Fatal Threat

by Marie Force

  From the observation room, Sam watched Nelson intently, taking note of his every expression.

  “It’s a free country,” Nelson said. He had the blond good looks that had helped to carry him through his entitled life. On the third finger of his left hand was a big gold wedding ring. Sam wondered about his wife and whether she knew what her husband had been up to. “I wasn’t aware that expressing an opinion would get me hauled into the Hoover Building for questioning.” He gave his lawyer a smug smile that the lawyer returned.

  Sam hated guys like them—rich, entitled, above the law, or so they thought. She approved of how Avery was going about this, saving the biggest gun in his arsenal for last. He’d let Nelson string himself up with his own words and then knock the legs out from under his cocky ass.

  “Did you express your disapproval of your father’s choice before Vice President Cappuano’s name was sent to Congress?”

  Nelson appeared to give that some considerable thought. “I might’ve suggested that we could do better.”

  “Apparently, he disagreed,” Avery said.

  “Apparently.”

  Sam flipped open her phone and put through a call to Nick’s chief of staff, Terry O’Connor. He answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, Sam.”

  “Terry, I need a favor.”

  “Of course. What can I do for you?”

  “Who do we know in Congress who could tell you whether or not Christopher Nelson campaigned against Nick’s nomination for vice president behind the scenes?”

  “I have a couple of people I could call.”

  “Could you do it in a way that wouldn’t raise any red flags?”

  “I believe I could. Do you mind if I ask why?”

  “You’ll know soon enough. Can you get right back to me?”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Thanks, Terry.”

  “Good thinking,” Freddie said.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Were you angry that your father chose a vice president you didn’t approve of?” Avery asked Nelson.

  “I wasn’t angry. I was more disappointed. I thought we could do a hell of a lot better than a first-term senator who was better known for who he married than anything he’d done on behalf of the American people.”

  “I resemble that remark,” Sam said.

  Freddie laughed. “Now he’s just being mean.”

  “In light of your feelings about Vice President Cappuano, it must’ve been galling to see his approval and popularity ratings reach record highs soon after he took office.”

  “Did they? I didn’t notice.”

  “Why don’t I believe that?”

  “Good going, Avery,” Sam said, leaning forward for a better view of the action. “Stick his feet to the fire.”

  “As part of our investigation, we’ll be confiscating your computer,” Avery said. “Are you telling me we won’t find any sign of you searching for info about the vice president or watching the polls or anything else having to do with him or his family?”

  For the first time, Nelson began to appear slightly uncomfortable. “They can’t just take my computer, can they?” he asked his lawyer.

  “You bet your pampered ass we can,” Sam said.

  “If they have a warrant, they can take it,” the lawyer said glumly.

  “Is it my imagination, or is Nelson’s tan fading by the second?” Sam asked Freddie.

  “It’s not your imagination. He’s getting rather pale.”

  “What’re we going to find on your computer, Mr. Nelson?” Avery asked.

  Nelson had no reply for that question.

  Avery pushed a piece of paper across the table. “Are we going to find a letter that was sent to the vice president’s office threatening his family, particularly the children?”

  Nelson stared at the paper while his lawyer stared at him, seeming shocked.

  “I wish I’d thought to bring popcorn,” Sam said. “A show like this requires snacks.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Freddie said. “Popcorn would’ve been nice.”

  “Are we going to find communication on your computer with the person you paid to follow members of the Cappuano and Holland families to get these photographs of the children?” Avery asked, placing the photos in front of Nelson. “How about the man you hired to rough up the second lady’s ex-husband? Will we find phone calls and texts that tie you to him? How about communication with the producer and reporter who put together the interview with the vice president’s mother? Will we find any trace of money being transferred from you to Nicoletta Bernadino? Will we find anything tying you to the so-called interview Peter Gibson did before he was murdered? And before you say you had nothing to do with any of that, you should know that we’re taking your boy Stan’s computer too.”

  Nelson remained stubbornly silent in the face of the mounting evidence of his guilt.

  “Are you aware that threatening the lives of the sitting vice president and his family is a capital felony punishable by up to life in prison?”

  Nelson blanched, as if the possibility of spending the rest of his life in prison had never occurred to him. “I want a deal.”

  The lawyer snapped out of his state of shock. “Christopher—”

  “I want a fucking deal!”

  Avery leaned in and waited until Nelson was looking directly at him. “No. Deal.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! You people are always making deals. I’ll give you the guy who killed Peter Gibson. You’ll give me a deal. That’s how it’s done.”

  “Newsflash, asshole,” Avery said. “We’ve already got the guy who killed Gibson. How do you think we got to you?”

  “You’re committing career suicide, Agent Hill. My father owns the AG and Tom Forrester. They’ll never take this to court. You’ve got nothing on me.”

