by Marie Force
“I know. I saw your speech a coupla months ago. I had no idea you’d been through all that shit.”
“I have a son now. We adopted him, but it doesn’t matter how we got him. What matters is that he’s ours and we’re his.”
“I feel ya. We been talking about that.”
“If I can help at all, you know how to reach me.”
“Y’all fancy now. I’d be afraid to call you.”
“Don’t be stupid. My husband’s fancy. I’m the same old bitch I always was.”
“Sure ya are,” he said, snorting with laughter. “Ya might be the same old bitch, but you’re hangin’ at the White House these days.”
“Call if you need me, Roberto. I mean it.”
“I’ll do that. You’re okay for a cop.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“The guy that was iced, he was your old man back in the day, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah. Way back.”
“Not sure if I should say sorry or not.”
“Thanks. If you hear anything, anything at all, let me know.”
“I got my ear to the ground. You know me.”
“Yeah, I do, and I want to see you back to work at city hall. Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?”
“Yeah, lady cop. I hear ya.” He flashed a charming smile. “I’m on best behavior at all times.”
“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
“How’s your dad getting on?”
“A little better. He had surgery to remove the bullet, and he’s got some tingles here and there.” She left out the part about how painful those tingles had been.
“Glad to hear he’s doin’ good. He’s straight up.” Sam had gotten them together last winter, and her dad had enjoyed meeting Roberto.
She returned his fist bump. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“See ya on the news, fancy pants.”
“Fuck you,” she shot over her shoulder as she went down the stairs.
“That ain’t no way for the second lady to talk,” he called after her.
She flipped him off and smiled at the sound of his laughter. Somehow they’d both survived their time with the Johnson family and had come out of it scarred but resilient.
Sam got into Freddie’s car, giving the passenger door an extra-hard tug when it didn’t want to close.
“Be gentle with her,” Freddie admonished. “She cooperates when you’re nice to her.”
“That’s me being nice. And PS, I happen to know you make enough money to afford a car that actually works.”
“Be quiet! Don’t say that in front of her! You’re a monster.”
“And this is news to you?” Sam handed him the tablet. “Before we take off, do a run on Anton Williams to see if he’s in the system.”
“You know, you could do this while I drive and we could save some time.”
She put the seat back and closed her eyes. “Nah, it’s better when you do it.”
“Better for who?”
“Me, of course.”
A couple of minutes later, he said, “A few misdemeanors years ago. Nothing recent.”
“Excellent. Now drive me to 11th Street Northwest, and hurry up about it.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.” He tucked the tablet between the seats, eased the car into traffic and headed toward the city’s northwestern quadrant. “What’d Roberto have to say?”
“He and Angel have been having some problems. The doctors aren’t sure he can have kids, and she wants them. They split for a while, but she’s back now.”
“That’s a tough one.”
“He said he saw my speech, and it helped them.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s staying straight?”
“So he says. He’s going to keep his ear out for anything about Peter.”
“That’s good.” After a long pause, he glanced over at her. “What’re you thinking?”
“What Rogers said about Peter losing big and how he always does...”
“What about it?”
“I’m thinking it might be worth having Vice nose around the gambling circuit. Maybe he was into bigger things than Rogers’s card game and someone got tired of waiting to be paid.”
“I agree it’d be worth a look. You want me to call Robach?” he asked, referring to the Vice squad captain.
“Nah, I’ll do it.” Sam placed the call to HQ and waited for Dispatch to pick up.
“Metro PD, please hold.” Before Sam could say a word, she was listening to hideous music.
“She just put me on fucking hold. What if this was an emergency?”
“Um, you would’ve called 911 and not the switchboard?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“I’m not!” he said, laughing. “I’m serious. You didn’t call the emergency number, so she can put you on hold.”
“She should know it’s me and not put me on hold.”
“Oh, um, well...of course she should. What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t, but that happens with you sometimes. I should be used to it by now.”
“What. Ever.” Under his breath he added, “You couldn’t function without me.”
“What was that you said? I could’ve sworn you said I couldn’t function without you, which we both know is ludicrous. I functioned for years without you.”
“But the job was nowhere near as fun as it is with me.”
“You said that, not me. What the ever-loving fuck are they doing for all this time? I’m going to hang up and call back if she doesn’t get to me in five, four, three—”
“Metro PD. How can I direct your call?”
“Robach in Vice.”
“Please hold.”
“Ugh, that music! I can’t bear it!”
“You keep saying you’re going to replace it with your Bon Jovi soundtrack.”
“That’s so happening. I’m going to sneak in there and just do it.”
