Divine Justice

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  And what is that exactly?

  He sank into a deep sleep, disturbed only by a face with sapphire eyes, dark lashes and lips that made him ache to kiss her.

  13

  Thursday, April 19, 2012

  ~ Ottawa, ON

  After breakfast, Ben and Natassia left for a meeting with Porter Sampson, while Jasi decided to take the CFBI files on Winkler and Sampson down to the coffee shop. She was seated in the far corner near a window. In most cities the morning rush hour would have been winding down by now. But not in Ottawa. The streets were still packed, bumper to bumper.

  First, she pulled out Monty Winkler's file. She leafed through it until she found the information on the man's political standing and placed it on the table. Then she did the same with Sampson's file.

  "Different platforms, different circle of friends." She bit her bottom lip. "So what did they have in common?"

  She was four paragraphs into Winkler's education background when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

  "Jasmine, my love."

  A man with sun-kissed blond hair and eyes the color of a pale spring sky leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  Jasi couldn't breathe.

  When she finally spoke, her voice came out in a squeak.

  "Zane?"

  Zane Underhill, ex-lover and brilliant psychologist, was the last person she expected to see in Ottawa. He had worked closely with the CFBI for many years, consulting on cases prosecuting dangerous criminals. That's how they'd met. He thought she was an expert profiler with the CFBI. He didn't have a clue what she really did.

  "It's been a long time," he said, the warmth of his voice melting her frozen heart.

  "Yes, it has."

  Three years ago, Zane had left for Washington, supposedly for a one month teaching assignment. He called her every night for the first two weeks. Then his phone calls and emails became less frequent, and one month dragged into two. Four months later, she heard through the grapevine that he had gone on to New York, working with the CFBI as an expert witness in the field of psychology. Not long afterward, she gave up trying to keep track of him, or waiting for him.

  She stared up at him now, trying not to remember how heartbroken she'd been, how utterly devastated she'd felt. He was someone from her past, someone she had tried long and hard to forget. And now, here he was, smiling at her as if it had only been three days instead of three years.

  "I can't believe my good luck," he said, his Australian accent still as charming as ever. "Mind if I join you?"

  Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a lazy smile. The same disarming smile that had drawn Jasi into a tempestuous relationship. The same smile that had betrayed her when he promised he'd only be gone a month.

  "What are you doing here?" she finally managed. "I thought you were still in New York."

  Zane stretched his legs. "I came back over a year ago."

  There was an awkward silence.

  "So what are you doing here?" Jasi blurted.

  "Chatting with you, love." He grinned. "You're the last person I expected to see here."

  Her mouth felt dry. "Ditto."

  "You living in Ottawa now?"

  "No, I'm still in Vancouver. I have a new apartment."

  He frowned. "I tried looking you up last year, but your number wasn't listed."

  She shrugged. "I was getting too many crank calls."

  And none from you for three years, she wanted to say.

  The conversation seemed forced, at least from her end, and right now she'd give anything to be someplace else.

  "Zane, I'm kind of in the middle of something right now." She stared pointedly at the papers on the table.

  "No problem. We'll catch up at dinner."

  "Sorry. I have other plans."

  "Cancel them," he said, his tanned hand covering hers. "I've missed you, Jasmine."

  As she gazed into his eyes, long buried memories teased at her mind. Candlelight, roses, wine and writhing bodies.

  "I've missed you too." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Sorry, but I can't, Zane."

  "Come on," he pleaded. "Dinner. That's all I'm asking for. You can't work all night long without sustenance. Besides, when was the last time you had some fun?"

  She blushed. Fun, by Zane's definition, meant hot, steamy sex that lasted well into the night. She wasn't about to tell him he'd been the last man she'd slept with.

  "Give me a chance to apologize," he said. "We both know I owe you that much."

  You owe me more than that.

  "Fine," she said with a sigh. "One dinner. Nothing more, Zane. I've moved on."

