Fatal Frenzy: Book 9 of the Fatal Series

by Marie Force

  After a brisk knock on his office door, Terry came in holding a stack of papers and a phone tucked between his head and shoulder. He glanced at Nick. “Um, hmm, let me check with him. Hold on.” Terry covered the phone with his hand. “There’s a woman at the gates claiming to be your mother. She’s demanding to be let in to see you.”

  Nick’s stomach took a dive at that news. “Did she give a name?”

  “What’s her name?” Terry asked into the phone. Holding it aside, he said, “Nicoletta Bernadino.”

  Nick sighed and shook his head. This was the very last thing he needed today. If he let her in, if he acknowledged her, it would screw him up for days. The very smell of her perfume used to leave him reeling after her infrequent visits during his childhood. He simply didn’t have it in him to deal with her today.

  “Tell her I’m not available.”

  “The vice president is in meetings,” Terry said. “He’s not seeing visitors today.” He listened to what was being said on the other end. “I’ll let him know.” Terry ended the call and put the phone in his pocket.

  “What did they say?”

  “She’s raising hell, apparently, making demands, throwing your name around, telling them she’s going to have their jobs.”

  “Let them know their jobs are safe.”

  “I’ll do that.” He looked as if he wanted to say more but didn’t.

  “It’s okay. You can ask.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “It is when she shows up here and makes it your business. The little demonstration at the gate is a metaphor for my entire life. She shows up out of the blue, makes it all about her and leaves me flattened in her wake. It’s our pattern. She’s long overdue for a visit. I haven’t seen her since she tried to crash my wedding and Sam ran her off before she could get her hooks in me and ruin the best day of my life.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, with a mom like Laine O’Connor, it would be hard for you to understand a mother like mine.” Nick got up and went to the window, trying to see the main gates, which were just out of view. “You don’t think the press is going to catch wind of her being here, do you?”

  “The Secret Service will take care of it.”

  “Okay.” Staring out the window reminded him of countless Saturdays he’d spent looking out the window from his grandmother’s apartment waiting for her to show up. More often than not, she disappointed him. And on the times she did come and leave the distinctive scent of Chanel No. 5 all over him, he’d refuse to bathe for days afterward lest the scent disappear from his life once again. To this day, the scent of Chanel No. 5 disgusted him.

  He shuddered at the pain those memories could still invoke in the child who lived within him.

  “You okay?” Terry asked.

  Shaking off the past, he turned to face the present. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got the final schedule for tomorrow from Nelson’s office. Just a few things to double-check. You, Sam and Scotty will be joining the Nelsons for services at St. John’s in the morning, correct?”

  “Yes.” He hadn’t yet broken the news to her that they were going to church, but she’d roll with it for his sake.

  “Here’s a copy of your guest list for the luncheon after the ceremony. Just want to make sure one last time that everyone is on there.”

  Nick scanned the list: his father’s family, the O’Connors and Sam’s family as well as some of their closest friends including Shelby (thankfully her “boyfriend” Hill would be working and unable to join them), Nick’s former chief-of-staff Christina, Terry’s fiancée Lindsey McNamara, Derek Kavanaugh, Dr. Harry Flynn and Nick’s lawyer friend Andy Simone and his wife. Freddie and Gonzo had been invited, but they’d be working like every other MPD officer that day, except of course the second lady. Nick had also invited Scotty’s former guardian, Mrs. Littlefield, and two of Scotty’s closest friends from school. “That’s everyone.”

  “Excellent, thanks.” He held up another piece of paper. “Your Twitter account is up and running. Are you ready to take on the world as VPOTUSCap?”

  “Oh, I like that handle.”

  “We wanted you to be able to keep it after you leave office.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Terry handed him the page that held his Twitter password. “It’s all yours, ready to go whenever you are. You’ve got a one-hundred-forty character limit on tweets—and we’ve already had the account verified so people will know it’s really you.”

  Nick opened Twitter and signed into his account where his staff had set up his profile with his official White House portrait and a line of text that said VP of the U.S. “I’m having performance anxiety.”

  Terry laughed. “Just be you, and they’ll love you.”

  Nick typed his first tweet: Hey Twitter, this is your VP here. Sam and I are looking forward to the inauguration tomorrow and the next four years. Then he read it to Terry. “I still have twenty-eight characters left. What should I add?”

  “How about Scotty. Sam, Scotty and I…”

  “Oh damn, good call.” Nick added Scotty to the tweet. “He would’ve been all over me for that. He’s already mortified that I’m going to be on Twitter in the first place.”

  “Don’t let him fool you. He loves all the attention he gets with his dad as the VP.”

  Nick posted the tweet and sat back to watch as his number of followers began to increase—rapidly. “Hey, check this out.”

  Terry came around the desk and leaned in for a closer look. “Holy shit. Is that like a hundred thousand in a minute?”

  “Looks that way to me.”

  “That’s incredible. I wonder if you’ll break Twitter by joining.”

  “Let’s hope not. We don’t need the whole Twitter-verse mad at me.”

