Fatal Threat

by Marie Force

  “I’m so very, very happy that you’re all mine.”

  “Me too, babe.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  SAM TRIED TO AVOID the gruesome details but found herself immersed in them anyway. Lindsey’s report contained a horrific laundry list of Peter’s injuries, with the cause of death determined to be blood loss.

  “Dear God,” Sam whispered.

  Lindsey had placed the time of death at about forty-eight hours before Gonzo, Freddie and Avery had found him.

  Her squad had been out working the case, sending back information to her that she added to the murder board she’d begun with pictures from the autopsy. She’d tried not to look too closely at them but hadn’t been able to resist absorbing every little detail because that’s how she was wired.

  Now that the initial shock had worn off, she was beginning to process those details like a detective rather than an ex-wife who’d once been emotionally involved with the victim. Throughout the long night, her colleagues stopped by the pit to express their condolences. Her checkered history with Peter was well-known throughout the department, but everyone was nice to her just the same, and that made her feel weirder than she already did.

  And now she faced the most dreadful of all tasks, the one she’d put off all night, intending to make the call this morning. Sitting in her office, she stared at the phone, trying to find the wherewithal to do what had to be done. She hadn’t spoken with Irma Gibson in years and had no idea what version of their divorce and the subsequent goings-on had been conveyed to her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that Irma probably didn’t hold her in very high regard after hearing Peter’s side of things.

  Regardless, Sam picked up the phone and dialed the number that Lieutenant Archelotta had tracked down for her. She’d asked for a few minutes alone to take care of this, and Nick had gone to return a call to Harry.

  “Hello?” Irma said when she answered the call.

  Sam cleared her throat. “Irma, it’s Sam Holland.”

  Dead silence.

  Sam was about to say more when Irma said, “What do you want?”

  “I need to talk to you about Peter.”

  “What about him? He’s certainly no concern of yours. Not anymore.”

  “I need to tell you... I’m sorry to say... Peter has been killed.”

  “That’s a lie! He’s not dead. I just talked to him the other day!”

  “When did you last speak to him?”

  “I talked to him on Wednesday. Is this some sort of game you’re playing? Are you trying to pin something on him again?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m not playing any games. Peter has been murdered.”

  “Where were you when he was supposedly murdered?”

  “I was being held by the Secret Service in an underground bunker after a threat was received against my husband and his family.”

  “Isn’t that convenient?”

  “I could send someone to bring you here to make funeral arrangements if that would be helpful.”

  After a long pause, Irma said in a smaller voice, “You’re not lying? He’s really dead?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He really is.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears that she brushed away. “Would you like me to send an officer to bring you here?”

  “I... Yes, I think I would.”

  “I’ll send someone right away.”

  “Did he... Did he suffer?”

  “I’m afraid he did.”

  The older woman’s sobs echoed through the phone. “Why? Why would anyone want to hurt him?”

  “I don’t know, but my team is working the case, and we’re going to get you some answers.”

  “Why do you care? You hated him. You wanted to send him to jail.”

  “Irma, he tried to blow up my car and that of the man I’m now married to. His apartment was full of bomb-making materials. I didn’t go after him. It was quite the other way around.”

  “You drove him to it! He loved you. You were his whole world, and you left him!”

  Sam forced herself to take a deep breath and stick with the facts. “I left him because he wanted to control my every move.”

  “He wanted you to be safe.”

  “It went far, far beyond that, Irma. Look...we can revisit the past all day, but what matters now is figuring out who did this to him and bringing that person to justice.”

  “I can’t believe this has happened.”

  “I know, but it would help if you can tell me anything about who his friends were lately or how he’d been spending his time.”

  “I knew he was happy to have found the new job at the mattress store and a more affordable apartment. I kept trying to convince him to move home to Wilmington, but he didn’t want to. And now...” A sob echoed through the phone.

  Realizing Irma was in no frame of mind to assist with the investigation, Sam said, “I’ll send one of our best officers to pick you up, Irma, and I’ll be here when you arrive.”

  “Thank you. I... I appreciate your kindness.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Sam put down the phone. She dropped her head into her hands and massaged her temples, hoping to stave off a looming headache. Where to even begin with this investigation? Normally, the first steps were obvious, but this time, nothing was obvious to her. She picked up her extension and buzzed Freddie. “Do me a favor and ask Beckett to go to Wilmington to pick up Irma Gibson.”

  “Sure thing. You got the address?”

  Sam read it from the sheet Archie had given her, thinking about the one time she’d gone with Peter to visit his mother in Wilmington. It was so long ago it felt like another lifetime now.

  “Tell Beckett... Well, you know what to tell him.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you.” She put down the phone again and focused on trying to breathe while not thinking about the image of Peter’s dead, tortured body in the morgue. Some things could never be unseen, no matter how hard you tried to scrub your brain of unimaginable horrors. Sam felt for Irma, who would want to see her son. She would make sure that Lindsey covered up the worst of the damage before Irma arrived.