  He raised a finely arched brow. "Yet here you sit, alone without any of your mates around, looking as gorgeous as the day I met you."

  She couldn't resist a slight smile. "I was covered in soot when you met me. And profiling an arson case."

  He stood. "Ah, but your smile lit up the crime scene."

  "Dr. Underhill, you're so full of shit."

  "That was the moment I knew."

  He leaned down and kissed her slowly, deeply.

  She came up for air, gasping. "Knew what?"

  Zane strode across the room, heading for the exit.

  "Knew what?" she shouted, ignoring the other diners who were scowling at her.

  Zane grinned over his shoulder. "That you were the only woman for me."

  Then he was gone.

  The air in the room seemed to thicken. The couple at the table nearest Jasi smiled. They were probably dreaming up all sorts of romantic explanations.

  "Great," she muttered.

  The last thing she needed was Zane Underhill back in her life. He represented chaos, because when she was with him, nothing else mattered except being with him, skin on skin.

  She shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

  Jasmine McLellan, you agreed to dinner. Nothing else!

  In the foyer of the Sampson residence, Ben took Natassia aside. "Follow my lead, Agent Prushenko."

  Flashing blue eyes met his and for a moment he thought she was going to argue. The woman would have to learn her place, and he'd have no problem reminding her. New partners were at the bottom of the status ladder―especially temporary partners.

  "Aye, aye, capitaine," she said, saluting him.

  He turned to Porter Sampson. "Thanks for seeing us."

  "Whatever it takes to end this."

  "This is Agent Natassia Prushenko. She's temporarily assigned to your case."

  The man gave Natassia a brief nod. Then he led them into his office. "Have a seat, please. Lorraine is bringing us some refreshments."

  As if on cue, Lorraine Sampson entered the room. She carried a wooden tray with a pot of French pressed coffee, three mugs, sugar and cream. Setting the tray on her husband's desk, she poured the coffee without saying a word.

  "Thank you," Ben said, accepting a mug.

  With a nod, Lorraine quietly retreated.

  "You have a lovely home, Mr. Sampson," Natassia said. "Have you lived here long?"

  "About eight years. I built this house for my wife and I after the boys were gone. We didn't need a four-bedroom house anymore."

  "I think smaller homes are quite cozy. My parents have a home about this size, right outside Saint Petersburg."

  "Russia?" Sampson asked in surprise.

  "Da." Natassia smiled. "That's where I'm from originally. Have you been there?"

  "I visited Russia once many years ago, when I was in my early twenties. A friend and I backpacked across Europe and we stopped in Saint Petersburg and Moscow." The man chuckled. "We got into our fair share of―what shall I call them―adventures."

  Ben eyed Natassia. She'd ignored his order and charged in full-speed, but he had to give her credit. She had immediately put the older man at ease.

  Of course, that could have had something to do with how striking Natassia looked. She wore simple navy blue pants, with a white and blue striped b
louse. The top three buttons were left undone and revealed perfect, unblemished skin.

  He needed a distraction.

  "You only have the two sons?" he asked Sampson.

  "Yes."

  "It must be difficult to be here, waiting for news from Afghanistan. Is either of them married?"

  "Denzel was married for about two years, but they got divorced. Such is life nowadays." The man glanced at the door. "It's hard to keep a marriage going."

  "It looks like you and your wife have managed to keep the spark alive." Ben paused. "What about grandchildren?"

  "Denzel has a son with Sheri, the girl he married. The baby's name is Tyrell. He's two. We see Ty once a month. My wife spoils him rotten."

  "I bet you're just as bad," Natassia teased.

  Sampson's mouth curled up at the corners. "I guess I am. Playing with little Ty is the only time I can get away with being…well, silly."

  Ben envied the man. Silliness wasn't part of his life either.

  "How do you get along with your boys?"

  "We're better than we used to be. We had rough patches when they were teens, like most fathers and sons." The man caught his eye. "Do you have children, Agent Roberts?"

  "No."