  Avery slid the letter received by Nick’s office across the table. It was encased in a plastic document protector. “We’ve got your partial print on the letter that was sent to the vice president’s office. Game, set, match.”

  “Ohhh,” Sam said. “Checkmate.” She and Freddie exchanged high fives. Despite her euphoria at seeing another arrogant son of a bitch brought to justice, she still felt hollow inside knowing that Peter was killed because of her.

  “What was the point?” Avery asked. “What did you hope to accomplish?”

  Christopher stared at him, a mulish expression on his face.

  “They wanted to discredit the vice president so Christopher could run for the Democratic nomination in four years,” Avery’s deputy, George Terrell, said. “It wasn’t like your father could choose you to be his new vice president.” Terrell let that sink in for a second before he continued. “Your buddy Stan rolled on you, Christopher. He even told us about the exploratory committee you’ve put together for your own run for president, which has been met with little enthusiasm in light of Vice President Cappuano’s stunning popularity. Such a pity. All that plotting and scheming for something that’s never going to happen now.”

  Christopher’s face turned a worrisome shade of red. “That’s a bunch of lies. Stan wouldn’t dare turn on me.”

  “Oh, he definitely would when faced with the choice of doing hard time or cooperating,” Terrell said. “And he told us how, in addition to him interfering with your own ambitious plans, you couldn’t stand seeing the new vice president’s popularity eclipse your father’s. How you wanted him ‘brought down’ and how you hoped he would quit rather than see his family threatened. Any of that ring a bell?”

  His lips tight with fury, Christopher stared at the wall.

  “It must’ve made you some kind of mad to watch the country fall in love with its new vice president and second family,” Avery said. “And to watch your own aspirations go
down the toilet as his popularity soared.”

  Christopher had no reply to that.

  Avery stood and nodded to Terrell, who stepped forward with handcuffs. “Mr. Nelson, you’re under arrest for threatening the lives of the vice president of the United States, the second lady of the United States and their extended family, as well as the murder-for-hire of Peter Gibson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right—”

  “Save it.” Nelson said. “I know my rights. I’m a fucking lawyer, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Not for much longer,” Avery said. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from the bar in light of the felony charges that’ll be filed against you later today in federal court.”

  Terrell hauled Nelson to his feet and cuffed him while the lawyer looked on in stunned silence.

  “And that, my friends,” Sam said, gleefully rubbing her hands together, “is a wrap.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THE MEDIA WENT WILD over the arrest of the president’s son, as well as his top colleague and partner in crime, Stanley Ritter. Talking heads hashed and rehashed the details until every single piece of dirty laundry had been fully aired out, ironed, worn and washed again. Sam’s first marriage was taken apart in excruciating detail. The details of Nick’s birth to teenage parents were fully examined, scrutinized and analyzed.

  And throughout the day, President David Nelson maintained his shock and innocence, even as the chorus grew louder for him to resign from office in the wake of his son’s stunning arrest.

  “Please, God, don’t let him resign,” Nick said that night as the clock approached midnight. They were in bed at the end of a long and excruciating day that had involved more paperwork than Sam had done for any case ever. They had been meticulous in their documentation of every detail so there’d be no way Nelson could get off on a technicality of their making. He was going down, and he was going down hard.

  Couldn’t happen to a better guy. On the confiscated computers, the FBI lab had already found damning text messages, emails and phone calls tying Christopher Nelson and Stanley Ritter to Dante Fields as well as the reporters who’d produced the slam pieces with Nick’s mother, and the information tortured out of Peter. They also uncovered evidence tying the two men to the private investigator they’d hired to take the photos of the children in Sam and Nick’s lives.

  Terry had spoken to several Democratic members of Congress who’d been approached by Christopher Nelson about voting against his father’s choice of vice president when Nick’s nomination had come before them last November. None of them had yielded to Christopher’s request, preferring to side with the titular head of their party—the president—on the matter. Sam had passed the info along to Avery.

  “You think Nelson will be able to hold on to the presidency?” Sam asked.

  “I sure as hell hope so. The last thing I want right now is a promotion.”

  Sam shuddered at the thought of it.

  “I took the job knowing it was possible I could have to step up at any time, but not like this. Never like this.”

  Hating the despair she heard in his voice, she curled up to him, placing her head on his chest and her arm across his midsection.

  He wrapped his arm around her. “Don’t let go, okay?”

  “I won’t, Mr. President. Not now or ever.”

  “Shut up!” he said, laughing.

  “How will this unfold?”

  “There’ll be a congressional investigation. They’ll look into whether Nelson had any knowledge of what his son was up to. If they discover he knew, he could be impeached. If they can’t prove he knew and he survives the investigation as well as the court of public opinion, he’ll be able to hold on to his office, but only because he can’t run again. If he can’t hold on...”

  Sam blew out a deep breath. “How long will that take?”

  “Months. Unless a connection between Nelson and his son’s activities is somehow established right away—then it could be over in a matter of days.”

