Fatal Affair (8 page)

“What I’m asking,” Sam said, “is if your children are his heirs.”

“I have no idea,” Lizbeth said. “We weren’t privy to the terms of his will.”

“But he was close to your children?”

“He adored them, and they him. They’re heartbroken by his death. And you think we would’ve done that to them—to
him
—over
money?
”

Sam shrugged. “He had it, you needed it.”

Shaking with rage, Lizbeth moved out of her husband’s embrace and stepped toward Sam. Speaking in a low, fury-driven tone, she said, “I had only to ask, and he’d have given me anything.
Anything
. There would’ve been no need for me—or Royce—to kill him for it.”

“So why didn’t you? Why didn’t you ask him for help?”

“Because it was
our
problem, our business. Other than my husband and children, there was no one in this world I loved more than John. If you think my husband or I killed him, I encourage you to prove it. Now, if there isn’t anything else, I need to take care of my parents.”

“Stay available,” she said to their retreating backs.

After they were gone, Sam turned to Freddie. “Impressions?”

“Pride goeth before the fall.”

“My thoughts exactly. They’d rather declare bankruptcy than let her family know they’re in trouble.”

The door opened, and the chief stepped into the room. “What was that about with the son-in-law?”

“Nothing,” Sam said, deciding it was just that. “Tying up a loose end.”

“You know Nick Cappuano?” the chief asked.

Sam cleared her throat. “Technically, yes. I met him once, six years ago. I hadn’t seen him since until yesterday. He’s been a tremendous asset to the investigation.”

“That was quite a show of support from someone you hardly know.”

She shrugged. “It seemed to be what the senator needed to hear.”

“Indeed.” The chief’s shrewd eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Sergeant?”

He was handing her the opportunity to come clean. But if she told him she’d slept with Nick, had feelings for him—then and now—she’d be off the case and maybe off the force. It was too much to risk. “No, sir,” she said without blinking an eye.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“We’re waiting on a warrant to search Billings’s car and apartment. If you could exert some muscle to speed that up, we’d appreciate it.”

“Consider it done.” He started to leave, but turned back. “Get me an arrest, Sergeant. Soon.”

“I’m doing my best, sir.”

Chapter 12

Sam spent two hours with Freddie and the other detectives assigned to the case going over everything they had so far. While she was with the O’Connors, the lab came back with the report from John’s apartment—nothing was found in the sheets, the drain, or elsewhere in the apartment that didn’t belong to the victim.

Beginning to feel frustrated, Sam doled out assignments, told Freddie to meet her at Senator Stenhouse’s office at nine the next morning, and sent him home. Fifteen hours after she’d started her day, she returned to her office to find Nick in her chair with his feet on the desk.

“Comfortable?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.

He dropped his BlackBerry into his suit coat pocket. “You were my ride.”

“Oh shit. Sorry. You waited all this time? You could’ve grabbed a cab.”

“I was hoping to talk you into dinner.”

“I can’t. I’ve still got a million things I need to do.” She paused, looked closer. “Did you
clean
my desk?”

“I just straightened it up a bit. How can you work in such a messy space?”

“I have a system. Now I won’t be able to find anything!”

“You need to eat, and you need to sleep. What good will you be to anyone if you make yourself sick?”

“So in addition to bringing your anal retentiveness to my workplace, you’ve put yourself in charge of making sure I eat and sleep?”

His face lifted into a cocky, sexy grin. “Happy to oblige on both fronts.”

“Food, yes. Sleep? No way in hell.”

He shrugged, apparently pleased with the half victory. “Who’s this?” he asked, picking up a photo from her desk.

“My dad.” In the picture, Sam stood to the side of her father’s chair, her arm around his shoulders. “He was injured on the job almost two years ago.”

“I’m sorry. What happened?”

Stepping into the cramped office, she bumped his feet off the desk and sat. “He was on his way home in his department vehicle and saw a car weaving through traffic. He followed it for a mile or two before he pulled it over.”

“He was a traffic cop?”

She shook her head. “He was deputy chief and three months shy of retirement. Anyway, he approached the vehicle, knocked on the window, and the driver responded with gunfire. He doesn’t remember anything after stopping the car. The bullet lodged between the C3 and C4 vertebrae. He’s a quadriplegic, but through some miracle, he can breathe on his own when sitting up. We’ve learned to be grateful for the small things.”

“I remember reading about it, but I didn’t realize he was your father. Happened on G Street?”

“Yes.”

“Did they ever get the guy?”

“Nope. It’s an open investigation. I work on it whenever I can, and so does every other detective in this place. It’s personal to me, to all of us.”