  “Listen to you with the lingo.”

  “I pay attention.”

  “That’s some crazy welcome to Twitter. Two hundred thousand! Wow. You’re a rock star, Mr. Vice President.”

  “Whatever you say. Getting back to the schedule for tomorrow…”

  “Right,” Terry said, dragging his gaze off the Twitter numbers. “What’ve you decided about the balls?”

  “We’ll go to the Inaugural Ball, take a twirl around the dance floor and leave out of respect to Detective Arnold and his family.”

  “I think that’s a good call. You make an appearance but you don’t party the night away.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Lindsey said things are pretty grim at HQ. I don’t know how they do what they do every day, knowing something like this can happen at any time.”

  “It’s better for my mental health if I don’t think about how easily something like this can happen.”

  “True. Sorry. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

  “It’s fine. It’s a raw nerve. I wish I could say I don’t think about it every day, but I do. I’ve learned to manage the anxiety, and then Stahl takes Sam hostage and Arnold gets killed. It’s the stuff of nightmares.”

  “It really is. But if Sam could get through that situation with Stahl, she can survive anything.”

  “Except a bullet to the face, of course.”

  Terry winced. “Lindsey said Gonzo’s taking it hard. He’s blaming himself when there wasn’t anything he could’ve done.”

  “It’s that sudden random out-of-nowhere shit that keeps me awake at night. But anyway, we have other stuff to talk about than my nightmares.”

  Another knock sounded at the door and Terry got up to admit his father, who came bursting into the room, smiling from ear to ear. “Is this the office of the vice president of the United States who’ll be taking the oath of office tomorrow?”

  “That’d be me,” Nick said, pleased by Graham’s excitem
ent. “What’ve you got there?”

  From under his arm, Graham produced the O’Connor family Bible. “I hope I’m not being presumptuous that you’d want to use this again.”

  Nick took it from him. “Not at all presumptuous. It’s the closest thing to a family Bible as I’m ever going to get. Thank you.”

  Graham put both hands on Nick’s arms. “Our family is your family as you know.” He straightened Nick’s tie and patted his chest. “And your family is extremely proud of you.”

  “I’m here because of you.”

  “Nah,” Graham said. “That might’ve been true a year ago when I helped you into the Senate, but this, this, my friend, is all yours.”

  That might be true, Nick thought, but none of it would be happening without Graham O’Connor and his late son John. The two of them had shown him the meaning of family and the rewards of public service. There’s no way he’d be standing in an office in the White House without Graham.

  “I declare this auspicious event requires a drink.” From inside his coat pocket, he produced a bottle of his favorite bourbon.

  “How’d you get that in here, Dad?” Terry asked, amused by his dad even if he wouldn’t touch a drop of liquor. He’d recently celebrated one year of sobriety, and Nick was nearly as proud of him as Graham was.

  “I never tell my secrets, son.” He poured the liquor into glasses Nick provided and then pulled a bottle of cola from his other pocket and handed it to his son. “At least the color is close.”

  “There is that,” Terry said, laughing as he poured cola into a glass.

  “To the vice president of the United States and to four years from today when we’ll be toasting the president,” Graham said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Terry said.

  Nick, who knew better than to question Graham when he was on a roll, smiled and raised his glass to them.

  * * *

  Sam finally convinced Gonzo to leave the morgue, but not until the funeral home came to collect Arnold’s body. Everything at HQ came to a stop and every officer went outside to see off their fallen brother, who would be escorted home to Maryland by two officers on motorcycles leading the procession, as well as four cruisers—two in front of the hearse and two behind. Detective Tyrone was riding in the hearse and would remain with his friend until he was buried.

  After the procession left HQ, Sam brought Gonzo into her office and deposited him into one of her visitor chairs. She would’ve sent him home, but he was in no condition to drive. “How about I ask Patrol to give you a lift home?”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather be here.”

  “No one would rather be here.”

  “I’m not leaving. I’ll go crazy at home wondering what’s happening here.”

  Sam didn’t bother to argue with him, because she’d feel the same way in his position. “How about some food? When was the last time you ate?”

  “I can’t.”

  Freddie came into the office, saw Gonzo sitting with his head in his hands and glanced at Sam, asking without words if their friend was okay.

  She shrugged and shook her head.

  “We’ve got a report from a group here for the inauguration that two members of their party, both female, didn’t return to the hotel last night,” Freddie said. “Dispatch asked us to take it since everyone else is tied up with the inauguration stuff.”

  “Let me come with you guys,” Gonzo said. “I need to do something.”

  “All right.” Sam grabbed her coat and handheld radio. “Where’re we going, Cruz?”

  “The JW Marriott on Pennsylvania and 14th.”

  “Let’s go out through the morgue. We’re overrun with press outside the main doors.” Every heartbreaking second of Arnold’s final departure from HQ had been caught on film by the news channels that had set up shop in the parking lot.

  Sam led Gonzo and Freddie to the BMW.

