by Marie Force
“Okay,” she said, grateful as always for his unending support and love. “Thank you for understanding.”
“I want to understand, Sam. I want to get why you’re not in an all-fired rush to go back to work. It’s concerning to everyone that you’re not.”
Because, she thought, to do that I have to talk about what went on in Marissa Springer’s basement. I have to talk about how it made me feel to be certain I was going to die, that I was never going to see you or Scotty or my family again. How can I tell you I’d rather be an active second lady than talk about any of that?
“Sam?”
She forced herself to look directly into his gorgeous hazel eyes. “I’m just not ready.”
“Okay, babe.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Fair enough. What do you say we go home, make some dinner with our son and hit the loft after he goes to bed?”
“I say there is nothing else in this world I’d rather do.”
Chapter Five
She was right here with him, arching into him as he made love to her, and yet she was as disconnected from him, from their son, her family and friends as she’d been after the miscarriage she’d suffered almost a year ago. He recognized the signs, knew them for what they were this time, and worried endlessly about her.
The Sam he knew and loved would not have initiated a visit to her office at the White House. She didn’t clean and organize every square inch of their home. She didn’t offer to babysit her sister’s children in the middle of a workweek. She didn’t cook elaborate meals or make marinara from scratch. She didn’t avoid making love with him for weeks, flinching every time he touched her.
And she didn’t fake orgasms. That she did so now told him things were worse than he’d thought. Son of a bitch. She gave one hell of a performance, moaning and squeezing her internal muscles around him until he couldn’t stop the inevitable conclusion.
After, he lay on top of her, breathing hard and trying to make sense of thoughts that refused to add up. He’d experienced the real thing often enough to know a fake when he saw one. But why? Did he say something or let it ride? He opened his eyes and looked down at her. With her eyes closed and her head turned to the side she was closed off to him in a way that frightened him.
They’d never made it to the loft. Scotty had struggled with homework and went to bed late. By the time Nick finished helping him, Sam was already in bed in their room.
He kissed her cheek, nuzzled her neck and waited to see what she would do.
Without opening her eyes, she smiled and wrapped her arms around him.
“Everything okay, babe?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Though he wasn’t at all convinced, he withdrew from her and got out of bed. He went into the bathroom to clean up and stood there for a long time trying to figure out what to do. He was so rarely uncertain of himself with her that the feeling was concerning.
Splashing water on his face, he decided he’d call Harry in the morning. He needed some advice from a qualified professional, and his doctor friend had training in PTSD from his own experiences in the military as well as his volunteer work with injured veterans. When Nick returned to bed, Sam was already asleep or pretending to be.
Nick lay awake staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with worries about her, about Scotty’s struggles with math, about the president’s lack of interest in forging any sort of working relationship with him. The insomnia had never been worse than it had been since Stahl abducted Sam. Standing outside the Springer home that day, waiting for SWAT to go in after her, he’d been so sure they were too late this time.
How many lives could one sexy cop have after all? At some point, her luck would run out. Thinking about that, worrying about it, kept him awake night after night after night until the exhaustion was so ingrained in him he was like a zombie on autopilot during the day.
He’d lost his edge in the exhaustion. He’d lost his ability to read her. The irony wasn’t lost on him—he who worried endlessly for her safety on the job would give everything he had to see her back where she belonged, running the MPD’s Homicide Division with her usual intense focus.
This new post-Stahl Sam wasn’t the same person she’d been before she went into that house, planning to re-interview Marissa Springer and get on with her day. This new Sam was fragile and withdrawn, two words he’d never use to describe her under normal circumstances.
Something had to give and it had to happen soon, before she slipped too far from him and the life she’d cherished before she was viciously attacked.
Nick never did sleep that night and forced his weary body out of bed to get Scotty up for school while Sam continued to sleep. After going to bed late, Scotty was unusually cranky and their morning was more contentious than usual.
“I don’t know why you’re pissed at me,” Scotty said over breakfast.
That he sounded so dejected went straight to Nick’s heart. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m tired and stressed, and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Are you stressed about Mom?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at the perceptive boy. “Are you?”
Scotty nodded. “She’s been weird since everything happened. She cleaned my room.”
“Someone’s gotta,” Nick said, going for a moment of levity.
“When has it ever been her? You’re the anal-retentive freakazoid neatnik, not her.”
Those words had come straight from his wife’s mouth to his son’s. “Hey, I resemble that remark.”
Scotty laughed, which made Nick feel slightly better. “What are you going to do about it?”
His natural inclination would be to shield Scotty from what was happening with Sam, but their son was too perceptive and too intelligent to get away with that. And at thirteen, he’d been maturing before their very eyes lately. “I’m going to talk to Harry today and see what he suggests we do.”
“Will you let me know what he says?”