“I can imagine. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Life’s a bitch.”

He stood up, stepped around her, pushed the door closed, reached for her and held her tight against him.

Appalled by the lump that settled in her throat, she wrestled free of him. “What was that for?”

He kept his arms around her. “You seemed to need it.”

“I don’t.” She placed her hands on his chest to put some distance between them and to calm her racing heart. “I can’t be alone in here with you. People will talk, and I don’t need that.”

He reached for the door and opened it. “Sorry.”

Sam was relieved to find no prying eyes on the other side of the door and annoyed to realize she
had
needed the comfort Nick offered, that it somehow helped. The discovery left her unsettled.

“What?” he asked, studying her with those intense hazel eyes that made her melt from the inside out. “You’re staring.”

“I was just thinking…”

He tipped his head inquisitively. “About?”

“You’ve aged well. Really well.”

“Gee, thanks. I think.”

“That was a
compliment
,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Thanks for clarifying. Of course, I could say the same to you. You’re even sexier than I remembered—and I remembered
everything
.” He took a step to close the distance between them.

Her heart tripping into overdrive, she held up a hand to stop him. “Stay out of my personal space.”

“You’re the one who started handing out the
compliments
,” he said with a grin that she much preferred to the grief she’d witnessed earlier.

“Temporary lapse in judgment brought on by fatigue and hunger.”

“Then how about that dinner?”

“Pizza and you’re buying.”

“That could be arranged.”

“Speaking of arranged, the M.E. is set to release the senator’s body to the funeral home in the morning.”

Nick immediately sobered, and Sam was sorry she’d dropped it on him that way. “Okay. Once the funeral home is done, the Virginia State Police will accompany him to the state capitol in Richmond,” he said. “I was going to ask you if I could get into his place to get some clothes. The funeral director needs them.”

“After dinner. I’d like to go back there anyway. Poke around some more.”

“It’s a date.”

She turned off her computer and the lamp on her desk. “It’s not a date.”

“Semantics,” he said as he followed her from the office.

“It’s
not
a date.”

Over thick-crust veggie pizza and beer at a place where everyone seemed to know Nick, Sam asked him about Patricia Donaldson.

“Who?”

“According to his parents, she was a high school friend of John’s who lives in Chicago.”

His eyebrows knit with confusion. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“He sent her three thousand dollars a month, has for years, called her several times a week and talked for as much as an hour.”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t know anything about her.” He seemed puzzled, distressed even. “How’s that possible?”

“Did you know he was into porn? Big time into it?”

Pausing mid-bite, he returned the pizza to his plate and wiped his mouth. “No. How do you know?”

“It was on his home computer.”

His expression shifted from startled to disgusted. His breathing slowed as he fixated on a spot behind her. He was quiet for a long time. “I wish I could say I’m totally surprised, but I’m not. He took such chances with his reputation and his career.”

“What else besides this?”

“Women. Lots of them. It was like he was looking for something he just couldn’t seem to find. He’d be all hot over someone and a week later she’d be history.”

“Did they have anything in common?”

“They were all blonde and well endowed. Every one of them. One Barbie doll after another. It got so I didn’t even bother to make the effort to remember their names.”

Sam swallowed the last of her beer in one long sip and had to admit she felt recharged after the meal. “Christina Billings sent over a list of the women he’d dated during the last six months. We’re working through it now. I bet we’ll find his killer among the Barbies.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You said it was a crime of passion, right?”

She nodded.

“None of them were around long enough to feel the kind of passion you’d have to feel to do what was done to him—except Natalie, but that was over and done with years ago. If she were going to kill him, she probably would’ve done it a long time ago.”

“We’re going to talk to her tomorrow.”

“How do you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Keep up this pace. It’s relentless.”

“You spent a night in your office this week. You do what it takes to get your job done. That’s all I’m doing. Usually it’s worse than this. I often have multiple cases going, but thanks to the forced vacation my load has been light lately.”

“But dealing with murderers and victims and medical examiners… It’s got to be so draining.”

“It can be. Other times it’s exhilarating. There’s nothing quite like putting all the pieces together and coming out with a picture that leads to conviction.”

“Did you always want to be a cop?” He hadn’t asked that question the first time they met, when she had just made detective.

“That subject is kind of complicated.”

“How so?”

She fiddled with the handle on her mug. “I’m the youngest of three girls. I think I was about twelve when it dawned on me that the only reason I’d been born was because my father wanted a son so desperately.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“Oh, yes I can. My mother all but told me.”

