Fatal Deception

by Marie Force

  “Already done. He’ll meet you at GW.”

  As a homicide detective, Freddie didn’t get to see many happy endings. Reuniting Maeve Kavanaugh with her father was something he was truly looking forward to.

  “What do we know about the woman?” Freddie asked. There hadn’t been much time for questions before the raid.

  “Only her name. Bertha Ray. Apparently, she’s known around the neighborhood as a grandmotherly type, always taking in strays.”

  “That doesn’t jibe with the profile of a kidnapping murderer.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Hill said, seeming as frustrated as Freddie felt. “I’m going to HQ to question Mrs. Ray. Keep me posted on Maeve’s condition.”

  “I will, and I’ll let the lieutenant know that—”

  “I’ll take care of notifying her,” Hill said.

  What the hell was that all about? “Yes, sir, Agent Hill.” Freddie made no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. “Whatever you say.”

  With a curt nod, Hill went to talk to the SWAT commander.

  * * *

  “So fucking stupid,” Hill muttered to himself as he walked away from Cruz. He was doing a piss-poor job of hiding his feelings for the outrageously sexy lieutenant. When he thought about how she’d looked floating down the stairs in that shimmering evening gown...

  Her husband had noticed her at the same instant Hill did, which was the only reason Hill was still alive. If the senator had seen the reaction Hill had to the sight of his gorgeous wife, Hill wouldn’t have blamed the senator for resorting to violence.

  He’d stooped to an all-time low by lusting after another man’s wife. Now Cruz was wondering why he was so insistent on calling the lieutenant himself rather than the far more logical scenario of her partner taking care of it.

  Hill stormed over to talk to the SWAT commander, who viewed him suspiciously.

  “Everything all right, Agent Hill?”

  “Yeah,” Hill said. “We’re good. Pass along my thanks to your team.”

  “Will do. Glad we found the kid.”

  Hill nodded in agreement. His every emotion was simmering on the surface of his skin, reminding him of the time he’d stumbled upon a nest of fire ants as a kid. He waited for the crime scene unit to arrive and got them started processing the scene before he got in the car and turned the air-conditioning to blast.

  For a long time he sat there, letting the cool air pummel him. He wasn’t thinking about the interrogation he needed to oversee or the child he’d helped to rescue or the confusing case that promised to expose a scheme of epic proportions. No, his every thought was still focused on the image of Sam coming down the stairs in that amazing dress. If he lived to be a hundred years old, he’d never forget how gorgeous she’d looked in that moment.

  Burying his fingers in his hair, he took a series of deep breaths, hoping to calm his fast-beating heart. He needed to call her and tell her the raid had been a success. Even though he could more than handle the interrogation on his own, he wanted her thoughts on how best to proceed.

  When the hell had her voice become the one in his head? At this very moment, she was snuggled up to her dashing husband in the back of a limo on the way to the fundraiser. She probably hadn’t given him a thought since he left her house. Whereas she was all he could think about.

  Why had he gone to the house in the first place? He couldn’t really say, except he’d assumed she’d be suffering more than most over the missing child. He knew about her history of miscarriage—hell, everyone knew after the Reporter printed the salacious story about her earlier in the year. He’d wanted her to know as soon as he did that they’d had a break. When she didn’t answer her phone, he’d acted without thinking, and now he had an image burned into his brain that would stay with him forever.

  “That’s what you get, asshole. Poking your nose into places you don’t belong. Get it together, for crying out loud.” He could lecture himself all night, but it wouldn’t change anything. Reaching for his cell phone, he found her number in his contacts—why her number was in his contacts was another cause for concern—and pressed Send.

  While he waited for her to answer, he pinched the bridge of his nose, where a headache had formed in the last hour.

  “Holland.” Her voice sounded husky and sexy, as if she’d been sleeping or—

  No. Don’t think about that. Do. Not. Think. About. That.

  “Hill? Are you there?”

  “Sorry, someone was talking to me. We got the kid.”

  “Is she...”

  “She seems fine. The paramedics are taking her to the ER where her father is meeting her. Cruz went with her.”

  “That’s good. What a relief.”

  “For sure.”

  “Who had her?”

  “An older woman named Bertha Ray. My gut is telling me she’s got nothing to do with the kidnapping. Word on the street is she’s the neighborhood babysitter. A real grandmotherly type. The goal will be to figure out who hired her.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Keep me posted.”

  “Tomorrow we need to start over and dig into this thing big-time.” Another thought occurred to him. “Are you working tomorrow?”

  “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I thought with the injury—”

  “I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning. Make sure someone gets word to me about what you get from the interview with Ray.”

  “I will.”

  The line went dead. She was gone. Off to spend a glamorous evening with her glamorous husband.

  Avery drove through the congested city to HQ. He was halfway there when Detective Arnold called to find out if he was coming to do the interrogation or if he expected them to handle it.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  He had to get his head back in the game. There’d be plenty of time later to think about what he couldn’t have.