  "Well, when you do, you'll learn that being a father is the toughest job there is. It makes boot camp seem like a Disney holiday. But once they're on their own, that's the real test. Rainey and I are real proud of our boys."

  "Have you had any problems with them lately? Any arguments?"

  Sampson gave him a hard stare. "Agent Roberts, don't go looking down this alley for trouble. My boys had nothing to do with what happened to me. I guarantee you. We may have our occasional disagreements, but I love them and they love me."

  Natassia cut in. "I'm sure Agent Roberts didn't mean to imply that your boys had anything to do with this case."

  Ben shot her a frown. "Mr. Sampson, we need a clear picture of the people in your life. Whoever is responsible for abducting you could be someone you know, or have ties to someone close to you."

  Sampson rested both hands on the desk. "I don't believe anyone I know would do such a thing."

  "You're not the first victim to tell me that."

  And you won't be the last, Ben thought.

  Sampson drummed his fingers on the desk. "I talked to Denzel and Terrence before they shipped out. Denzel was worried about Ty and asked me to check in on him. And no, we never argued. Neither of my boys is in any trouble. No one's after them. No gambling or drinking problems."

  Ben believed him. But he'd still run a security check.

  "Can you walk us through what you remember on that last day? Don't leave out anything, not even the smallest detail."

  "I remember everything I did during the day. I had meetings in the morning and―"

  "Who did you meet with?" Ben interrupted.

  Sampson's gaze drifted. "My lawyer. Joe Zhang. He's drafting up some legal documents for me."

  "What kind of documents?" Ben asked.

  "Nothing to do with work. It's strictly personal. I've been meaning to draw up a new will, make sure my Rainey is well protected." He flicked a sad look at the door. "She's my life."

  "My father says that about my mother all the time," Natassia said gently. "Where did you go after the meeting with your lawyer?"

  "I went to work. I had a pile of papers waiting to be signed, and my assistant Martin Fonteyne gave me a stack of notes, calls I needed to return."

  "We're going to need those," Ben said.

  "I'll have Martin fax them to you."

  "What time did you arrive back home?"

  "It was a little after four, I think. I had supper with Rainey, then came in here to do a little research." Sampson pursed his mouth. "That's it. That's all I remember."

  "Thank you," Ben said. "You've been very helpful."

  "Is there anything else you need?"

  "A list of everyone you met or talked to that day and their phone numbers."

  "Will do, Agent Roberts." More scribbling.

  Ben's data-com beeped.

  It was an unfamiliar number. Local. The call display read Ottawa C. Mg.

  "I'll take this in the hall, if you don't mind."

  Sampson shrugged. "Go ahead. Agent Prushenko can keep me company. I'm sure she has more questions for me."

  In the hallway, Ben answered the call.

  "Is this Agent Roberts?" a woman asked.

  "Yes, but you have me at a disadvantage."

  "Sorry. This is Dr. Faith Copeland."

  Ben smiled into the 'com. "Ah, our resident mortician."

  "Actually, I prefer pathologist."

  He could tell she was smiling.

  "I tried to reach Agent McLellan, but her line was busy. OPP gave me your number."

  "Has something come up?"

  "That cigar butt you sent to Tox came back positive for alcohol, like you suspected. They sent me the report as soon as they saw the connection."

  "What connection?"

  "There were traces of Flunitrazepam in his saliva."

  The same drug found in Monty Winkler. Damn! He had hoped he was wrong.

  "Saliva tests only show positive for up to six hours after the drug is taken orally," Copeland said.

  "He wasn't injected like Winker?"

  "No, he probably drank something laced with it."

  "This isn't enough of a deviation from the method used on Winkler to suggest Sampson was drugged by a different perp."

  "Exactly," she said. "And you know what that means."

  "Yeah, we're looking for a killer who hates politicians."

  "Agent Roberts?" Copeland's voice was edgy.

  "Shoot."