  A soft tap preceded Nick and Harry into her office.

  “Did you make the call?” Nick asked.

  Sam nodded and let her grim expression tell the story for her. “Hi, Harry.”

  “Hi, Sam. Nice to see you out of lockdown.”

  “Nice to be out. What brings you by?”

  “Nick asked me to stop by to check on you. I hear you’ve been feeling sick since you got the dreadful news about Peter.”

  “Yeah, my stomach is a mess.”

  “I brought soup,” Harry said as he produced a white paper bag from behind his back.

  “Do you think you could eat something, babe?” Nick asked.

  “I could try. Thanks, Harry. You’re the best.”

  “Happy to help my favorite second couple.” He put the bag on her desk, and the aroma of the soup made her mouth water. “How about something to help you get some sleep later?”

  “Nah, it’ll make me too groggy. I want to be clearheaded for my squad. They’re going to need me.” She could tell that Nick didn’t like that answer, but thankfully, he didn’t question her in front of Harry. They sat in her visitor chairs while she took a few tentative tastes of the soup, hoping it would stay down.

  “You two are all over the news,” Harry said. “Conspiracy theorists are having a field day speculating over what kind of threat would lead the Secret Service to take you off the grid.”

  “The worst kind.” Nick got up to shut the door and then filled Harry in on what the letter had said and the pictures of the kids that had been enclosed.r />
  “Dear God,” Harry said. “What is wrong with people?”

  “I ask that question every day,” Sam said. The soup was going down easy, soothing her tortured belly. “This is really good. Thanks again.”

  “My pleasure. How’s Scotty holding up?”

  “The kid’s a trouper,” Nick said. “Nothing fazes him. He’s bummed about missing baseball camp, but he knows why it was necessary.”

  “So you told him about the pictures?”

  “We had to,” Nick said. “He’s thirteen going on thirty. Keeping stuff from him isn’t an option.”

  “No, it isn’t, and you’re wise to keep him in the loop.”

  “Or we’re doing permanent damage that’ll take years to undo,” Sam said.

  “Nah,” Harry said, laughing. “For some reason, the kid thinks he’s hit the jackpot with you two as his parents. By the time he wises up, he’ll be an adult and can run for his life from the insanity.”

  “Very funny, Doc.” Sam appreciated his good humor and wisdom in the midst of madness.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Sam called out to come in.

  Freddie ducked his head in. “Um, there’s someone here from the, ah, White House asking for you, Lieutenant.”

  Sam glanced at Nick, who looked as perplexed as she was. “Show them in. Thanks, Freddie.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “The White House comes to HQ,” Sam said. “This week gets stranger and stranger.”

  Freddie returned with Lilia Van Nostrand, who was adorably flushed and terribly out of place in a sharp navy suit, pearls and heels. She wore her dark hair in a cute bob, and her brown eyes were big with curiosity as Freddie showed her into Sam’s increasingly crowded office.

  “This is a nice surprise,” Sam said, standing behind her desk.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you at work, Mrs. Cappuano,” Lilia said. “Oh, and Mr. Vice President. Hello to you, as well.”

  “It’s no bother,” Sam said, amused by her discomfort. The term fish out of water occurred to her. “This is our friend Dr. Harry Flynn. Harry, my chief of staff at the White House, Lilia Van Nostrand.”

  Harry stood to shake her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, and may I express my deepest condolences. She’s a handful.”

  Lilia laughed and blushed at the same time. “We adore her.”

  “She grows on you,” Harry teased.

  Sam couldn’t help but notice that Harry held Lilia’s hand a little longer than necessary before he finally released it.

  Nick stood to offer Lilia his chair and held the back of it for her while she got settled. Her husband was such a gentleman, which was another thing to love about him.

  “I heard the Secret Service had brought you here and was informed about what happened to your ex-husband. I wanted to come by to offer my condolences and my assistance.”

  “That’s really nice of you, Lilia,” Sam said, genuinely moved by the kindness of a woman she hadn’t expected to like when she first met her. “We’re hanging in there.”

  Looking over her shoulder at Nick, Lilia said, “Everyone at the White House is horrified by what was sent to your office, Mr. Vice President. There’s just no cause to threaten innocent children.”

  “We couldn’t agree more,” Nick said.

  “Is there any progress in the investigation?” Lilia asked Sam.

  “Not that we’ve heard,” Sam said. “The FBI was following up on a potential lead involving my ex-husband when they found him dead.”

  “It’s so dreadful.” Lilia paused before she said, “The other reason I came by is I was hoping to speak to you about how to handle media inquiries that we’re sure to receive after word gets out that your ex-husband has been murdered. The White House press corps is already rabid over the threat. They’ll be positively feral when they catch wind of this latest development.”

  Sam’s stomach cramped at the thought of a feral press corps. They were bad enough on an average day. “What do you suggest?”

  “We might want to draft a statement that offers your perspective on his murder and anything you wish to share with the public. They’ll be hungry for your thoughts on the matter.”

