front of the chief’s desk. All three men rose when Sam came in with Jeannie.

  “Detective McBride,” Chief Farnsworth said, walking around the desk to shake hands with Jeannie. “It’s so good to have you back.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m not sure I’m back, but I’m here today.”

  “We’ll take what we can get.”

  “I appreciate the support of the department during this difficult time, sir.”

  “We appreciate your sacrifice in the line of duty.”

  Sensing Jeannie’s composure was in danger of cracking, Sam said, “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant, have a seat please.”

  “That’s okay, I have to—”

  “Sit,” Farnsworth said sternly, pointing to the available chair.

  Conklin jumped up to offer his seat to Jeannie.

  “What’ve you got there?” Farnsworth asked Sam, nodding to the evidence bag she was holding.

  Reluctantly, Sam handed it over to him and watched his rugged face take on an infuriated expression. He handed the bag to Conklin who took a good look before passing it to Malone.

  “I’ll pass this on to Tremont,” Malone said, referring to the chief of detectives.

  “To do what?” Sam asked.

  “To oversee the investigation,” Malone said.

  “So let me get this straight—I’m the one being threatened, and someone else is going to investigate? Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, especially since they’d know firsthand who’d have a beef with me.”

  “Save the sarcasm, Lieutenant,” Farnsworth said. “It’s a conflict of interest for you to investigate this case, and you know it.”

  “What I know is no one could do it faster or better than I could. I already have a list of twenty possible suspects. How many days will be lost while another detective digs into my life and gets us to where I already am?”

  Farnsworth and Conklin exchanged glances.

  “She’s right, you know,” Malone said, and Sam sent him a grateful look. “This could be anyone—someone she arrested, someone she knew years ago, someone one of them dated.”

  “Or was married to,” Sam said with a scowl, thinking of her vindictive ex-husband who’d love nothing more than to give her something to worry about during the early weeks of her new marriage.

  “Or was marr
ied to,” Malone agreed.

  “You think it could be Gibson?” Farnsworth asked.

  Just thinking of her ex-husband was enough to make Sam sick. “I suppose anything is possible,” she said. When Peter pulled a gun on her the night before her wedding and said their relationship would never be over, was this what he’d meant?

  “He’d be foolish to do something like this when he knows we’re watching him like hawks,” Malone said.

  “That didn’t stop him from showing up outside my house the night before the wedding,” Sam reminded him.

  “Let’s give him a good hard look,” Farnsworth said.

  “Are you going to let me run this investigation?” Sam asked.

  The chief’s face was unreadable.

  Sam had begun to sweat by the time Malone spoke up.

  “She does have an advantage over anyone else in this case,” he said.

  “What about the investigation into the murders at Carl’s?” Conklin asked.

  “At a total standstill at the moment. We’ve done everything we always do and have nothing. We’re hoping one of our informants will come through.”

  They all looked to the chief expectantly.

  “All right,” he finally said. “I don’t like it, but I’ll give you a week on this. After that we’ll reevaluate.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sam said, relieved.

  “I want regular updates,” Farnsworth added.

  “Of course. No problem.”

  “Get to work.”

  “Um, Chief, before we go, I wanted to let you know I’ve asked Detective McBride to reopen the Tyler Fitzgerald case.”

  “Why now?”

  “My father is sick.”

  Chief Farnsworth sat up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

  Sam hated to put words to her fears, but she needed to make him understand. “I’m worried he may have pneumonia.”

  “That can be treated.”

  She was afraid she’d end up bawling in front of them if they talked about it any longer. “I want to give it a fresh look.”