  * * *

  Outside the examination room where Dr. Harry Flynn was checking a very vocal Maeve Kavanaugh, Freddie was thinking about calling Sam. Who cared what Hill said? She was his partner, and he’d damned well call her if he wanted to. His phone rang, startling him out of his snit. He didn’t recognize the local number on his caller ID.

  “Cruz.”

  “Malone.”

  Freddie stood up a little straighter at the sound of the captain’s voice. “Sir.”

  “You have the Kavanaugh child?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And she’s in good health?”

  “Apparently so, sir. The doctor is with her now.”

  “The media has caught wind of the fact that we’ve found her. I’m told there’s a mob outside the emergency room. I want you to handle them.”

  “Um, handle them, sir? In what way?”

  “The usual way. Give them a statement of what went down earlier. Don’t mention the GPS locating device or Mrs. Ray’s involvement.”

  Freddie broke out in a cold sweat. “You want me to talk to the media?”

  “That’s what I said. Can you handle it?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.” He spoke with far more confidence than he felt.

  “When you’re done there, go home. We’ll be reconvening at zero seven hundred at HQ.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did the lieutenant mention that Melissa Woodmansee has filed suit against the department?”

  “Yes, sir. She did.”

  “They’re apt to ask you about it. If they do, you have no comment. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thanks, Cruz.”

  For a long time after the line went dead, Freddie stood there like a stooge, holding his phone away from his body as if it contained explosives. Sam always took care of the media. That was never his thing.

  Until now.

  Deciding to put off the encounter for as long as he could, Freddie waited in the hallway, hoping for a report from the doctors.

  The double doors burst open a
short time later, and Derek Kavanaugh came running down the corridor, followed by two older people who Freddie assumed were his parents. Kavanaugh looked quite a bit worse for the wear since Freddie had last seen him. His hair was standing on end, his eyes were wild-looking and he hadn’t seen a razor in days.

  “Where is she? Where’s my daughter?”

  “Dr. Harry is with her now,” Freddie said, gesturing to the cubicle.

  Kavanaugh rushed by him and let out an agonized moan at the sight of his child sitting on the big bed.

  “Dada.”

  “Yes, baby, it’s me.” Derek broke down into ragged sobs. “It’s Dada.” He pushed past Harry and the nurses and scooped up the blond-haired girl, hugging her tightly enough that she squawked in protest. “Is she okay?” he asked Harry.

  “Seems to be fine,” Harry replied. “We found no injuries or obvious signs of trauma. She was apparently well fed and cared for.”

  “Thank God,” Derek’s mother said as she wiped tears from her face.

  “Can I take her home?” Derek asked.

  “We’re waiting on some blood work, and then she’ll be good to go.”

  “Thank you, Harry,” Derek said, burying his face in blond ringlets as his shoulders shook with sobs. “Thank you so much.”

  Harry rested a hand on his friend’s back as Derek’s parents pulled their son and granddaughter into a hug.

  Feeling like an intruder in an intensely personal reunion, Freddie left the room.

  Harry came out a minute later, discreetly wiping tears from his face. “Such a relief,” he said.

  “For sure. I hear there’re reporters outside. Is there any way to get the family out of here without Mr. Kavanaugh having to carry his daughter past them?”

  “We’ll arrange to have them escorted through the main doors. I’ll call security.”

  “Thank you.”

  Still trying to prepare himself to deal with the media, Freddie decided to wait around until Maeve was released.

  Derek stepped into the hallway a few minutes later. His eyes had lost some of their wildness, but his face was now streaked with dampness. From inside the cubicle, Freddie could hear Maeve’s grandparents talking to her.

  “Where did you find her?” Derek asked.

  “At a house in Bellevue.”

  “And this GPS device, the one my wife had implanted in my child without my knowledge, that’s what led you to her?”

  “Yes.” Freddie couldn’t blame the guy for the bitterness in his tone when he spoke of his late wife.

  Derek’s jaw shifted, and his eyes fixed on the far wall. “Why would she do that? Why would she have a locator device put in our child?”

  “I imagine for the same reason anyone would—a fear of one day needing it.” The desolation Freddie saw in Derek’s eyes broke his fragile heart.

  “It would seem, from what you’ve uncovered so far about my wife, that she had a greater-than-average reason to be afraid of such a scenario.”

  Freddie had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. “I wouldn’t know that for certain, sir. Does the name Bertha Ray mean anything to you?”

  Derek shook his head. “Is that who had her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would someone I’ve never heard of kill my wife and take my child?”

  “We don’t know yet that she did either of those things.”

  “But she had Maeve!”

  “Someone could’ve hired her to care for your daughter. Agent Hill and Detective Arnold have her in custody and will be interviewing her shortly.”

  “So even though you found Maeve, you may not have found the person who killed Victoria.”

  “That’s correct.” Derek’s probing questions were good practice for the upcoming encounter with the press.

  “If only Maeve were a little older. She could tell us who did this.”

  “It’s a blessing that she won’t remember it.”

  “That’s true.” Derek ran a hand through his hair, which only added to the disorder. “I’d like to be kept informed.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I’d like to be able to bury my wife.”

