Fatal Consequences

by Marie Force

  Fatal Consequences

  By Marie Force

  Politics can be murder…

  Lieutenant Sam Holland has no sooner accepted Senator Nick Cappuano’s proposal than she’s back on the job. A woman has been found brutally murdered and evidence points to Henry Lightfeather, a senator and close friend of Nick’s. While Sam investigates, Nick stands by his friend—complicating his own bid for reelection, and causing tension between the couple.

  As Sam’s investigation reveals a scandal that rocks the capital, Nick and Sam discover that the biggest threat to their future might be someone from her past…

  96,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  I feel as though it was just last week I was attending 2010 conferences and telling authors and readers who were wondering what was next for Carina Press, “we’ve only been publishing books for four months, give us time” and now, here it is, a year later. Carina Press has been bringing you quality romance, mystery, science fiction, fantasy and more for over twelve months. This just boggles my mind.

  But though we’re celebrating our one-year anniversary (with champagne and chocolate, of course) we’re not slowing down. Every week brings something new for us, and we continue to look for ways to grow, expand and improve. This summer, we’ll continue to bring you new genres, new authors and new niches—and we plan to publish the unexpected for years to come.

  So whether you’re reading this in the middle of a summer heat wave, looking to escape from the hot summer nights and sultry afternoons, or whether you’re reading this in the dead of winter, searching for a respite from the cold, months after I’ve written it, you can be assured that our promise to take you on new adventures, bring you great stories and discover new talent remains the same.

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

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  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost to my family: Dan, Emily and Jake, who accommodate my writing and ignore my manic mumblings, and my dad, who follows all the ups and downs. My mates in the Lair: Kendra, Cindy, Cheryl and Linda, you keep me sane and laughing—thank you! Thanks to all my buddies on Facebook who cheered me on as I wrote this book—the first one I’ve written to deadline—your support and encouragement made a big difference.

  To Mitchell Waldman, thank you for the help with child custody legalities. Christopher Burnette astutely answered questions on forensics and lab test timing. Newport, RI, Police Lt. Russell Hayes is my go-to guy for all things police-related, and he’s always there with an answer that gives me ideas for new directions. Thank you, Russ! I spent a memorable evening scouting wedding locations in Washington with my friends Christina Camara and Julie Cupp as well as my cousin, Steven Lopes. Thanks guys, it was fun playing pretend, and I’m delighted with what we decided on for Sam and Nick.

  I’m thrilled—and lucky—to have three beta readers who love Sam and Nick as much as I do: Alyson Hackett, Ronlyn Howe and Kara Conrad. You ladies are the best and I can’t thank you enough for the astute comments and insight. My editor, Jessica Schulte, has been the guiding hand behind this series, and I appreciate all the TLC she has shown to Sam, Nick and me. To everyone at Carina Press and Harlequin, your support of the Fatal Series means the world to me. I can’t thank you all enough.

  Dedication

  For my daughter, Emily: Happy Sweet Sixteen. You had me at hello.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “I’ll bet there was less red at the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre,” Lt. Sam Holland said as she stood in the doorway to the Fraternal Order of Police Hall and surveyed the scene before her.

  “Wow.” Senator Nick Cappuano took a long look around the big room. “Wow.”

  Sam’s sister Tracy joined them. “Oh. My. God. Celia and her friends went freaking nuts with the hearts and flowers.”

  Every square inch of the large room was decorated with red flowers, balloons and streamers.

  “I’ve seen murders that were less bloody than this reception,” Sam said.

  “It is her first wedding,” Nick reminded them. “She has the right to go all out.”

  Sam wondered if he’d expect his first wedding to be as elaborate. She’d been there, done that and had no desire to do it again. But for him…Well, for him she’d do just about anything. However, she was drawing the line at hearts and flowers. She had a reputation to uphold.

  “Holy shit,” Sam’s sister Angela said when she joined them. “Check out the ice sculpture. Jesus.”

  “Cupid, not Jesus,” Nick said, smiling at the horror on the sisters’ faces. “Be nice, you guys. Celia is so excited.”

  “I had no idea she had this in her.” Sam battled her way through the streamers and balloon ribbons to get to the bar. She needed a drink, and she needed it now.

  “You’d be well advised to keep her far, far away from your wedding,” Tracy said.

  “No kidding.” Sam downed a glass of pinot grigio and gestured for another. “How much of this do you suppose Dad knew about?”

  “None of it,” Angela said, smirking.

  “He’s a smart man,” Nick said, “so I’m sure he told her to do whatever she wanted.”

  “Is that what a smart man does?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Not this smart man. If I did that, we’d end up with beer and peanuts at O’Leary’s.”

  “And that would be bad how exactly?”

