Fatal Affair

by Marie Force

“I’ve been asking myself that question for hours and can’t think of anyone.”

  “Whoever it is, Mrs. O’Connor, we’ll find them,” Sam assured her.

  “See that you do.” As if she couldn’t bear to sit there another second, Laine got up and made for the door with Lizbeth and Carrie following her. At the doorway, Laine turned back to Nick. “You know you’re welcome to stay. You’re a part of this family, and you belong here. You always will.”

  Touched, Nick said, “Thank you, but I’m going to head back to the city. I need to spend some time with the staff.”

  “Please tell them how much we appreciate their hard work for John.”

  “I will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Mrs. O’Connor,” Sam said, rising to face Laine. “I’m so sorry to have to do this now, but in this kind of investigation, the first twenty-four hours are critical…”

  “We’ll do whatever we can do to find the person who did this to John,” Laine said, her tear-stained face sagging with grief.

  “I need to know the whereabouts of you and the other members of your family between the hours of ten p.m. last night and nine o’clock this morning.”

  “You aren’t serious,” Laine said stiffly.

  “If I’m going to rule out any family involvement—”

  “Fine,” Laine snapped. “The senator and I entertained friends until about eleven.” She glanced at Carrie, who nodded in agreement.

  “I’ll need the name and number of your friends.” She handed Laine her card. “You can leave the information on my voicemail. And after eleven?”

  “We went to bed.”

  “You, too, ma’am?” Sam asked Carrie.

  “I watched television in my room until about two. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “And you?” Sam asked Lizbeth.

  Her expression rife with indignation, Lizbeth said, “I was at home in McLean with my husband and children.”

  “I’ll need a phone number for your husband.”

  Lizbeth met Sam’s even gaze with a steely stare before she stalked from the room and returned a minute later with a business card.

  “Thank you,” Sam said.

  The three women left the room.

  “You really had to do that today?” Nick asked Sam when they were alone. “Right now?”

  “Yes, I really did,” she said, looking pained. “I have to play by the book on something this high profile. Surely you can understand that.”

  “Of course I do, but they just found out their son and brother was murdered. You could’ve given them fifteen minutes to absorb that before you went into attack cop mode.”

  “I have a job to do, Nick. When I make an arrest, I’m sure they’ll be relieved that his killer is off the streets.”

  “What the hell difference will that make to them? Will it bring John back?”

  “I need to get back to the city. Are you coming?”

  Taking a long last look around the room, remembering so many happy times there with John, Nick followed her out the front door.

  Chapter 4

  Feeling as if the world had quite simply come to an end, Graham O’Connor leaned against a white split-rail fence to look out over the acres that made up his estate but saw nothing through a haze of tears and grief. John is dead. John is dead. John is dead.

  From the moment Carrie called them to say Nick was waiting at the house, Graham had known. With the most important vote of John’s career scheduled for that day, there was only one reason Nick would have come. Graham had known, just as he had always known there was something shameful about a father loving one of his children more than the others. But John had been extraordinary. From the very earliest hours of his youngest child’s life, Graham had seen in him the special something that inspired so many others to love him, too.

  His face wet with tears, Graham wondered how this could have happened.

  “Dad?”

  The sound of his older son’s voice filled Graham with disappointment and despair. God help him for thinking such a thing, but if he’d had to lose one of his sons why couldn’t it have been Terry instead of John?

  Terry’s hand landed on Graham’s shoulder, squeezed. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing.” Graham wiped his face.

  “Senator?”

  Graham turned to find Nick and the pretty detective approaching them.

  “We’re going back to Washington,” she said, “but before we do I need to confirm your whereabouts last night. After ten.”

  He somehow managed to contain the hot blast of rage that cut through him at the implication that he could have had something to do with the death of the one he loved above all others—except for Laine, of course. “I was right here with my wife. We had friends over, played some bridge and went to bed around eleven or so.”

  She seemed satisfied with his answer and turned next to Terry. “Mr. O’Connor?”

  “I was…ah…with a friend.”

  Terry’s womanizing had gotten completely out of hand since a DUI derailed his political aspirations weeks before he was supposed to declare his candidacy for the Senate. It made Graham sick that Terry was no closer to settling down and having a family at forty-two than he had been at twenty-two.

  “I’ll need a name and number,” the detective said.

  Terry’s cheeks turned bright red, and Graham knew what was coming next. “I…ah…”

  “He doesn’t know her name,” Graham said, casting a disgusted look at his son.

  “I can find out,” Terry said quickly.

  “That’d be a good idea,” the detective said.

  “It’s not a coincidence, is it, that this happened on the eve of the vote?” Graham said.

  “We’re not ruling anything out,” the detective said.

  “Check Minority Leader Stenhouse,” Graham said. “He hates my guts and would begrudge my son any kind of success.”