  “As soon as the medical examiner completes her work, you’ll be notified.” Freddie paused for a moment to see if he had other questions. “Hospital security will help you get your daughter out of here without a media circus.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I’ve been asked to brief the media. May I tell them your daughter is in good condition?”

  Derek pondered that for a moment. “People have been so worried about her. We should tell them she’s fine, or as fine as she can be after what she’s been through.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Derek’s mother peeked through the curtain. “She’s asking for you, honey.”

  With a nod for Freddie, Derek went back to his daughter.

  Freddie released a long, deep breath and let his head fall back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the hell Derek Kavanaugh was going through after learning his wife wasn’t who he’d thought she was. Even though they’d found his daughter unharmed, his life was still permanently changed. Nothing they could do would bring back his wife. And while Freddie was certain they’d eventually find her murderer, Derek may never know for sure if her feelings for him had been genuine.

  Sometimes this job truly sucked, Freddie decided as he opened his eyes and summoned the fortitude he’d need to square off with the rabid reporters. Before he headed for the door, he pulled out his cell phone and called Elin.

  “Hey,” she said, sounding rushed. “Where are you?”

  “At the GW ER.”

  “Did Sam get hurt again?”

  “Earlier today. Did you see the video?”

  “I did. It was amazing. She was amazing. Why are you still at the ER?”

  “We found Maeve Kavanaugh.”

  “Oh God, is she...”

  “She’s fine. Back with her dad and grandparents.”

  “Oh, Freddie. That’s such good news. People have been talking about it at the gym nonstop. How did you find her?”

  “I’ll tell you about it when I get home.” He loved their new apartment in the Woodley Park neighborhood where he’d grown up and looked forward to their evenings together. “Where are you?”

  “Leaving the gym.”

  “Why so late?”

  “Last client was running behind, so I waited.”

  Freddie refused to think about the studly dudes she trained and called friends. He’d learned that was a fast track to Crazyville. “So, um, you might see me on the news.”

  “How come?”

  “Malone asked me to brief the media that are gathered outside the hospital.”

  “That’s so cool! Are you nervous?”

  “Hell, yes. I’ve never done it before.”

  “You’ll be great. Be yourself. They’ll love you.”

  “You have to say that because you love me,” he grumbled.

  Laughing, she said, “Yes, I do. Now hurry up and do your press thing and get home. I’m horny.”

  Freddie released a tortured groan. “You had to say that right now?”

  She laughed harder. “Hurry!”

  Freddie ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket, his entire body filled with tension. Like he hadn’t been nervous enough. Now he had visions of his lover’s pierced nipples in his mind too. Determined to get the press conference over with and get home to her, he headed for the double doors.

  The minute he stepped into the damp humidity, questions flew at him. There had to be at least thirty reporters and four or five TV cameras. The parking lot was lined with satellite trucks, ready to broadcast the latest news.

  “Where was Maeve Kavanaugh?”

  “Who had her?”

  “How did you find her?”

  “Did you find the murderer?”

  “Is the lieutenant attending her husband’s fundraiser?”
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  Freddie suppressed a laugh over that last one. As if he would tell them anything about Sam’s personal business. Taking a page from Sam’s book, he held up his hands to quiet them. “If you give me a second, I’ll tell you what I can.” They surprised him when they fell quiet, giving him their full attention.

  “At approximately eighteen forty-five, accompanied by the MPD’s SWAT unit and acting in partnership with the FBI, we entered a house in the Bellevue neighborhood, where we found Maeve Kavanaugh physically unharmed. She was transported here, and doctors have found her to be in good condition. Her father and grandparents are with her, but we ask that you respect their privacy at this difficult time.”

  “How did you find her?” Darren Tabor asked.

  As much as Freddie would like to tell the reporter who’d been decent to Sam and to him, Freddie said, “We’re not able to disclose that information at this time.”

  “Was the person with Maeve the same person who killed her mother?”

  “We’re still sorting out the details.”

  “Did the lieutenant’s injuries keep her home from the fundraiser?” This from a blonde who worked for the Reporter, the tabloid that published regular stories about Sam and Nick with little regard for whether or not they were true. Their relentless focus on the couple had been a source of endless aggravation for his partner and her husband.

  Freddie ignored the question.

  “Is it true that Melissa Woodmansee is charging the MPD with police brutality?”

  “No comment. That’s all.” He pushed his way through the crowd to Sam’s car, feeling as if he’d done a decent job handling the questions the way Malone had asked him to.

  He started the car and tore out of the parking lot. He needed to get home. His girlfriend was horny.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As they drove through the gates to the Belmont Country Club in Ashburn, Sam experienced a flutter of nerves. Being on display as the wife of an up-and-coming politician was so wildly out of her comfort zone it wasn’t even funny. Since they’d been married, Sam had attended a couple of rallies for his campaign and several small fundraising dinners. That she’d been able to handle, but this, she decided as the car rolled up the hill to the stately brick mansion, was going to leave her comfort zone in the dust.