by Linda Howard
“After dinner. I’d like to go back there anyway. Poke around some more.”
“It’s a date.”
She turned off her computer and the lamp on her desk. “It’s not a date.”
“Semantics,” he said as he followed her from the office.
“It’s not a date.”
*
Over thick-crust veggie pizza and beer at a place where everyone seemed to know Nick, Sam asked him about Patricia Donaldson.
“Who?”
“According to his parents, she was a high school friend of John’s who lives in Chicago.”
His eyebrows knit with confusion. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“He sent her three thousand dollars a month, has for years, called her several times a week and talked for as much as an hour.”
Nick shook his head. “I don’t know anything about her.” He seemed puzzled, distressed even. “How’s that possible?”
“Did you know he was into porn? Big time into it?”
Pausing mid-bite, he returned the pizza to his plate and wiped his mouth. “No. How do you know?”
“It was on his home computer.”
His expression shifted from startled to disgusted. His breathing slowed as he fixated on a spot behind her. He was quiet for a long time. “I wish I could say I’m totally surprised, but I’m not. He took such chances with his reputation and his career.”
“What else besides this?”
“Women. Lots of them. It was like he was looking for something he just couldn’t seem to find. He’d be all hot over someone and a week later she’d be history.”
“Did they have anything in common?”
“They were all blonde and well endowed. Every one of them. One Barbie doll after another. It got so I didn’t even bother to make the effort to remember their names.”
Sam swallowed the last of her beer in one long sip and had to admit she felt recharged after the meal. “Christina Billings sent over a list of the women he’d dated during the last six months. We’re working through it now. I bet we’ll find his killer among the Barbies.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You said it was a crime of passion, right?”
She nodded.
“None of them were around long enough to feel the kind of passion you’d have to feel to do what was done to him—except Natalie, but that was over and done with years ago. If she were going to kill him, she probably would’ve done it a long time ago.”
“We’re going to talk to her tomorrow.”
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Keep up this pace. It’s relentless.”
“You spent a night in your office this week. You do what it takes to get your job done. That’s all I’m doing. Usually it’s worse than this. I often have multiple cases going, but thanks to the forced vacation my load has been light lately.”
“But dealing with murderers and victims and medical examiners…It’s got to be so draining.”
“It can be. Other times it’s exhilarating. There’s nothing quite like putting all the pieces together and coming out with a picture that leads to conviction.”
“Did you always want to be a cop?” He hadn’t asked that question the first time they met, when she had just made detective.
“That subject is kind of complicated.”
“How so?”
She fiddled with the handle on her mug. “I’m the youngest of three girls. I think I was about twelve when it dawned on me that the only reason I’d been born was because my father wanted a son so desperately.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“Oh, yes I can. My mother all but told me.”
“Sam…”
She hated the sympathy that radiated from him. “So, knowing I’d disappointed him just by being born, I set out to win his approval every way I could think of. Name a high school sport—I played it. I went with him to Redskins games, Orioles games. He even branded me with a boyish nickname.”
“You’ll be Samantha to me,” Nick declared. “From this moment on.”
She sneered at him. “I don’t let anyone call me that.”
“You’re going to have to make an exception because to me there’s nothing boyish about you. You’re all woman. Every beautiful, sexy inch of you.”
Her face heated under the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll allow an occasional Samantha, but don’t overdo it. And not in front of anyone else.”
“I’ll save it for only the most important, private moments,” he said with a grin that melted her bones. “So, you became a cop to please him, too.”
“Huh?” she asked, captivated by his hazel eyes.
“Your father.”
“Oh. Right. At first that’s what it was about. I won’t deny that. But I discovered I have a knack for it—or I thought I did until recently.”
“You do. You can’t let one incident shake your confidence or your faith in yourself.”
“You sound like the department shrink,” she said with a chuckle. “And while I know you’re both right, there’s something about a dead kid that shakes you to the core even when you know you did everything right.” Sam fixated on a spot on the wall as the horror of it all came back to haunt her once again. She’d never forget the sound of Marquis Johnson’s agonized shrieks after his son was hit by gunfire.
“What happened that night?”
The sick weight of it settled over her and turned a stomach so recently satisfied by food. She’d had a hard time choking down anything for weeks after the incident. “I’m not supposed to talk about it. I have to testify at the probable cause hearing next week.”
Under the table, he took her hand, linked his fingers through hers and resisted her efforts to break free. “Stop,” he said softly. “Just stop, will you?”
“Someone might see,” she hissed.
“No one’s looking at us, and the tablecloth hides a world of sin. There’s nothing quite like a good tablecloth.”
Sam gently extricated her hand and folded her arms while pretending not to notice the wounded look that crossed his face. “I’ll bet you’ve done your share of public sinning.”
“I’ll never tell,” he said, his lips quirking with amusement. “Is it so difficult for you?”
“What?”
“Sharing the burden.”