  “Why does he hate you?” she asked.

  “They were bitter rivals for decades,” Nick told her. “Stenhouse has done everything he could to block the immigration bill, but it was going to pass anyway.”

  “Take a good look at him,” Graham said, his chest tight with rage and his voice breaking. “He’s capable of anything. Taking my son from me would give him great joy.”

  “Can you think of anyone else?” she asked. “Anyone who might’ve tangled with your son, either on a personal or professional level?”

  Graham shook his head. “Everyone loved John, but I’ll think about it and let you know if anyone comes to mind.”

  Nick stepped forward to embrace him.

  Graham wrapped his arms around the young man he loved like a son. “Find out who did this, Nick. Find out.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  As Nick and Sam walked away, Graham noted the hunched shoulders of his son’s closest friend and trusted aide. To Terry he said, “Get the name of your bimbo, and get it now. Don’t show your face around here again until you do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  On the way back to Washington, Nick checked his BlackBerry and read through the statement his office had drafted.

  With tremendous sorrow we announce that our colleague and friend, Senator John Thomas O’Connor, Democrat of Virginia, was found murdered in his Washington home this morning. After Senator O’Connor failed to arrive for work, his chief of staff, Nicholas Cappuano, went to the senator’s home to check on him. Mr. Cappuano found the senator dead. At the request of the Metropolitan Police, we’ll have no further statement on the details of the senator’s death other than to say we will do everything within our power to assist in the investigation. Subsequent information on the investigation will come from the police.

  We will make it our mission to ensure passage of the landmark immigration legislation Senator O’Connor worked so hard to bring to the Senate floor and to continue his work on behalf of children, families and the aged.

  Our hearts and prayers are with the senator’s parents,
Senator and Mrs. Graham O’Connor, his brother Terry, sister Lizbeth, brother-in-law Royce, niece Emma and nephew Adam. Funeral arrangements are incomplete but will be announced in the next few days. We ask that you respect the privacy of the O’Connor family at this difficult time.

  Nick nodded with approval and read it again before he turned to Sam. “Can I run this by you?”

  “Sure.” She listened intently as he read the statement to her. “Sounds like they covered every base.”

  “The part about the investigation was okay?”

  “Yes, it’s fine.”

  Nick placed a call to Christina. “Hey, green light on the statement. Go ahead and get it out.”

  Christina replied with a deep, pained sigh. “This’ll make it official.”

  “Tell Trevor to just read it and get out of there. No questions.”

  “Got it.”

  “You guys did a great job. Thank you.”

  “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  “I’m sure.”

  “So, um, how’d it go with his parents?”

  “Horrible.”

  “Same thing with the staff. People are taking it really hard.”

  “I’m on my way back. I’ll be in soon.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  Nick ended the call.

  “Are you all right?” Sam asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said stiffly, still pissed that she had talked alibis with the O’Connors so soon.

  “I was just doing my job.”

  “Your job sucks.”

  “Yes, a lot of times it does.”

  “Do you ever get used to telling people their loved ones have been murdered?”

  “No, and I hope I never do.”

  As bone-deep exhaustion began to set in, he put his head back against the seat. “I appreciated you saying the words for me back there. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  She glanced over at him. “You were very good with them.”

  Surprised by the unexpected compliment, Nick forced a weak smile. “I was in uncharted waters, that’s for sure.”

  “You’re close to them.”

  “They’re family to me.”

  “What does your own family think of that?”

  They hadn’t taken the time to compare life stories the first time they met. They’d been too busy tearing each other’s clothes off. “I don’t have much of a family. I was born to parents who were still in high school and was raised by my grandmother. She passed away a few years ago.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They breezed in and out of my life when I was a kid.”

  “And now?”

  “Let’s see, my mother is married for the third time and was living in Cleveland the last time I heard from her, which was a couple of years ago. My father is married to a woman who’s younger than me, and they have three-year-old twins. He lives in Baltimore. I see them once in a while, but he’s hardly a father to me. He’s only fifteen years older than me.”

  Her silence made him realize she was waiting for him to say more.

  “I remember the first weekend I spent with the O’Connors. I thought families like theirs only existed on TV.”

  “They always seemed almost too good to be true.”

  “They’re not, though. They’re real people with real faults and problems, but they have such a strong belief in giving back and in public service that it’s impossible to be around them for any length of time and not be sucked in. They changed my whole career plan.”

  “What were you going to do?”

  “I’d considered accounting or finance, but after a few meals at Graham O’Connor’s table, I was bitten by the political bug.”

  “What’s he like? Graham?”

  “He’s complicated and thoughtful and demanding. He loves his family and his country. He’s fiercely patriotic and loyal.”

  “You love him.”

  “More than any man I’ve ever known—except his son.”

  “Tell me about John.”