  Sam wished the public would forget she existed, but with her husband holding the second-highest office in the land, that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. “Sure,” Sam said. “We can do that.”

  “I can take off if you guys need to work,” Harry said.

  “Feel free to stay,” Sam said. “I can use all the help I can get putting a positive spin on this situation.”

  “Happy to help,” Harry said, his gaze sliding down over Lilia’s shapely crossed legs.

  Thinking about fixing up their dear friend with her chief of staff was a lot more interesting than trying to figure out what to say to the public about her combative relationship with Peter and his untimely death.

  While Nick went out into the pit to get another chair, Lilia withdrew a tablet from her oversized purse and began poking at the screen with the ruthless efficiency Sam had come to expect from her. “Now,” she said, “where would you like to begin?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “WE HAVE AN IDENTITY for our Jane Doe,” Gonzo announced when Sam and Nick emerged from her office with Lilia and Harry after painfully extracting the words necessary to properly convey her sympathy about her ex-husband’s murder without getting into the fact that she’d often wanted to murder him herself. Fine line, that.

  “Who is it?” Sam asked.

  “Her name is Rose Samuels, a known prostitute and drug addict from Fairfax County. Went missing about four weeks ago.”

  “Have you been in touch with Fairfax?”

  “Cruz is on the phone with them now. They’re making arrangements to transport the body to their morgue so their ME can take a look. They’ve been investigating her disappearance for weeks now and have asked to take the lead.”

  “Let them know we’re here to help if they need it.”

  “Will do.”

  Chief Farnsworth came into the pit with Captain Norris, head of the Public Affairs division, and his civilian subordinate, Tara, who always reminded Sam of a frightened puppy.

  “We’ve got to do something about the press,” Farnsworth said, sounding harried. “They’re about to storm the gates looking for info about your ex-husband’s murder.”

  “I’d be happy to brief them if that would help,” Lilia said, earning Sam’s eternal love and gratitude. “We have a statement prepared that Vice President and Mrs. Cappuano have approved.”

  “It would be highly irregular for someone from outside the department to make a statement on our behalf,” Norris said.

  “It’s not on the department’s behalf,” Sam said, wanting to suggest he pull the stick from his ass. “It’s on my behalf, and I say she’s the perfect person to handle the briefing.”

  “I agree,” Farnsworth said. “This is personal for Lieutenant Holland. She’s calling the shots here.”

  Sam could tell by the hateful glare Norris directed her way that he didn’t appreciate being dressed down by the chief. Great, another enemy to add to the growing list of people who hated her for one reason or another. Not that she could be bothered to care about such bullshit today.

  “What’re we hearing from Crime Scene about Peter’s apartment?” Sam asked Malone.

  “They’re still processing it, but whoever attacked him did a good job of covering their tracks.”

  “I want to rip Peter’s life apart,” Sam said. “I want to talk to everyone he saw on a daily basis—coworkers, friends, neighbors. Someone knows something, saw something.”

  “I agree,” Malone said.

  “And I’m sure the next thing you’re going to say is it’s a huge conflict of interest for me
to be involved in this case.” Before they could object, she plunged ahead. “Let me assure you, I had and have zero interest in Peter Gibson. I admit to being shocked and sickened by what was done to him, but I’m past that now. I have no remaining emotional ties to him that would impair me from doing my job.”

  “There’s still the matter of the threat hanging over us,” Nick interjected, his terse tone letting her know he didn’t approve of her desire to be involved in Peter’s case. Shocker.

  “That was focused on the kids, not me,” Sam said. “They’re all safe, and I won’t be alone at any time.” She looked up at Nick when she said, “I need to be part of this. I need it.”

  His jaw tightened the way it did when he was upset or stressed. She hated being the source of either of those things, but she felt strongly enough about being on this case that she didn’t back down even to ease his worries.

  “I don’t have a problem with it,” Farnsworth said. “You’ve been divorced from the guy for years and might actually be an asset, as you knew him better than any of the rest of us.”

  “Unfortunately,” Nick said under his breath.

  Sam didn’t blame him at all for his animosity toward Peter. As long as she lived, she would never forgive the man who’d pretended to be her friend and confidant as he intentionally kept her from the love of her life. That alone would’ve been unforgivable without everything else he’d done to mess with her life. All combined, his transgressions had earned him a place in hell as far as she was concerned.

  Despite that, he’d been tortured and murdered in her city, and that made him hers regardless of their personal history. She would see that justice was done on his behalf, no matter the toll it might take on her—and her marriage.

  Compartmentalization. That was the word of the day. In one compartment was the man who’d made her life a living hell. In the other compartment was a murder victim in need of justice. Sam could very easily separate one from the other to get the job done. And when it was over, she would go on with her life knowing she’d done the best she could for a man who certainly hadn’t deserved anything from her.

  “Would you like me to make the statement now?” Lilia asked Sam.