  Nick bent to kiss her. “We can do better.”

  Before Sam could tell him she didn’t want to do better than O’Leary’s, they were interrupted by the arrival of the bride and groom. Sam couldn’t deny that her father and his new wife radiated happiness. How could Sam begrudge the woman who had married her paralyzed father the reception of her dreams? Her own wedding, Sam vowed silently, would be as low-key as she could possibly make it. In fact, eloping was starting to look really good to her.

  Dressed in red satin bridesmaid gowns, Celia’s new stepdaughters stood faithfully by her side while she cut the heart-shaped red velvet cake and fed a piece to her groom. They endured the speeches and the toasts and smiled for no fewer than a thousand photographs. The ultimate insult, however, still awaited them.

  “She can’t make us,” Tracy said when the DJ asked the sisters, their husbands and fiancé to come to the dance floor.

  “Dad can make us,” Angela said. “He still has that look. You know the one I mean.”

  “I’ve never wanted to be
called to a murder scene more than I do right now,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

  “Ladies,” Nick said with that charming smile he’d been using all day to manage them, “it’s one dance, and then you’re done.”

  “I know I speak for my sisters when I tell you to shut up and stop defending Valentine’s Day Bridezilla,” Sam said.

  Nick laughed at the dismay on their faces as the first notes of Bette Midler’s “The Rose” filled the room.

  “I’m going to puke in my shoes,” Angela muttered. Three-and-a-half months pregnant with her second child, she’d been green for weeks.

  “Those are my Jimmy Choos,” Sam reminded her, “and if you puke on them, I’ll kill you.”

  Angela scowled at her. “Would you rather I puked on those?” She nodded to the Manolos that Nick had bought Sam to wear the night they got engaged.

  Sam glanced down at the precious shoes. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Mine are from Payless,” Tracy said. “Puke away.”

  Nick took Sam’s hand as Angela’s husband Spencer and Tracy’s husband Mike did the same with their reluctant wives. The guys made for a dashing trio in the tuxedos they’d worn as Skip’s groomsmen.

  Across the room, Sam’s partner, Detective Freddie Cruz, Detective Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales and some of her other detectives were sharing a laugh that was—no doubt—at her expense. She’d think of some way to punish them on their next shift. It didn’t escape her notice that Freddie had brought his girlfriend Elin Svendsen or that Gonzo was there with Nick’s chief of staff Christina Billings. Sam didn’t approve of either relationship, but no one had bothered to ask her opinion.

  When she realized Nick wasn’t going to let her escape the mandatory dance, Sam gave up the fight. Besides, being pressed against his muscular chest was one of her favorite places to be, so she may as well enjoy this obligatory moment.

  At six foot four, he was one of the few people in her life who towered over her. Those broad shoulders, the chocolate brown hair that curled at the ends, amazing hazel eyes, smooth olive-toned skin…Sam had never known a sexier guy. And that mouth, whoa. Speaking of sexy…

  “There,” Nick said, apparently sensing her capitulation. “Isn’t that better?”

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  “You can punish me later.” Bringing his lips in close to her ear, he added, “All night long.”

  Sam smiled at his softly spoken words. She didn’t want to because he was making her dance to the cheesiest, most clichéd song her stepmother could’ve possibly chosen. But let’s face it, she was slow dancing with Nick, and that definitely went a long way toward making things all better.

  Nick’s lovely chest ruined the moment by vibrating against her cheek.

  “Ignore it,” he said of the BlackBerry he’d stashed in his chest pocket. “No phones today.”

  “You won’t hear me arguing.” They still hadn’t managed a full day off together in the nearly two months since they’d reconnected after U.S. Senator John O’Connor’s murder just before Christmas. Six years after a memorable one-night stand, they’d picked up right where they’d left off. Nick had since been tapped to complete the last year of John’s term in the Senate and was now in the midst of the campaign to win the seat on his own in November. They’d looked forward to this day off for weeks and had big plans for a romantic early Valentine’s Day celebration after the wedding.

  Nick’s phone buzzed again. “Ignore,” he said more forcefully this time.

  “What if it’s your dad or there’s some sort of disaster in Virginia? You can’t just ignore it.”

  “Yes, I can.” With all the campaigning he’d been doing lately, she knew he needed the day off even more than she did but if there was one thing Sam couldn’t stand, it was a ringing phone.

  “Nick.”

  “Sam.”

  She worked her hand into his jacket to retrieve the buzzing phone. “Henry Lightfeather,” she read off the screen. Even she recognized the name of the senior senator from Arizona.

  “Work.” Nick tightened his arms around her. “He can wait until Monday.”

  “He’s called twice.”

  “He can wait.”