  Nick thought for a moment before he answered. “If his father is complicated, thoughtful and demanding, John was simple, forgetful and lackadaisical. But like his father, he loved his family and his country and was proud to serve the people of Virginia. He took those responsibilities seriously but didn’t take himself too seriously.”

  “Did you like working for him?”

  “I liked being around him and helping him to succeed. But from a political staff perspective, he could be a bit of a handful.”

  “How so?”

  Nick paused, considered and decided. “Right now, my chief goal is to protect his legacy and ensure he’s afforded the dignity and stature he deserves as a deceased United States senator.”

  “And my goal is to figure out who killed him. If I’m going to do that, I’ll need you and the rest of your staff to be forthcoming. I can do it faster and more efficiently with your help than without it. I need to know who he was.”

  Nick wished he couldn’t smell her, wished he wasn’t so aware of her. And more than anything, he wished he didn’t so vividly remember the night he’d spent lost in her. “I was furious,” he said in a soft tone.

  “When?” she asked, confused.

  “On my way to his place this morning. If he hadn’t been dead when I got there, I might’ve killed him myself.”

  “Nick…” Her tone was full of warning, reminding him not to forget who he was talking to.

  “If you want to know who John O’Connor was, the fact that his chief of staff was on his way to haul him out of bed—again—should tell you everything you need to know.”

  “It doesn’t tell me everything, but it’s a start.”

  Chapter 5

  Sam’s memories of Nick Cappuano should have faded over the years, but they hadn’t. He remained a larger-than-life character from a single night that shouldn’t have meant as much as it had. But she had forgotten the reality of him—his height, easily six-three or -four, broad shoulders, chocolate brown hair that curled at the ends, hazel eyes that missed nothing, olive-toned skin, strong, efficient hands that changed forever what she expected from a lover, crackling intelligence, and the cool aura of reserved control she’d found so fascinating the first time she met him.

  Cracking that control had been one of the best memories from her night with him. When he didn’t call, she’d wondered if their intense connection had scared him off. But now that she knew he had called, that he had wanted to see her again…that changed everything.

  “Can I ask you something that has nothing to do with the case?” she said as they cut across the District on the way to the Watergate where he’d left his car. Along the way, they noticed a few American flags already lowered to half-mast in John’s honor. The word was out, and the official mourning had begun.

  “Sure.”

  Her heart raced as she picked at a scab she’d mistakenly thought healed long ago. “When you called me…after…that night…do you remember who you talked to at my house?”

  He shrugged. “Some guy. One of your roommates maybe.”

  Knowing the answer before she even asked, she said, “You didn’t get his name? I lived with three guys.”

  “Shit, I don’t know. Paul maybe.”

  “Peter?”

  “Yes. Peter. That was it. I talked to him a couple of times.”

  Gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, Sam wanted to scream.

  “Was he your boyfriend?”

  “Not then,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Later?”

  “He’s my ex-husband.”

  “Ah! Well, now it all makes sense,” he said but there was a bitter edge to his voice that she understood all too well. She was feeling rather bitter herself at the moment.

  “Too bad you didn’t give me your cell number instead of your home number.”

  “I only had a department cell then, and
I never used it for personal business.” They were quiet until she pulled into the Watergate. “I’d like to interview your staff in the morning,” she said as the car idled.

  “I’ll make sure they’re available.” He rattled off the Hart Senate Office Building address where she could find them.

  “In the meantime, here’s my card in case you think of anything that might be relevant. No matter how big or how small, you never know what’ll crack a case wide open.”

  He took the card and reached for the door handle.

  “Nick,” she said, her hand on his arm to stop him from getting out.

  Looking down at her hand and then up to meet her eyes, he raised an eyebrow.

  “I would’ve liked to have gotten those messages,” she said, her heart racing. “I would’ve liked that very much.”

  He sighed. “I can’t process this on top of everything else that’s happened today. It’s just too much.”

  “I know.” She raised her hand to let him go. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  He surprised her when he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Don’t be sorry. I really want to talk about it. Later, though, okay?”

  Sam swallowed hard at the intense expression on his handsome face. “Okay.”

  He released her hand and opened the car door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yes,” she said softly to herself when he was gone. “See you then.”

  Frederico Cruz was a junk food addict. However, despite his passion for donuts, his ongoing love affair with the golden arches, and his obsession with soda of all kinds except diet, he managed to maintain a wiry, one-hundred-seventy-pound frame that was usually draped by one of the many trench coats he claimed were necessary to staying in character.

  In some sort of cosmic joke, Sam had drawn the dietary disaster area known as Freddie for a partner. In the midst of the HQ detective pit chaos, Sam watched fascinated and envious as he chased a cream-filled donut with a cola. She swore that spending most of every day with him for the last year had put ten unneeded pounds on her. “Where are we?” she asked when he put down the soda can and wiped his mouth.