Fatal Frenzy: Book 9 of the Fatal Series

by Marie Force

  “Hey, babe. How was the appointment with Trulo?”

  “More of the same.” She dropped her coat and purse on the sofa, earning a frown from her neat-freak husband. In a mocking tone, she said, “‘Tell us how you feel, talk about what happened, blah, blah, blah.’ I don’t know what they want me to say. It happened, I survived, it’s over and he’s locked up.”

  Nick kissed her forehead and gazed down at her, taking in every detail with gorgeous hazel eyes that saw right through her—and her bullshit. “You know what they want from you, Samantha, and the sooner you give it to them, the sooner you’ll be back on the job.”

  The Secret Service had given them the room, so she ran her fingertip down the silk tie and dipped it under his belt, pleased to realize he’d delayed the start of his day to be here when she got home. “Maybe I don’t want to go back to work. Maybe I’d rather be the second lady for a while and tend to my vice president anytime he needs tending to.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Um, who are you and what’ve you done with my wife?”

  For the first time in hours, Sam laughed.

  “No, seriously. You want to be the second lady rather than a cop?” He pressed his hand to her forehead. “No fever, but maybe we should call Harry just to be safe.”

  “Knock it off.” She batted his hand away. “Is there anything wrong with enjoying a little break from the rat race?”

  “If you were anyone else, I’d say of course not. But because you’re you, I see reason for concern. Perhaps even alarm. You love the rat race. You live for it. Or you did until Stahl lost his mind. Since then, you haven’t been quite yourself, babe. We’ve all noticed it.”

  Sam wasn’t surprised that he was tuned in to her as always and wouldn’t settle for the platitudes she’d given Trulo. “I’m working through some things having to do with the attack and the job and where I go from here.” It was the most she’d said to anyone since that awful day. “I just need some time. As long as I’m on leave, I may as well enjoy it, right?”

  “I suppose. But the cleaning and all that… You’re kind of freaking us out.”

  Smiling, she put her arms around him and leaned into the comfort of his embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of home. “I’ll knock off the cleaning.”

  He held her tight against him. “Thank God.”

  “How come your car is outside? I thought you sold it.”

  “Yeah, about that, I lied.”

  She lifted her head off his chest to give him the wifely evil eye. “You lied? Start talking.”

  “When we declined Secret Service protection for you, I didn’t exactly do that without some significant fears—and that was before everything happened with Stahl. So I decided… Well, come with me. Let me show you.” He held her coat for her while she put it back on and then took her by the hand to lead her to the door.

  The agent on duty stopped them. “Are you leaving, sir?”

  “Just going outside for a minute.”

  The agent spoke into the microphone attached to a wire that hung from his ear. “Hotshot and Fuzz are on the move.”

  “Fuzz?” Sam said, looking up at Nick. “That had better not be a reference to my hair.”

  “Did I forget to mention we’ve been assigned code names? And I believe yours is more about your job than your hair.”

  “It had better be. Fuzz? Really? How come you get to be Hotshot and I’m Fuzz? Is there an appeal process?”

  Hand over his mouth, the agent laughed silently.

  “It’s not funny! I have a reputation to uphold here. Fuzz is a puppy or a kitten. It’s not a badass cop.”

  “I’ll take it up with those in charge,” the agent said solemnly, obviously trying not to laugh out loud.

  Sam scowled at him. “You do that.”

  “You may proceed, Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Cappuano.”

  Sam left the agent with a final glare as she let Nick lead her out the door.

  “I can’t tell you how much I hate having to get permission to walk out my own door,” he said.

  “You knew it would be like that.”

  “Still, it sucks balls.”

  “Speaking of sucking balls—”

  “Not here. Not now.”

  “How do you know what I was going to say?”

  His side-eyed glance said it all. Removing a key fob from his pocket, he unlocked the BMW. “Hop in,” he said, holding the passenger door for her.

  “Um, okay. I thought you weren’t allowed to drive yourself anywhere?”

  “We’re not leaving.”

  “I’m not making out with you in broad daylight with your entire detail looking on.”

  “Good to know,” he said, laughing. “Now get your sweet ass in the car.”

  Sam slid into the soft leather seat and breathed in the familiar scent of leather and cologne that would always remind her of their first days together. They’d spent a lot of time in this car since then, and she’d been sad to see it go after he became vice president.

  He got into the driver’s side and pulled the door closed.

  She leaned across the center console. “You’ve got me all to yourself, Hotshot. Whatever will you do with me?”

  Flashing the irrepressible grin that made her panties damp every damn time, he said, “I’ll show you around your new armor-plated, specially outfitted bulletproof security vehicle.”

  Chapter Two

  Nick’s concern about Sam’s safety had led to some of the worst insomnia he had ever experienced, which was saying something since he’d been plagued by insomnia for much of his adult life. And that was before Stahl attacked her. Since then, he hadn’t slept much in the last few weeks as he watched her toss and turn, tormented by dreams she said she didn’t remember the next day.