“It’s impossible,” she confessed. “My inadequacy in that regard has caused me some major problems in my life.”
“What kind of problems?”
“The marriage kind for one.” She wished for something else to drink since her mouth was suddenly as dry as the desert. Glancing at Nick, she found him watching her with the patience of a man who had nothing but time. She reached for his half-empty glass of beer and took a long drink.
“Why’d you get divorced?”
Sam mulled it over, wondering if she should have this conversation with a man she was wildly attracted to but who was off limits to her. After a long pause, she decided what the hell? Why not? “My ex-husband claimed I didn’t need him.”
“And did you?”
“No,” she snorted. “He turned out to be a total loser.”
“Since he failed to deliver a couple of critically important messages, I’d have to agree with you there.”
“I made such a big mistake with him,” she sighed. “I didn’t see him for what he really was until it was too late. I didn’t listen to people who tried to warn me.”
Nick straightened out of the slouch he’d slipped into. “Was he…I mean…He didn’t hit you, did he?”
“No, but it almost would’ve been easier if he had. At least I could’ve fought back against that. His thing was passive aggression. He wanted total control over me. I let it go on for far longer than I should have because I didn’t want to admit I’d been so incredibly wrong. Damned foolish Irish pride.”
Despite her resistance, Nick moved closer. “I want to w
rap my arms around you right now,” he said gruffly against her ear, his warm breath sending goose bumps darting through her. “I hate the idea of someone making you feel inadequate.”
“I let him,” Sam said, the pillars of her resistance toppling like Dominoes. She wanted Nick’s arms around her, wanted to lean her head on that strong, capable shoulder. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she wanted the comfort he offered. No, she needed it. What should have been terrifying was actually rather exhilarating. “Can we go?”
“Sure.” He put some bills on the table, got up and offered her his hand.
“We’ve left the safety of the tablecloth,” she reminded him as she stepped around his outstretched arm on her way to the door.
Grinning, he followed her out.
Heads bent against the blustery cold, they walked a block to where they’d parked her department vehicle. An odd chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran up her spine as she unlocked the door on the dark street. Glancing around, she expected to find someone watching her, but saw no one. Just her overactive imagination, she thought, as she reached over to unlock the passenger door for Nick.
He slid in next to her. “Before we go to John’s place, I need to get my car.”
“Okay.” Sam started the car to get the heat going, but sat with her hands propped on the wheel.
“What’s wrong?”
She gripped the wheel. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more right now, Nick.” Glancing over, she found him watching her intently. “It’s not because I don’t want to.”
He reached over to caress her face. “I know that.”
His touch sent a burst of longing sizzling through her, but she tamped it down. “Can you be patient with me?”
“I spent years wishing for another chance with you, Sam. I’m not about to bail just because it isn’t going to be easy.”
She released a deep sigh of relief. “Good.”
“But after this case is closed…”
“I’ll be right there with you.”
“What we had six years ago is still there,” he said, gazing into her eyes.
“So it seems.”
“Whatever it is, I’ve never had it with anyone else.”
“I haven’t either. I was so sad when you didn’t call. I couldn’t believe I’d been so wrong about you.”
“Ugh. That makes me furious. When I think about what we might’ve had, all these years…”
“Let me close this case,” she said, her voice hoarse and tense. “The minute I close this case…”
Nick seemed to be resisting the urge to haul her into his arms. “Samantha?”
Surprisingly, the dreaded name didn’t sound so bad coming from him. “Hmm?”
“We steamed up the windows.”
“And we didn’t even do anything!”
“Yet,” he said, his voice full of promise.
Finding him harder to resist with every passing second, she shifted the car into drive and forced herself to focus on the road.
CHAPTER 13
Sam left Nick at the congressional parking lot, and timed her drive across the city to the Watergate. At that hour of the night, traffic was light but an accident on Independence Avenue screwed up her timing. She’d have to try again tomorrow night to determine whether Christina Billings would’ve had enough time to drive across the city, commit murder, and drive back with a stop to pick up Chinese food in twenty-eight minutes.
Reaching for her cell phone, she called to check on the search of Billings’s car.
“I was just going to call you,” Detective Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales said. “We got a hit for blood on the front seat.”
“I knew it!” Sam cried. “I’ll bet she wrapped up her coat and left it on the seat. The blood soaked through!”
“Wait,” Gonzo said. “Before you get too excited, she said she cut her hand scraping ice off her car two weeks ago and had to get three stitches. She has a raw-looking pink scar on her right hand and produced the form from the E.R. with wound care instructions. We’re checking the blood anyway, but I’ll bet a month’s pay it’s going to be hers. She willingly gave us a sample.”
“Son of a bitch. We can’t catch a single break in this one.”
“We’ve narrowed down Billings’s list of the senator’s recent girlfriends from six to two. The other four could prove they weren’t in the city that night.”