“Let me know how that goes.”
Sam heard a click on the line. “Robach.”
“It’s Holland. I was wondering if I could request an assist from you guys on the Gibson investigation.”
“What do you need?”
“I want to know how deep he was into the local gambling scene. I’m picking up some vibes that are leading me in that direction.”
“We’ll look into it for you.”
“Thanks.”
The line went dead.
Sam held the phone away from her ear and looked at it. “Was it something I said?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was kind of...abrupt.”
“Might just be busy.”
“I’m sure that’s all it is, because it couldn’t possibly be the other vibe I’m picking up lately that some of my MPD colleagues have had enough of me and the circus that surrounds me since I got married.”
“I haven’t heard a peep about that.”
“You wouldn’t. They’d never say it in front of you, because they know we’re tight.”
“We’re tight? Really?”
“Shut up, Freddie, and focus!”
He laughed. “I am focusing, and I would’ve heard if people were beefing. Someone would’ve told me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because they’ve told me other stuff when they felt we needed to know. Little things here and there. I always pass it on to you. I swear, I’ve heard nothing of the sort about people being fed up with you. Other than myself, of course, which makes perfect sense since I’m the one stuck with you most of the time.”
“You used to be such a nice boy
,” Sam said with a sigh. “What happened?”
“You happened. You ruined me.”
A smile lit up her face as she dabbed dramatically at her eyes. “That might be the nicest compliment you’ve ever given me.”
“You’re a mess,” he said with a chuckle.
“I would be if it wasn’t for you and this,” she said, swinging a hand between them to indicate their usual banter. “Thanks for keeping it real today.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Sam watched the city go by outside the passenger-side window, thinking of Peter and her checkered history with him. It would be easy to focus exclusively on the bad stuff he’d done—and he’d done plenty of bad stuff. Her mind wandered to some of the good times they’d had, and there’d been a few of those mixed in with a lot of bad.
In many ways, she blamed herself as much as she blamed him for the disaster their marriage had been. With her heart yearning for another man, she never should’ve allowed her friendship with Peter to turn romantic, and she certainly never should’ve married him. That was on her, and he’d always known that she didn’t love him the way a wife should love her husband. Perhaps that’s why he’d become such a psychotic in his efforts to have her all to himself.
Her phone rang, and she happily took the call from her husband. “Hi there.”
“Hey, babe, good news. Brant just told me they’ve arrested LeRoy Nevins. They think he’s good for the threat.”
“They think, but they don’t know for sure?”
“They’re still making the case, but they found quite a lot of stuff in his office and on his computer that indicated his extreme displeasure with the current vice president.”
“But they can’t pin that letter on him?”
“Not yet, but the FBI is liking him for it.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean? ‘Hmm’?”
“I was hoping for a slam dunk so we could be sure it was him and get on with our lives.”
“You know better than anyone that there’re rarely any slam dunks in situations like these.”
“What’s being done with the prisoners in the bunker?”
“The Secret Service is going to brief everyone, tell them what we know—and what we don’t know—and give them the choice as to whether they want to remain under protection or go back to their lives.”
Sam couldn’t argue with that plan. “And Scotty?”
“We’re going to bring him out, but no more camp until we know more.”
“Ah, damn, he’ll be heartbroken!”
“I know, and I feel terrible, but the Secret Service isn’t bending. They feel he’s too vulnerable out in the open on those fields.”
Sam could hear the agony in Nick’s voice because his job was going to cause that level of heartache for their son. “I’m so sorry, babe. I can only imagine how you must feel.”
“I feel like shit.”
“He’ll understand that his safety is at risk.”
“Will he? Will he really?”
“We’ll talk to him together when I get home. We’ll help him see what’s at stake. Maybe we can set up something really cool where he’ll get to go into the dugout to meet the Feds or something.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask around about how to make that happen.”
“You’re the vice president, Nick. They’ll bend over backward to make that happen.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I hope it’s enough for him.”
Sam wanted to crawl through the phone and wrap her arms around him. “It’ll be okay. We’ll make it okay for him. I promise. He loves you so much. He’d never hold something like this against you.”
“Not this time, maybe, but what if it keeps happening? How many disappointments will he have to bear because of me and my job?”
“Let’s take them one at a time and figure this one out. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. What’re you up to?”
“Working the case, following the leads. I’m hearing Peter was into gambling. We’re trying to find out just how deep he was in. It’s a thread to pull, if nothing else.”
“You’re being extra careful, right?”
“Yes. Don’t worry.”
“You may as well tell me not to breathe, my love.”