  But he knew she remembered. She remembered the dreams and every minute she spent in that hellhole basement with Stahl and Marissa Springer. That day had changed something in her, something they were both still coming to terms with weeks later.

  Sam took a close look at the familiar vehicle, where the differences were subtle but significant.

  “The car has been outfitted with many of the same features that my limo and Nelson’s have—bulletproof glass and tires, armor-plated metal and a panic button that feeds to the Metro PD, Secret Service and FBI,” Nick said. “Under the backseat, you’ll find enough food for three days, emergency medical supplies, a biohazard kit, oxygen, sanitary supplies and everything you’d need to hide out.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Dead serious.”

  “When did you do this?”

  “I began looking into our options after we declined Secret Service protection for you.”

  “So before Stahl.”

  “Yes.” He stared out the windshield, battling the rage that gripped him every time he thought about what she’d endured in that basement. He’d read the police report, and in the rare instances when he did sleep, it gave him nightmares. “I should’ve done it sooner. I should’ve—”

  Sam grasped his forearm. “Nick, not even you with all your superpowers could’ve seen that coming.”

  He tried to shake off the rage because it wasn’t what she needed. “But wait, there’s more.” At the press of a button on the center console, a tablet screen popped up, complete with an attached keyboard. “Freddie helped with this part. This is the new tablet the department is mandating for field use, so yours is now built into the car with a Bluetooth keyboard since Freddie and I agreed the keyboard on the tablet would make you ragey.”

  “You and Freddie agreed, did you?”

  “Uh huh. He doesn’t know about this part, though.” Nick turned on the sound system, and Sam’s favorite Bon Jovi song, “Living on a Prayer,” roared to life. �
��All Bon Jovi, all the time.”

  “Seriously? Oh my God! Freddie will hate that!”

  “But you?”

  “I love it,” she said with a sigh and the soft smile he loved so much, especially when she directed it at him. “This… It’s amazing, Nick. Thank you so much for doing this.”

  “In addition to a charger for that dinosaur cell phone of yours, the car is also fully tricked out with all the latest in GPS technology. You’ll never go missing again. I’ll always be able to find you.” He produced his smartphone and held it up so she could see the screen. “This app tells me exactly where the car is at any given time.” Glancing at her, he forced himself to be truthful with her when he’d prefer to keep this part to himself. “I know it’ll make you mad to have me keeping tabs on you, but I can’t bear the thought of ever again not knowing where you are for even one minute.”

  “A month ago, I would’ve demanded you rip that shit out of the car. Now, I’m glad you’ll be able to find me if need be.”

  He hadn’t expected her to say that, and the statement demonstrated how deeply the trauma had touched her. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.” Sighing, she sat back in the seat, resting her head on the leather. “I keep going over it and over it in my mind, you know? Like how could I have been so stupid to walk into an ambush? I like to think I can see these things coming, but this one…”

  “Why would you have seen it coming? You’d been there before, met Marissa, talked to her about the case. What would clue you in that she was in cahoots with that bastard Stahl?”

  “Nothing, I guess, but still, I feel like I should’ve sensed something was up. But I didn’t. I walked right in there like I would any home of any witness. Remember when Freddie got shot at Reese’s place and how pissed I was that he went in there alone? I did the same thing.”

  “Totally different situation. For one thing, Reese had killed his family and Freddie was watching the place, hoping he’d come back. He went in there knowing he could be confronting a desperate killer, which was stupid. You went into the Springers’ house to talk to a woman you’d just had a civilized conversation with an hour earlier. How is that the same thing?”

  “We were shorthanded. I went in there alone. No one knew where I was. Checking in and calling for backup is police one-oh-one. I know better.”

  “You’re second-guessing yourself from the perspective of hindsight. You know what happened after you walked in there. But going in? With the info you had available to you at that time? You had no reason to believe there was any reason for concern.”

  The song on the radio changed to “Make a Memory,” one of Nick’s personal favorites of the steady diet of Bon Jovi he’d been fed since she came back into his life. “I love this song. It makes me think of when we were first together, and I came home to find you reading Congress for Dummies with this song blasting in the house. I think of that and ‘fill her buster’ every time I hear it.”

  She smiled at him, but he could still see the disquiet in her clear blue eyes. That she was deeply troubled and trying to hide it from everyone was readily apparent to him.

  Taking hold of her hand, he said, “You need to talk to someone about this, Sam.”

  “I’m talking to you.”

  “And I’m thrilled you’re talking to me. But you also need someone qualified to guide you through the PTSD stuff. Harry told me to tell you to call him when you get tired of stonewalling the department shrink.”

  “How does he know I’m stonewalling the department guy?”

  Nick sent her a withering look. “We all know you’re doing that.”

  “Could I ask you something and do you promise to take it seriously and tell me the truth?”

  “Sam… Of course you can, and of course I will. What do you want to ask me?”

  “What would you think if I took an indefinite leave from work to focus on being the second lady? Tell me the truth.”