“Sam…”

She hated the sympathy that radiated from him. “So, knowing I’d disappointed him just by being born, I set out to win his approval every way I could think of. Name a high school sport—I played it. I went with him to Redskins games, Orioles games. He even branded me with a boyish nickname.”

“You’ll be Samantha to me,” Nick declared. “From this moment on.”

She sneered at him. “I don’t let
anyone
call me that.”

“You’re going to have to make an exception because to me there’s nothing boyish about you. You’re
all
woman. Every beautiful, sexy inch of you.”

Her face heated under the intensity of his gaze. “I’ll allow an occasional Samantha, but don’t overdo it. And not in front of anyone else.”

“I’ll save it for only the most important,
private
moments,” he said with a grin that melted her bones. “So, you became a cop to please him, too.”

“Huh?” she asked, captivated by his hazel eyes.

“Your father.”

“Oh. Right. At first that’s what it was about. I won’t deny that. But I discovered I have a knack for it—or I thought I did until recently.”

“You do. You can’t let one incident shake your confidence or your faith in yourself.”

“You sound like the department shrink,” she said with a chuckle. “And while I know you’re both right, there’s something about a dead kid that shakes you to the core even when you know you did everything right.” Sam fixated on a spot on the wall as the horror of it all came back to haunt her once again. She’d never forget the sound of Marquis Johnson’s agonized shrieks after his son was hit by gunfire.

“What happened that night?”

The sick weight of it settled over her and turned a stomach so recently satisfied by food. She’d had a hard time choking down anything for weeks after the incident. “I’m not supposed to talk about it. I have to testify at the probable cause hearing next week.”

Under the table, he took her hand, linked his fingers through hers and resisted her efforts to break free. “Stop,” he said softly. “Just stop, will you?”

“Someone might see,” she hissed.

“No one’s looking at us, and the tablecloth hides a world of sin. There’s nothing quite like a good tablecloth.”

Sam gently extricated her hand and folded her arms while pretending not to notice the wounded look that crossed his face. “I’ll bet you’ve done your share of public sinning.”

“I’ll never tell,” he said, his lips quirking with amusement. “Is it so difficult for you?”

“What?”

“Sharing the burden.”

“It’s impossible,” she confessed. “My inadequacy in that regard has caused me some major problems in my life.”

“What kind of problems?”

“The marriage kind for one.” She wished for something else to drink since her mouth was suddenly as dry as the desert. Glancing at Nick, she found him watching her with the patience of a man who had nothing but time. She reached for his half-empty glass of beer and took a long drink.

“Why’d you get divorced?”

Sam mulled it over, wondering if she should have this conversation with a man she was wildly attracted to but who was off limits to her. After a long pause, she decided what the hell? Why not? “My ex-husband claimed I didn’t need him.”

“And did you?”

“No,” she snorted. “He turned out to be a total loser.”

“Since he failed to deliver a couple of critically important messages, I’d have to agree with you there.”

“I made such a big mistake with him,” she sighed. “I didn’t see him for what he really was until it was too late. I didn’t listen to people who tried to warn me.”

Nick straightened out of the slouch he’d slipped into. “Was he… I mean… He didn’t
hit
you, did he?”

“No, but it almost would’ve been easier if he had. At least I could’ve fought back against that. His thing was passive aggression. He wanted total control over me. I let it go on for far longer than I should have because I didn’t want to admit I’d been so incredibly wrong. Damned foolish Irish pride.”

Despite her resistance, Nick moved closer. “I want to wrap my arms around you right now,” he said gruffly against her ear, his warm breath sending goose bumps darting through her. “I hate the idea of someone making you feel inadequate.”

“I let him,” Sam said, the pillars of her resistance toppling like Dominoes. She wanted Nick’s arms around her, wanted to lean her head on that strong, capable shoulder. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she wanted the comfort he offered. No, she
needed
it. What should have been terrifying was actually rather exhilarating. “Can we go?”

“Sure.” He put some bills on the table, got up and offered her his hand.

“We’ve left the safety of the tablecloth,” she reminded him as she stepped around his outstretched arm on her way to the door.

Grinning, he followed her out.

Heads bent against the blustery cold, they walked a block to where they’d parked her department vehicle. An odd chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran up her spine as she unlocked the door on the dark street. Glancing around, she expected to find someone watching her, but saw no one. Just her overactive imagination, she thought, as she reached over to unlock the passenger door for Nick.

He slid in next to her. “Before we go to John’s place, I need to get my car.”

“Okay.” Sam started the car to get the heat going, but sat with her hands propped on the wheel.

“What’s wrong?”

She gripped the wheel. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more right now, Nick.” Glancing over, she found him watching her intently. “It’s not because I don’t want to.”