  “I can’t get my head around that possibility.”

  “I know. Me either. Let’s hope he’s able to survive it, or we’re in for an address change.”

  “Don’t even joke about that!”

  Nick laughed. “I have to laugh or I might cry.”

  The secure phone he was required to carry with him at all times startled them when it rang for the first time ever. He let her go to reach for it on the bedside table.

  “This is Nick Cappuano,” he said, sounding very presidential, not that Sam would tell him that. He sat up in bed. “Hello, Mr. President.” Grimacing, he glanced at Sam.

  Sam sat up too and watched over her husband as he listened to the president.

  “I appreciate that, sir. I’m sure.” Nick listened for another minute or two before he said, “Yes, sir. I appreciate the call and the concern for my family.” He rolled his eyes at Sam. “Good night.”

  “Tell me everything,” Sam said. “Leave nothing out.”

  “That’s called a secure line for a reason.”

  She glared at him. “Spill it.”

  “He and Gloria are appalled by the charges against their son. He had absolutely no knowledge of what his son was doing. He knew Christopher wasn’t thrilled with his choice of vice president but never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d go so far as to try to do something about it.”

  “He said he’s appalled by the charges,” Sam said. “Not by what his son has done. Does that mean he’s going to defend his actions?”

  “He’d be a fool to do that. There’s no way he could hold on to the presidency if he chooses to publicly support his son’s so-called innocence in a plot to threaten the vice president’s family, not to mention Peter’s murder.”

  “That’s because we’ve got Christopher screwed, glued and tattooed. There’s no way he’s getting out of this, and his father would do well to put some distance between himself and his son if he wants to stay in office.”

  “I can’t imagine having to choose between Scotty and being president.”

  “It wouldn’t be a choice for you. A. Scotty would never do something like this. And B. You’d pick him every time.”

  “Yeah, I would, but that’s because I’ve never had the burning desire to be president that so many other politicians have. They’d sell their souls to the devil for that job, and that’s what makes them do dumb things like allow their sons to run roughshod on their behalf.”

  “Look at Arnie Patterson and what he and his sons did for power. After watching that go down, how could Christopher Nelson be so stupid as to think he’d get away with a scheme like this?”

  Apparently, others were wondering the same thing. On the TV, photos of Arnie Patterson, his sons, White House deputy chief of staff Derek Kavanaugh and his late wife, Victoria, appeared on the screen. Patterson had planted Victoria with Derek to get information about the Nelson administration and then killed her when she fell in love with her husband and refused to turn on him.

  “Who knows?” Nick said. “I feel terrible for Derek to have his wife’s murder being rehashed all over again.”

  “Hopefully, he’s staying away from the TV tonight.”

  “I’m sure he’s dealing with full-on crisis mode in the West Wing.”

  “Should you be there?”

  “Probably. Terry says we’ve been overrun with requests for interviews, but I’m not saying anything on or off the record. What can I add to what’s already been said other than I hope Christopher Nelson and his cohort fucking fry for daring to threaten my son, my brothers, my nieces and nephews, my wife, my family, all because my popularity has eclipsed his father’s? It’s disgusting.”

  “I told you that Twitter account with five million
followers was going to get you in trouble.”

  “It’s ten million now.”

  Sam cracked up laughing and he joined in.

  “How’s your hip?” he asked, running a gentle hand over it.

  “Still aching but better than it was.”

  “All I’ve been able to think about since I got your message earlier is how you can’t spread your legs and the many, many ways we can work around that.”

  “So while this thing blew up with Nelson, which could lead to him resigning and you becoming president, that’s all you could think about?”

  “That’s it.”

  “No one could ever accuse you of not having a one-track mind.”

  “You could never accuse me of that.” He nuzzled her neck as he reached over her for the remote, which he used to shut off the TV. Running his hand down her arm, he captured the hem of her lightweight nightgown and worked it up and over her injured hip. “God, Sam, that looks painful.”

  “It’s not so bad. How about you show me some of these so-called work-arounds?”

  “I’d be afraid to hurt you.”

  “I got hit by a car today and walked away. Do your worst.”

  He tightened his hold on her. “Too soon to joke about it.”

  “I’m fine. I swear I am. If I wasn’t, I’d say so.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  She pushed her ass back against his hard cock. “Yes, I would. Teach me something new, Mr. Vice President,” she said in a breathy—and bad—impersonation of Marilyn Monroe.

  His low chuckle rumbled through both of them. “Well, if you insist.”

  “I do. I insist.”

  “Don’t move.” After kissing and caressing her until she was on the verge of begging, Nick moved very gently as he pressed into her from behind, her closed legs making for an extra-tight fit. “Ah, God, that’s hot, Samantha.”

  “Mmm, don’t stop.”

  “Will you still love me if I have to be president?”

  “Not as much as I love you as vice president.”