  “There’s a voice mail message. Aren’t you curious?”

  “Okay, it’s official—you’re an even bigger workaholic than I am.”

  “Not possible. Hey, he sent a text—‘Call me, Nick. 911.’”

  Nick stopped dancing and took the phone from her. “Now you’ve gone and done it,” he said with a scowl.

  “Done what?”

  “If you had ignored it, I never would’ve seen that text. Now I have no choice but to call him.”

  She grinned at him. “At least we can escape this nightmare dance before the seed becomes a rose.”

  Phone pressed to his ear, Nick stalked off the dance floor. Halfway across the room, he stopped, turned and signaled to Sam.

  Curious, she walked over to join him.

  “He’s actually looking for you, Lieutenant.” Nick handed the phone to Sam and went to have a word with Skip and Celia.

  “Senator,” Sam said. “This is Sam Holland. What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to come here,” Lightfeather said. He sounded rattled and undone. “Right now. I think she might be dead. I need you. Just you. No other cops.”

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Regina.” His voice broke. “Beautiful Regina.”

  “How can you tell she’s dead?”

  “There’s so much blood, and she’s cold.”

  “Where are you, Senator?”

  He rattled off an address in Columbia Heights, a culturally diverse neighborhood located in the city’s northwestern corner.

  “I’m on my way. Don’t touch her. Don’t touch anything. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice breaking. “Hurry.”

  After a quick trip to Nick’s house so Sam could exchange the red satin bridesmaid monstrosity for jeans, Nick drove her from Capitol Hill to Columbia Heights. As he dodged the black BMW through traffic, Sam wondered when he’d started driving like a cop and how she’d failed to notice.

  “What do you know about him?” she asked.

  “He’s a friend—one of the first to welcome me to the Senate, the first to tell me what I really needed to know, the first to offer his help.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What else do you know that you’re not sure you should tell me in light of current events?”

  “There are times when it’s terribly annoying that you know me so well.”

  “Likewise. Now start talking.”

  He glanced over at her. “I think he might be living in his office.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve seen him there at odd hours in sweats and T-shirts. He showers in the gym, but I’ve never seen him work out.”

  “If you’re there at odd hours, why can’t he be?”

  “It doesn’t seem like he’s actually working, you know? I hadn’t really given it all that much thought, to be honest, until right now.”

  “Why would he be living in his office?”

  “A lot of people in Congress struggle to support two places—one in their home state and another here. As we both know, it’s not cheap to live around here, and despite what people think, not everyone in politics is independently wealthy.”

  “Does he have a family?”

  “A wife back in Sedona and five children, all adopted, a few of them special-needs.”

  “That could be why he doesn’t have the money for an apartment in Washington.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “He sounds like a nice guy.”

  “He is.”

  “So what’s he doing with a dead woman in Columbia Heights?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Covered in blood, Henry waited for them on the landing outside Regina’s third-floor apartment. Sam took a
quick inventory of the senator: medium build, dark complexion, jet-black hair and eyes. He was younger than he appeared on television—late forties, early fifties at most.

  “Hurry,” he said when he saw them coming. “This way.” Henry grabbed Sam’s arm and all but dragged her into a shabby apartment. She let him lead her only because he was Nick’s friend. Anyone else would have a broken hand by now. “In the bedroom.”

  Regina lay naked on the floor in two pools of blood, one by her head, and the other between her legs. Her throat had been slit from ear to ear. She had long dark hair, a slender build, small but firm breasts and smooth skin that was marred only by a few stretch marks on her belly, indication that she’d probably birthed at least one child or lost a tremendous amount of weight. Based on her slender body, Sam was betting on the baby. She judged the victim to be in her mid-thirties and was able to see past all the blood to determine she’d been quite beautiful.

  When Nick saw the bloody scene, he gasped but at least he didn’t seem faint as he had at previous crime scenes. The more time he spent with her, the more used to such things he seemed to become. Sam wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

  Next to Sam, Henry broke down as he stared at the dead woman.

  “How do you know her, Senator?” Sam asked Henry.

  He was crying so hard he couldn’t reply.

  “She works for the company that cleans the Capitol,” Nick said, his tone flat with shock. Sam had heard that tone far too often after the murders of Nick’s friends John O’Connor and Julian Sinclair.

  “Did you know her?” Sam asked Nick.

  “I’ve seen her around.”

  She sensed there was more to it than that, but she decided to wait until they were alone to grill him further. To Henry, she said, “Senator, I need to call this in.”

  “I have to go,” he said, panicked. “I can’t be here when the police come.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay, sir. You’re a material witness at the very least.” She glanced at his blood-covered dress shirt and then up at his dark eyes.

  “At the very least? What does that mean?”