Sam added visits to the two remaining Barbies to her ever-growing to-do list for the morning. “Do me a favor and set up some plain-clothes coverage for the senator’s wake. Make sure you coordinate with Virginia State Police and Richmond.”
“Sure thing. Do you want observation and video or just observation?”
“Let’s tape it. Make sure the officers you send have the photos of the senator’s family and girlfriends, so they’ll know who to watch for.”
“I’m on it.”
“Thanks for the good work, Gonzo.”
“You got it. Try to get some sleep tonight, Sam.”
“Yeah, sure.”
As she sat in the tangle of cars held up by the wreck, Sam banged her fist on the wheel in frustration that came from multiple sources. She couldn’t stop thinking about Nick and how understanding he’d been when she put their fledgling relationship on hold. How often did she allow herself to lean on someone? Never. However, she couldn’t lean on someone who was a material witness in the homicide case she was investigating. As much as she wanted to, she just couldn’t.
She edged the car forward and finally cleared the accident. When she arrived at the Watergate, Nick was waiting for her in his black BMW.
“What took so long?” he asked as he stepped out of the car.
“Accident on Independence.”
“You should’ve taken Constitution.”
“Well, I know that now. Nice ride,” she said, admiring the gleaming Beamer. “The taxpayers take good care of you.”
“I have few vices,” he said with a grin as he slid an arm around her. “Cars are one of them.”
She scooted out from under his arm before they entered the lobby. “No PDA,” she growled. Flashing her shield to the officer at the security desk, she gestured to the bank of elevators. “We’re taking another look at the senator’s apartment.”
The officer nodded and waved them through.
They rode to the sixth floor where the door to John’s apartment was blocked by yellow crime-scene tape. Sam plugged in the code to the police lock and pushed open the door. Lifting the yellow tape, she encouraged Nick to go in ahead of her.
She heard his deep inhale and watched his broad shoulders stoop as the memories came flooding back to him. Placing her hand on his arm, she stopped him. “You don’t have to be here. I can get the clothes for you.”
“No,” he said softly. “I can do it.”
“Take a minute. I’m going to wander.”
Sam walked through the luxurious apartment where a light sheen of fingerprint dust remained. Picking up knickknacks, opening drawers and checking behind the television, she looked for anything that might have been missed the first time through. She had no doubt the place had been put together by a decorator—probably when the senior Senator O’Connor lived there. It was odd, really, how little of John O’Connor could be found in the apartment.
In the senator’s bedroom, the bed linens had been stripped and sent off for DNA analysis. A single hair could have blown the case wide open, but all the fingerprints, fibers and DNA were John’s. Since the apartment had not yet been cleaned, blood stained the wall behind the bed as well as the beige carpeting, and coagulated on the bedside table. The blow to the jugular would’ve been messy. Blood would have burst like a geyser from the wound, soaking the killer.
Sam stood at the foot of the bed and let her mind wander. Had he fallen asleep sitting up? Or had he sat up in surprise when the killer appeared? Obviously, he’d been naked in bed. Had he thought he was going to have sex with the woman who appeared in his bed
room? Is that how she gained easy access to his privates? Sam was absolutely convinced it was someone he knew well, which is why he hadn’t had much of a reaction to finding her in his apartment.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Sergeant?” Nick asked from behind her.
“He was asleep,” Sam said, her eyes fixed on the headboard where the gaping hole in the beige silk upholstery was a glaring reminder of what had happened there almost forty-eight hours ago. “Dozing. The TV was probably on.”
“It wasn’t on when I got here.”
“She could’ve shut it off. Whoever it was, she was someone he wasn’t surprised to see.”
“She?”
“They were lovers.” Sam spoke in a monotone as the scene played itself out in her imagination.
“Did he let her in?”
Sam shook her head. “She was waiting for him and took him by surprise. She had the knife behind her back. Maybe she was naked, too, which is why there’s no one on the security tapes leaving with blood on their clothes. He thought he was going to get lucky, and that’s how she managed to get a hold of his penis. By the time he became aware of the knife, she had already severed it. The pain would’ve been monstrous. He probably lost consciousness. If he came to before she killed him, he would have asked why. Maybe she told him, maybe she let him wonder.”
“Would she have been strong enough to get a knife through his neck with one shot?”
“Good question. And you’re right—it would’ve taken a tremendous blow to go all the way through his neck and lodge in the headboard. She would’ve been enraged by something he did or failed to do. Rage and adrenaline breeds strength. It could’ve been a promise he made and didn’t deliver on or maybe she caught him with another woman. People have killed over less. When she was done, she took a shower to get rid of the blood that would’ve been all over her. Then she cleaned the bathroom and scrubbed it so well there wasn’t so much as a hair on the floor. The water in the tub had dried by the time he was found, so we can only speculate that she showered. But none of the towels had been used. If she used one, she took it with her. Before she left, she might’ve taken a long last look at him. She was filled with regret that he couldn’t be what she needed him to be, but at the same time she was angry with him for making her do this.”