Sam’s heart still skipped a beat when he called her that. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”
“I’ll be there. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Sam ended the call, closed her eyes and put her head back against the seat, trying to figure out what they could say to Scotty to make him understand why he couldn’t go back to camp.
“Tough one,” Freddie said.
“Yeah.”
“He’s a good kid. He’ll understand.”
“Nick’s worried about how he’ll feel if this stuff keeps happening. The disappointments pile up.”
“Knowing Scotty, he’d still choose to live with you guys every day, no matter what disappointments might come with life in the spotlight.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. He loves you guys—much more than he loves baseball camp.”
“Thanks. That helps.” Sam agreed that Scotty loved them more than he loved camp, but he’d still be terribly disappointed, and that broke her heart. She never wanted him to be unhappy or disappointed about anything. Ever.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SAM AND FREDDIE pulled up to the District Market, a locally owned and operated grocery chain with stores in DC and Northern Virginia. They entered the store and were immediately met by the manager, who held up his hands to stop them.
“Do we have neon cop signs on our heads or something?” she asked Freddie.
“Um, I don’t think that’s it.”
“I know who you are,” the manager said in heavily accented English as he looked them over suspiciously. “We have no trouble here.”
“What if I was coming in to buy a sandwich? Would I be allowed to enter?”
“Is that why you are here?”
“Nope, but I’m wondering about the sandwich.”
“What do you want?”
“We’d like to talk to Anton Williams. Can you point us in his direction?”
“What do you want with him?”
“I’d like to talk to him.”
“He’s busy.”
“Yeah, you see, we get that a lot,” Sam said. “People are busy. I’m busy. So here’s the deal—I can either go back there to the meat department where I hear he’s a butcher and have a quick conversation with him, or I can go back there and take him into custody, march him through the store in handcuffs and take him downtown for the same conversation I could’ve had here. While I’m at it, I might take you in too for making my job harder than it needs to be. You see where I’m at here?”
His eyes narrowed into a glare that did absolutely nothing for her.
“What’s it going to be?” she asked.
He seemed to finally get that he wasn’t intimidating her in the least. “Come this way. Don’t make a scene.”
“I’m hurt,” Sam said to Freddie, who rolled his eyes at her. “What kind of scene does he think I’m going to make?”
Freddie put his arms up and pretended to dive like she had at the inaugural parade when she’d taken down a perp in the crowd.
Sam cracked up laughing. He really was the best partner she’d ever had. Not only was he an ace detective, he knew just how to make her laugh when she needed it—and today, she really, really needed it.
They were taken to a break room and told to wait.
“Don’t let him bolt or I will arrest you,” Sam said to the manager when he left to get Anton. To Freddie, she said, “Keep an eye out.”
&n
bsp; “Come see.” He looked through one of the round windows on the swinging doors.
Sam joined him and watched as the manager spoke to the tall, muscular black man in the white butcher’s coat, pointed to the doors and appeared to argue with his employee.
After a tense standoff, or so it seemed to Sam, Anton threw down his cleaver and followed the manager to where they were waiting.
Sam and Freddie backed away from the doors before they could be hit by them as they swung inward.
“What do you want with me?” Anton asked before Sam could introduce them.
Okay, then. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, MPD.”
“You really think anyone needs you to tell them that?” With his bloody hands on his hips, Sam could see he had muscles on top of muscles that strained at the confines of the bloodstained white coat.
“Just being polite. This is my partner, Detective Cruz. Are you acquainted with a man named Peter Gibson?”
Sam watched as awareness dawned on him.
“I knew him,” he said tentatively, the use of the past tense letting them know he’d heard Peter was dead. “But not well. We played some cards together with mutual friends. That’s about the extent of it.”
“How long did you know him?”
Anton shrugged. “Six months maybe.”
“In that time, did you hear of any other games or rackets he was involved in that might’ve gotten him killed?”
“Not that I knew of. Like I said, I barely knew him except to occasionally play cards together. How’d my name end up in the mix?”
“We’re talking to everyone who’s spent time with him recently,” Sam said.
“Like I said, I didn’t know him that well, so I can’t tell you anything.”
Sam handed him her card. “After someone is murdered, people tend to get chatty. If you hear anything that you think might be helpful in figuring out who killed him, we’d appreciate the info.”
He took the card from her even though it was obvious he didn’t want it. “Yeah, okay. Can I go back to work now?”
“Sure,” Sam said. “Thanks for your time.”
“You know the way out,” the manager said.
“We appreciate your hospitality,” Sam said. “We’ll remember that if anything bad ever happens here.”