  "Mr. Sampson should be examined by a doctor. He needs a rape kit done. It's important to rule out any kind of…abuse."

  "Monty Winkler's came back negative."

  He heard her sigh. "Just because his results were negative doesn't mean Porter Sampson's will be. Take him to the hospital, Agent Roberts."

  Ben hung up.

  How the hell would he be able to convince Sampson to go to the hospital for a rape kit?

  When he re-entered the office, Natassia was laughing at something Sampson had said. She took one look at his expression and her mouth snapped shut.

  "Mr. Sampson," Ben said slowly. "I'm going to have to insist that we take you to the hospital for a physical examination."

  Sampson jumped to his feet. "I already told you. I'm fine."

  Ben gave Natassia a helpless look.

  "What did the tox screen say?" she asked.

  "He tested positive for Rohypnol," he replied. Turning to Sampson, he said, "Mr. Sampson, you were given a paralytic drug that causes memory loss. If a larger dose had been used, you would've been completely unconscious. Or dead."

  The older man seemed baffled. "How could you know I had drugs in my system? I didn't give you any of my blood to test."

  "We borrowed your cigarette stub." Ben lowered his voice. "We need to know if anything was done to you while you were unconscious, Mr. Sampson."

  Sampson turned a sickening shade of gray. "Are you saying I was…?"

  "We don't know that yet."

  "Oh God."

  There was something pitiful about Sampson's voice.

  "Let's wait until all the reports are in," Ben said.

  Natassia patted the older man's arm. "It's better to know, Mr. Sampson. One way or the other."

  "We'll take my vehicle," Ben said when he saw Sampson fish his keys from a jacket pocket.

  As they left Sampson's office, Lorraine gave them a surprised look. "Porter?"

  "I'm going out for a bit, Rainey."

  His wife's worried gaze followed them to the door.

  Outside, Sampson paused in front of the SUV, his eyes barely meeting Ben's or Natassia's. "This is between us. Okay?"

  Ben removed one glove. "Our team is very discreet."

  As the man opened the vehicle door, Ben rested a bare hand on the
man's arm. His vision immediately shifted until all he saw was a cloudlike fog. In the far distance, a shape moved, but Ben couldn't make it out. He felt a cool breeze brush against his face and a mist of water wash over him. Then…nothing.

  "Agent Roberts?" Sampson was staring at him, a look of concern on his face.

  "I'm fine," he lied.

  Sometimes his 'gift' infuriated him. It came and went without any rhyme or reason, and that made him a liability. One day, his unreliable visions would get him into trouble.

  14

  "Maybe Rohypnol was only used to keep him quiet, so the perp could transport him to the park," Natassia said to Ben.

  They were seated in the waiting area of Ottawa General, awaiting the results of Sampson's examination. Sampson was getting dressed.

  "I hope so, Natassia," her partner said absentmindedly.

  She smiled. He'd used her given name for the first time. Mr. I'm-so-serious Roberts was warming up to her.

  "What are you grinning about?"

  "Nothing," she replied.

  Cool eyes gazed at her. "By the way, when we're interviewing a witness, or anyone for that matter, follow my lead, Agent Prushenko."

  So we're back to being formal.

  "You mean be quiet?" she said dryly.

  "And don't defend me."

  She scowled at him. "I was just trying to help."

  Ben was being pigheaded. All she'd done was try to smooth things over with Porter Sampson. Why was he so touchy?

  "I'm fully capable of explaining myself," he told her.

  "Of course you are."

  Just then, Sampson stepped into the waiting room, his face three shades of red. He glanced around, noting the empty seats beside Ben and Natassia.

  "Well," he said. "If I didn't feel violated before, I certainly do now."

  "We're very sorry," Ben said. "But we had to know."

  "Now what?"

  "Now Agent Prushenko is going to talk to you alone for a few minutes."

  "Why?"

  "I may be able to help you recover some of your memories," Natassia said, standing. "Come with me."

  Ben pulled her aside. "Do you want me to be your reality line?"