  “New ride?” Gonzo asked, and Sam was relieved to see him showing a spark of interest in something.

  “Yep. Nick had it tricked out for me.” As they got in and buckled up, Sam gave him a rundown of all the safety features.

  “It’s like a traveling fortress,” Gonzo said. “So cool.”

  “And the best part,” Sam said, turning on the radio, “is all Bon Jovi all the time.” She cranked up the volume on “You Give Love a Bad Name.”

  Freddie groaned. “I’m filing a protest with the union. I shouldn’t have to be force-fed Bon Jovi on the job.”

  “Go ahead and complain.”

  Sam glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Gonzo staring vacantly out the window.

  “We ought to be out looking for the guy who killed him,” Gonzo said. “That’s what we should be doing.”

  “We have people fanned out all over the city looking for him,” Sam said. “The Marshals and the FBI are tracking down leads and following up on tips. We’re doing everything we can.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not working the case. Why aren’t we working the case?”

  “Because it’s too close to us, Gonzo,” Freddie said. “They’re going to want an unimpeachable case against this guy. If we’re involved, it could be seen as a conflict of interest because Arnold was one of ours.”

  “But our Patrol people can be involved? How is that fair?”

  “He wasn’t in their chain of command,” Sam said. “It’s better for us to take a step back on this. We want to be able to nail Androzzi. And besides, we’re helping by taking another look at missing persons over the last couple of years. The whole squad is working on that. If we can tie some of them to his trafficking business, that’ll help the U.S. Attorney to prosecute him.”

  “We’ve got about ten to look more closely at,” Freddie said. “Everyone has divided up the names and we’re going back today to speak to families and reviewing the files, the phone records and social media in light of this new information about Androzzi. Stuff is being done, Gonzo.”

  “Doesn’t seem like we’re doing enough.”

  “We’re doing what we can,” Sam said. “This guy is good. He’s slipped through the FBI’s net several times before. He knows how to disappear.”

  “What if we never find him?”

  “We will. He’ll screw up eventually, and we’ll get him.” Not getting him wasn’t a possibility she was willing to entertain. “Look how arrogant he’s already been. He’s obviously invested in moving his organization here. He’s not going to just abandon that now. I have a feeling he’s very close by.”

  The District was being transformed before their eyes in preparation for the inauguration. Flags and stars and stripes banners were hung from nearly every building on Pennsylvania Avenue. The metal barricades were in place and crews were working with frantic precision along the parade route.

  “Hard to believe you’ll be walking this street tomorrow as the second lady,” Freddie said.

  “Walking? No one said anything about walking.”

  “The president and vice president and their spouses always get out of the cars for part of the trip from the Capitol to the reviewing stand.”

  “Nothing like giving the crazies an easy shot,” she said, shuddering at the thought of how vulnerable Nick would be.

  “The crazies won’t get let in. Don’t worry.”

  “Right. Don’t worry. What do I have to be worried about?” Her stomach churned with nerves at the thought of the endless minutes when they’d be out in the open too far from the security of the car and separated by feet from the detail that protected Nick.

  She began to pray for rain. If it rained, they wouldn’t let them out of the car, would they? Rain-soaked VIPs didn’t make for good TV.

  Sam drove up to the JW Marriott and flashed her badge to the bellman who greeted them.

  “Hey!�
�� he said when she got out of the car. “You’re the vice president’s wife!”

  “Am I? I hadn’t heard that. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Haha. Nice ride. I’ll keep a close eye on it for you.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Hotel security was waiting for them inside the door. “I’m Jim Rollins, head of security.”

  “Lieutenant Holland, Sergeant Gonzales, Detective Cruz,” Sam said. “What’ve you got?” He did a double take when he recognized her, but fortunately he didn’t tell her she was the vice president’s wife. The guy outside had taken care of that.

  “Right this way.” Rollins led them to a bank of elevators. “A college group from Northern Connecticut University reported this morning that two members of their party failed to return to the hotel last night.” The elevator took them to the tenth floor where a somber group was gathered in the hallway.

  Sam, Gonzo and Freddie followed Rollins through a scrum of college kids to a room where several adults were on cell phones. Calls were swiftly ended.

  “These are detectives from the DC Metro PD,” Rollins said.

  “Lieutenant Holland, Sergeant Gonzales and Detective Cruz,” Sam said again as they all showed their badges. “We understand two members of your party failed to return to the hotel last night?”

  “That’s right,” a nervous-looking washed-out blonde woman said. She was heavyset and overwrought. “Mindy Cahill and Jennifer Torlino.”

  Sam wrote the names in the notebook she pulled from her back pocket. “We’ll need photos of both of them and cell phone numbers. Cruz, give them your email for the photos.”

  One of the other adults scurried from the room to get the requested information.

  “Do we know where they were last seen?”

  “At a bar in Georgetown,” the blonde said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Debbie McLane. I’m one of the faculty chaperones.”

  “Are the students of legal drinking age?” Sam asked.

  “No, they’re both nineteen. We’re not sure what they were doing in a bar.”