by Marie Force
His ineffective scowl would’ve made her laugh on a regular day.
They emerged from the store to find Darren Tabor from the Washington Star leaning against Freddie’s car.
“Get off my car!”
Darren stood upright. “My apologies.”
“What do you want, Darren?” Sam asked.
“A statement about your ex-husband’s murder?”
“You’ve already got everything I’m going to say about it.”
“Come on, Sam. You’ve gotta say something more or people will think you’re glad he’s dead.”
“You’d love for me to say that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d love for you to say something, anything, exclusively to me.”
“Fine. Here it is. I’m sorry my ex-husband was murdered, and I’m trying to help figure out what happened to him. That’s all I’ve got right now.”
He took frantic notes. “That’s better than nothing. What’s the latest on the threat against you and the VP?”
“Ask the White House. That’s their story, not mine.”
“Where’d they put you guys while you were off the grid?”
“Why would I tell you that? So you can let everyone know where they take us when they’re concerned about our safety?”
“People are curious, Sam. The vice president’s entire family disappeared for days, and no one will say where you were.”
“And that surprises you? They’re trying to keep us safe, Darren. Telling the world where we are is somewhat contrary to that goal, wouldn’t you say?”
“Were you scared?”
“This is off the record, you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“No, we weren’t scared. Almost everyone we love was with us, and the top law enforcement agencies in the country were working on figuring out who made the threat. What was there to be afraid of?”
“I’m hearing the FBI might have someone in custody. Can you tell me anything about that?”
“Nope. Not my case. Talk to them.”
“Are you worried they might not have the right guy?”
“Other people are paid to worry about that. I’ve got my own job to focus on, and you’re holding me up. Gotta go.” Sam got into the car. To Freddie, she said, “Let’s get out of here before the other seagulls hear that he found us.”
“Where to, boss?”
“Back to HQ to regroup.”
They were pulling into the parking lot at HQ when Officer Beckett called Sam’s cell.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I’m about ten minutes out with Mrs. Gibson. Wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Thank you for that and for going to get her.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll meet you at the morgue.”
“See you there.”
Without being told, Freddie proceeded around the building and parked near the morgue entrance. “You ready for this?”
“Fuck no, I’m not ready. She hates me for divorcing him and blames me for getting him in trouble afterward. I want nothing to do with this.”
“And yet you’ll do it anyway.”
“I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“No, you’re just really good at your job, and you do what has to be done no matter what it might cost you personally.”
“I try.” Sam dreaded having to see her ex-mother-in-law, especially under these circumstances. “Let’s get in there before she gets here to make sure Lindsey has him ready.”
They stepped into the always-freezing antiseptic-smelling morgue, where they found Dr. McNamara seated at a computer terminal typing up notes while sipping on an iced coffee.
“Hey, Doc,” Sam said. “Anything new on Gibson?”
“Nothing I haven’t already told you.”
“His mother is on her way in. Can you make him presentable?”
“Already done. I’ll have him brought in.” She picked up the extension on her desk and made the call. “Ten minutes.”
“Thank you.”
Lindsey looked up at Sam, her pretty green eyes filled with compassion. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine. This really has nothing to do with me. He was ancient history.”
“Still...”
She appreciated the sentiment but had no idea what to say to people who offered compassion on behalf of her ex-husband. It wasn’t her place to accept condolences for him.
“Any leads?” Lindsey asked.
“Nothing that’s panned out yet. Early days, though.”
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
A chime sounded behind them as the door opened to admit Officer Beckett and Irma Gibson. She’d aged in the years since Sam had last seen her and seemed particularly frail as she clung to Beckett’s arm. Peter had been her only child. Sam didn’t want to think about how she must be feeling.
Swallowing her own anxiety, she went to meet them, uncertain as to how she should greet Irma. Did she hug her or shake her hand or do neither? What was the etiquette when you saw an ex-mother-in-law you’d never been close to following the murder of your ex-husband who once tried to kill you? Yeah, figure that one out.
Fortunately, Irma solved the dilemma by hurling herself at Sam. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, sobbing. “Please tell me this is just a bad dream.”
Sam put her arms around the older woman and patted her back, wishing for something she could say to comfort her. “I’m sorry, Irma.”
Irma let go of Sam, who took a step back to give the grieving woman some space. “Who could’ve done this?”
Lindsey provided a box of tissues, which Sam gratefully accepted. She offered them to Irma.
“We’re working on figuring that out. Would you like to see him?”
A soft whimper preceded her slight nod. She used a tissue to dab at her eyes and blow her nose.
“You let us know when you feel ready,” Sam said.