“Yes, I will. Try not to worry too much. The most important thing to remember is that she’s alive. We can work with the rest.”
“That’s true. I wish she’d go back to work, though. She’d feel better if she were working. That’s what she loves to do.”
“I agree. When she’s ready, she’ll go back. Until then, we need to be supportive and let her do what she needs to do to work through what happened.” Nick checked his watch. “Go brush your teeth and grab your backpack. The detail will be leaving in five minutes.”
“Not without me they won’t,” Scotty said with a cheeky grin that Nick couldn’t help but return.
“Get going, smart mouth.”
After Scotty left with his detail, Nick went upstairs to shower and get ready for work. Seeing that Sam was still sleeping, he ducked into his office to call Harry. The sooner they got to the bottom of whatever was going on, the sooner they could get things back to normal around here.
“Is this the vice president of the United States calling?” Harry asked when he answered on the second ring.
Nick smiled at the predictable comment. His friends had been relentless since his promotion. “In the flesh.”
“To what do I owe this incredible honor?”
“I need a favor.”
“Sure thing, buddy,” Harry said, all joking forgotten. “Anything for you.”
“I need you to talk to Sam.”
“About?”
“Everything that happened with Stahl. Something’s not right with her, and damned if I can get her to talk to me about it. The department shrink isn’t having any luck either.”
Harry’s deep sigh came through the phone. “When you say something’s not right, what do you mean?”
“She’s cleaning everything and organizing things, which isn’t like her. Yesterday, she voluntarily went to a meeting wi
th her White House staff when a couple of weeks ago she was begging me to get her out of those meetings. She’s in no particular rush to get back to work, and she’s faking things. Important things.”
“Oh yikes.”
“Yeah, exactly. Not like her at all. Does she think I can’t tell?”
“Um, uh, please tell me that was a rhetorical question.”
“What do I do, Harry? I’ve never seen her this way, even after she was nearly blown up, chased down by gangbangers, pistol-whipped in the face or any of the litany of other shit that’s happened. This time it’s like she’s punched out of reality or something.”
“How’s she sleeping?”
“Better than I am.”
“So the insomnia is back?”
“Worse than it’s ever been. I can’t recall the last time I actually slept.”
“Jesus, Nick. You gotta let me give you something for that.”
“It messes me up too bad the next day.”
“And how’s not sleeping been for your productivity?”
“I’m dealing with it. What I can’t deal with is seeing Sam struggling to cope with whatever is going on inside her on her own. That is killing me.”
* * *
Awakened by the sound of Nick’s voice, Sam stood outside the bedroom they’d converted into an office after the Secret Service took over the one downstairs. She listened to Nick air out his thoughts and learned for the first time that he hadn’t been sleeping because he was so concerned about her.
She cringed when she heard him tell Harry—she assumed and hoped he was talking to Harry—that she’d faked it with him. Of course he knew. Sometimes she suspected he knew her better than she knew herself.
Tears stung her eyes at the thought of him suffering because of her. Of course he would suffer, and of course he would suffer in silence. He’d never add to her burden.
God, how had it come to this? Listening to her strong, unflappable husband expressing his deepest concerns to his friend… It broke her to know she’d driven him to talk about things he rarely said out loud, except to her.
She took a deep breath and rounded the corner to the office.
He stopped speaking midsentence. “Hey, babe.”
“Tell Harry I’ll see him today if he has time.”
“You’ll, what… Oh, okay.” His gaze remained fixed on her when he said, “Sam is here and would like to know if you have any time today—” After a pause, he said to her, “Can you be at his office at ten?”
She nodded.
“She’ll see you then. Thanks, Harry.” He put down the phone and got up to come around the desk to her. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough.”
“I wasn’t talking about you in a bad way, Samantha.”
“I know. I’m sorry you’ve been so upset. I didn’t know you haven’t been sleeping, but now that I take a closer look, I can tell. I’m sorry that I was too self-absorbed to look closer.”
“Stop.” He put his arms around her and wrapped her up in the familiar scent of home. “Don’t apologize for any of it. It’s not your fault.”
“I’m going to fix it.”
“Babe, please, don’t do it on my account. Do it for you.”
“If I do it for you, it’ll also be for me because I can’t bear to know you’re losing sleep over me.”
“Isn’t the first time,” he said with the grin that had made him a national sex symbol since he became vice president.
She reached up to frame his face with her hands. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know why—”
He kissed the words right off her lips, tightening his arm around her and lifting her to walk her into the bedroom.
Since Sam had kept her eyes open, she saw the Secret Service agent who’d just come on duty avert his gaze before Nick kicked the door shut. She began to laugh and couldn’t stop.
“What’s so funny?” he asked as he came down on top of her on their bed. “That was some of my best work, and I have to say your laughter wounds me.”