  For a brief moment, Nick’s mind went completely blank with shock that she was actually asking him such a thing. He’d been concerned about her before, but now he was downright petrified. Something was seriously wrong if she was thinking that way. “Samantha, you’re freaking me out right now.”

  “Why? Because I’m considering some changes?”

  “Because this is so not you. You’d hate being a full-time second lady. You’re a homicide cop. It’s not just what you do. It’s who you are.”

  “What if I want to be someone different? Am I not allowed to be anything but a cop?”

  “You can be anything you want, but the one thing you can’t do is make life decisions when you’re still recovering from what happened in that basement. This is not the time to be having this conversation. Talk to me in two or three months when the dust has settled and your first thought every morning isn’t about razor wire.”

  She looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. “The car is amazing. I can’t believe you did all this. It goes a long way toward making me feel safe again.”

  “I want you to feel safe. Whatever it takes. Whatever we have to do.”

  “I’m thinking about requesting a detail.”

  “Okay…” Wow, the hits kept on coming.

  “You know, just in case.”

  “Yeah, baby. I know. Nothing has to be decided today or tomorrow or anytime soon. I’m sure you’re feeling some pressure from HQ to get back to work, but there’s no rush. The job’s not going anywhere, and Gonzo has you covered in the meantime.” He produced a set of keys that he held up for her to see. “The red button on the key fob is the same as the one in the car. It notifies MPD, the Secret Service and the FBI that you’re in trouble and broadcasts your position to them immediately.”

  She took the keys from him. “You thought of everything.”

  “I hope so. If there’s anything I missed that would make you feel safer, just say the word, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  “Where exactly do you go to get bulletproof tires and armor-plating?”

  “I called in a few favors, made a phone call or two.” Unlike the president, Nick had come up through the ranks and had friends in every corner of government. He hadn’t been shy about calling on every resource he had to make this happen for her.

  “It must’ve cost a fortune.”

  “Best money I ever spent on anything. Ever.”

  “So the windows… Is there a setting so I can see out but no one can see in?”

  He gave her a “what do you take me for” look and pressed a button on the dash that sealed off the outside world.

  “Excellent, now get over here and make out with your wife, Mr. Vice President.”

  “With pleasure, Mrs. C.”

  * * *

  The summons to appear in the chief’s office came from his admin through Gonzo, acting head of the Homicide Division in Sam’s absence. They’d been working long hours, following leads on the slasher case, but were no closer to an arrest than they’d been at the outset.

  “Chief wants to see you at four,” Gonzo had said, leaving Detective Freddie Cruz to wonder for three long hours what the chief wanted with him. In the back of his mind and in the pit of his gut, he knew exactly what this was about. He’d been waiting since the night he tuned up the guy who hurt Elin. It had been stupid and risky and every other word he could think of to describe the way he’d put his career on the line to defend the woman he loved.

  He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  Freddie’s leg bounced uncontrollably as he sat outside the chief’s office waiting to be called in. Since Gonzo delivered the news, Freddie had wanted to call Sam to get her take, but he’d been trying not to bother her while she was on leave. However, he sure would’ve liked to talk to her before this meeting.

  “Detective Cruz?” Helen said. “You can g
o in now.”

  “Oh, um, thanks.” He’d rarely been to the chief’s office without Sam, so he couldn’t remember if he was supposed to knock or just walk in. As knocking was the safer of the two options, he raised his hand to the door.

  “Come in!”

  Freddie opened the door and stepped into the chief’s inner sanctum. In addition to Chief Farnsworth, Deputy Chief Conklin, Captain Malone, the new Internal Affairs Lieutenant Wilson and the department counsel, Jessica Townsend, were there. Holy shit…

  Farnsworth gestured to the one remaining chair in the half circle in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Detective.”

  When he was seated, Freddie glanced at Malone, hoping for some insight into what was going on, but the captain was staring at something behind the chief.

  “We’re here to discuss the events of January 1st, in which Detective Cruz entered the city jail to confront an Andre Elliott, who’d been arrested earlier that day after assaulting a woman at a gym on Sixteenth Street.”

  Freddie had been waiting for this for weeks now while at the same time hoping it would go away without any additional fallout. No such luck.

  Reading from a paper he held in his hand, Farnsworth continued. “Mr. Elliott alleges that while he was in MPD custody, that Detective Cruz entered his cell and assaulted him, leaving him with injuries to his groin and face.” Farnsworth looked up at Freddie. “Do you know anything about this?”

  Freddie had no idea what to say. Did he tell the truth or did he deny it? It was his word versus Elliott’s. By placing his hoodie over the camera, he had made sure there would be no record of him entering or leaving the cell. The sergeant on duty in the jail that night, Sergeant Delany, had looked the other way after Freddie told him what Elliott had done to Elin.

  “Detective Cruz?”

  “Before you reply, Detective,” Wilson said, “I should remind you that you have rights, including the right to request counsel, should you require it.”

  “Am I being charged with something?” Freddie asked.

  “Not at this time,” Wilson said. “But we reserve the right to pursue charges if we’re unable to resolve this matter internally.”