“I’ll never be ready for this. May as well get it over with.”
Sam nodded to Lindsey, and she drew the sheet back to reveal Peter’s face. The sight of his waxy remains once again hit Sam in the gut. As always, the senselessness of murder never failed to touch her, even when she’d had a complicated relationship with the victim.
Irma approached her son, reached out to stroke his hair and bent to kiss his forehead. “He was a good son.”
“That’s what you should remember,” Sam said.
“He hated you for leaving him.”
Sam heard Freddie’s gasp but forced herself not to react. People were often not at their best at times like these.
Then Irma turned, her face ravaged with grief, anger and pure hatred. “You ruined his life. Everything fell apart after he married you. It’s your fault he’s dead!”
Sam decided she’d heard enough and turned to leave the room.
“Go ahead! Walk away! That’s what you do, right? When things aren’t going your way, you leave. Does your new husband know that about you? Does he know that you’ll leave him eventually?”
The last thing Sam heard before she exited the morgue was Freddie telling Irma to shut up. Good. Someone ought to tell her to shut up. What did she know about their marriage, anyway? Only what Peter had told her, and Sam could only imagine what he’d said. No doubt he’d blamed everything on her. Had he told his mother about the lies he’d told her or the way he’d tried to control her every thought and action? Probably not.
In Irma’s mind, it was Sam’s fault that Peter had built bombs in his apartment and then attached them to her car and Nick’s. She’d driven him to it, after all. Whatever. If that’s what his mother needed to believe to get through this, then so be it. But Sam didn’t have
to sit around and listen to it.
She went into her office, shut the door and sat behind her desk. When she reached for one of many half-consumed bottles of water, she noticed her hands were shaking. It pissed her off that Irma’s diatribe had rattled her. What did she care what Peter’s mother thought of her? She didn’t. But still, being accused of putting him in the morgue was tough to hear.
Her extension rang, and she reached for it, eager to have something else to do besides think about the crap Irma had hurled at her. “Holland.”
“It’s Robach. I might have something for you.”
“I’ll come up.” Sam ended the call and finished the bottle of water, taking a minute to gather herself before continuing to work the case. No matter what she might think of Peter—or his mother—she would do everything she could to get justice for him.
She stepped into the pit just as Freddie was returning from the morgue.
“You okay?” he asked, visibly pissed on her behalf.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Ummm...”
“Robach’s got something for us. Let’s go see him and then after that you can give me a ride home. I’ve had enough of this day.”
“Can’t say I blame you.”
They headed for the stairs.
“She was out of line,” Freddie said when they were halfway up.
“It’s the truth as she knows it. How can she possibly know that if Peter hadn’t lied to me about Nick calling, Peter and I never would’ve been stuck in a miserable marriage that ended in epic fashion? She wouldn’t even know me, but she doesn’t want to hear that today or any day. In her mind, he was the victim.”
“That’s very evolved of you.”
“I’m an evolved kind of gal.”
He snorted with laughter that died out when Sergeant Ramsey started down the stairs toward them—the same stairs he’d fallen down when Sam punched him last winter.
Naturally, he couldn’t walk by without making a comment.
“I bet whatever they did to him was nothing compared to the torture of being married to you,” Ramsey muttered.
“What’s that you say, Ramsey?” Sam called over her shoulder. “You want to marry me? Not if you were the last dick on earth.”
“Fuck you.”
Freddie busted up laughing. “That was awesome.”
“Thank you.”
They entered the area that housed the Vice squad and found Robach in his office.
Sam knocked.
“Come in. Shut the door.”
Freddie followed her in and closed the door behind them.
“I’m not sure if this is anything, but I figured it was worth passing on,” Robach said.
“We’ll take what we can get at this point,” Sam said.
“The sports gambling ring last winter, the arrest of Colin McTavish...”
“Right,” Sam said. “It’s not every day that we arrest a city councilman.”
“It was a big one, and Gibson’s name came up in the course of our investigation. Word on the street is that he was one of McTavish’s lieutenants, but we weren’t able to make a case against him.”
“McTavish was arrested in February,” Sam said. “Is that right?”
“Yes, on the twentieth,” Robach said.
“Peter started his job at the mattress place around the first of March. Coincidental or did he suddenly find himself out of work?”
“I say it’s not a coincidence,” Freddie said.
Sam agreed. “Where’s McTavish now?” she asked.
“Out on personal recognizance awaiting trial.”
“Any objection to us having a chat with him?”
“I don’t, but his attorney probably will.”
“Where can we find him?” Sam asked.
Robach handed her a slip of paper. “At home with an ankle monitor.”
“Thanks for the help.”