Sam only laughed harder. “The poor agent is scarred for life after that demonstration.”
“They’ve never had to protect a vice president who’s as hot for his wife as this one is.” He kissed her neck and made her shiver from the sensations that rippled through her. As always, his touch electrified her, but weighing heavily on her mind was the meeting she’d agreed to with Harry.
She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on him, to let him carry her away from all her cares, if only for a short time.
“What?” he asked softly. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I can’t think about anything other than Harry and that appointment.”
Nick dropped his head to her chest. “So my best work isn’t having the desired effect?”
“It’s not you. I hope you know that. God, it’s so not you.”
“I know, baby.” He kissed her lips with tenderness that slayed her. “Rain check?”
“Absolutely.” She looked up at him gazing down at her with love and concern. “Could we maybe…”
“What? Anything.”
“Just hold me for a while?”
“For as long as you want.”
“Don’t you have a country to run?”
“The country can wait. My wife needs me to hold her, and that just became the most important thing on my to-do list today.”
* * *
Outside the intensive care unit at GW, Gonzo pressed the call button, flashed his badge and waited to be buzzed in. The nurses were busy, so it took a minute, which gave him enough time to prepare his case to be allowed to speak to one of their patients.
“Didn’t we already talk to this guy?” Detective Arnold asked.
“Yep.”
“So what’re we doing here again?”
“The lieutenant always says when we hit a dead end, go back and start over. That’s what we’re doing.”
A buzzer sounded and the doors slid open. “What can I do for you?” a nurse asked in a harried tone.
“I need to speak with Mr. Enright.”
“This isn’t a good time. He’s had a rough night.”
“We won’t keep him long,” Gonzo said. “I promise. If it wasn’t critical that we speak with him, we wouldn’t be here.”
She hesitated for a moment and then said, “Just one of you. Follow me.”
“Wait here,” Gonzo said to Arnold, pointing to the waiting area.
Arnold frowned at him, obviously miffed at being left out. Too bad. The last thing Gonzo had time to deal with right now was fragile egos. He followed the nurse to the room where Enright was attached to wires and tubes and machines. Upon spotting the nurse outside the door, his father jumped up from his post next to the bed and came out of the room. “He’s in pain.”
“He’s not due for more pain meds for a couple of hours yet.”
“Hours? He needs it now.”
“I’ll call the doctor.”
“Who’s this guy?”
“Detective Sergeant Gonzales.” Gonzo flashed his gold shield. “Metro PD.”
“What do you want? He’s already been interviewed. He told the other detectives everything he knew.”
“I’d like a few minutes with him to go over it again.”
Enright senior shook his head. “Not now. He’s not good.”
“He’s stable, Mr. Enright,” the nurse said, earning points with Gonzo.
“I’ll be as quick as I possibly can,” Gonzo said.
“Fine, ten minutes, but no more.”
Before the guy could change his mind, Gonzo entered the room, stopping at the bedside of twenty-seven-year-old William Enright, an associate at a graphic design and
marketing firm called Griffen + Smoltz in Georgetown.
When he opened his eyes and looked up, Gonzo could see the pain in his eyes. William licked dry, cracked lips. “Who’re you?” His voice was rough and hard to hear.
“Sergeant Gonzales from the Metro PD. I had a couple of follow-up questions I hoped you could help me with if you’re feeling up to it.”
“I already told the other lady detective everything I know.”
“Detective McBride said you were very helpful. I have to be honest with you—we’ve hit a brick wall in this investigation. We’re getting nowhere fast. When that happens, we’ve found it works best to go back with fresh eyes and start over. I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, but if you wouldn’t mind walking me through the attack one more time, it might help to catch this guy.”
“What do you want to know?”
Gonzo pulled a notebook and pen from his coat pocket. “Tell me what you remember about the minutes leading up to the attack. Where you were, where you’d been, where you were going.”
“I was out with some friends downtown.”
“Where exactly were you?”
“At a bar on 14th Street.”
“Do you remember the name?”
“Desi’s, I think?”
“I know that place. It’s new, upscale. Right?”
“That’s it.”
“Who were you with?”
William moved to find a more comfortable position and winced.
“You don’t have to do this now, son,” his father said from behind Gonzo.
“I’m okay, Dad. I’d rather get it over with.” To Gonzo, he said, “I was with people from work. One of the guys is getting married next week, and we took him out for happy hour. It was a good excuse to hit up a place we’d heard a lot about lately.”
“The group at work is close-knit?”
“We put in a lot of hours together every week. They’re good people.”
“Did you leave alone?”
“Yeah, I had a basketball game in the morning, so I wanted to get some sleep. They were staying for one more round.”
“So you left the bar and grabbed the Metro?”