“Sure,” he said, giving her a look that said there was more he’d like to say but was choosing not to.
“Something else on your mind, Cap?” she asked, even though she desperately wanted to leave it alone. Her natural curiosity wouldn’t let her.
“Just wondering what’s up with your husband and the threat.”
“The FBI has a person of interest in custody.”
“Oh, good.” After a pause, he said, “How do you deal with all the publicity while trying to do your job?”
“Um, mostly I ignore it.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“Captain, if you have something to say, please, by all means, get it off your chest.”
“I just wonder sometimes if you’re endangering yourself and your closest team members by working cases when the whole world knows who you are. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” Sam said, scoffing. “Well, my closest team members don’t have a problem with it, do they, Detective Cruz?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“There you have it. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“I hope not. Have a good day, Lieutenant.”
“You do the same.”
Sam turned to leave and gave Freddie a little shove to get him out the door ahead of her. “What the fuck was that about?”
“No idea.”
“It sounded to me as if he was trying to make me feel insecure about continuing to work while Nick is vice president.”
“You got all that out of what he said?”
“I did.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. No one in our squad thinks a thing of it, and we’re the ones you’re paid to worry about.”
“True, but can we concede that I was right that he had a bug up his ass with my name on it?”
“We can concede that. You called it, oh wise one.”
“Thank you.”
She caught the roll of his eyes but chose not to comment. Arriving in the pit, they found it deserted except for Gonzo, who was in his cubicle working on his computer.
He looked up at them. “Missing Persons has a possible lead on Ruby Denton.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“AN ALIVE LEAD or a dead one?” Sam asked.
“Haven’t heard yet.”
“Keep me posted. Anything else going on?”
Gonzo used his thumb to point to Sam’s office. “Jeannie.”
For the first time in days Sam remembered she was supposed to go to a dress fitting the day the Secret Service had taken her in. Crap. “Write up the reports and call it a day,” she said to Freddie.
“You need a ride home?”
“I’ll get Jeannie to take me. We’ll start with Peter’s parole officer and McTavish in the morning.”
“You got it, boss. See you then.”
“Thanks for everything today. It helped to do what we do.”
His adorably handsome face lifted into a small smile. “Anytime.”
Sam took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders and went into the office, pasting a smile on her face for Jeannie. “Hey.”
Jeannie looked up from her phone. “Hi.” The dull, flat tone to her voice reminded Sam of the days following the awful attack she withstood last year. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad, not good. We’re making some headway, but not as much as I would’ve liked.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so. But I know that’s not why you’re here when you’re supposed to be on vacation getting ready for your wedding.”
“I’m not sure how to bring up foolish things like dress fittings when you have so many bigger issues on your plate at the moment.”
“It’s not foolish at all.” Yes, it was, but Sam would never say so. Instead, she c
ollected her purse from the locked drawer where she kept it and grabbed a radio off her desk so she could keep tabs on what was happening from home. “How about you give me a lift to the dress shop, and we’ll get that done?”
“Are you sure you have time?”
“I’m sure.”
“Thank you. I know you have absolutely no desire to be a bridesmaid, but I’m so glad you’re in the wedding party.”
They said good-night to Gonzo and Freddie and walked together toward the main exit. “So am I. I’m looking forward to it.”
“I can’t believe it’s this weekend.”
“Time flies when you’re busy being in love and planning a wedding.”
“I guess.”
Sam was about to question her lack of enthusiasm when they exited the building into a larger-than-usual scrum of reporters. Ugh.
“Lieutenant, what’ve you heard about the Denton case?”
“Any movement on Gibson?”
“Will you be attending your ex-husband’s funeral?”
“Has the FBI let you know whether the threat against your family has been neutralized?”
Sam and Jeannie kept their heads down and pushed through the crowd.
“Come on, Sam, you gotta give us something.”
“No, I don’t,” she muttered under her breath.
They broke free of the crowd and walked quickly to Jeannie’s car. Sam didn’t let out the breath she’d been holding until Jeannie locked them in.
“Are they getting more out of control all the time, or is it me?” Jeannie asked.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” Sam said, chuckling. “As Captain Robach just eloquently pointed out, my higher profile is causing problems for everyone.”
“He actually said that?”
“Not in so many words, but that was the gist.”
“He’s just jealous. They all are.”
“How so?”
“You know how it is in the old boys’ club. Some of them can’t stand seeing a woman become a rock star like you are. He feels threatened by it. Don’t let it get to you. It’s his problem, not yours.”
“You make a good point.”
“How are you dealing with Peter and...everything?”
“I was doing okay until his mother let loose on me in the morgue.”
