Lethal Attraction: Against the Rules\Fatal Affair (28 page)

“I got it out of her. One of my special talents.”

“I’ll bet,” he said dryly.

“Why didn’t you think it was important enough to share with me?”

“It was personal, and I didn’t see how it was relevant.”

“
Everything
is relevant, Nick! This is a
homicide
investigation!”

“I’m sorry. It never occurred to me that it would matter.”

“She left here to get food at the exact time the M.E. has placed the time of death. She had a key to his place. She was in love with him.”

Nick’s handsome face went pale. “You can’t possibly be suggesting—”

“I can, and I am.”

“There’s no way, Sam. She adored him. She was devoted to him. She could never have harmed him.”

“How well do you know her?”

“I’ve worked with her for five years. She’s a great colleague and friend.”

“What do you know about her background?”

“She grew up in Oregon, came here for college, and has been working for the legislative branch since she graduated. She’s worked her way up from the admin level.”

“You trust her?”

“Implicitly.”

“What level clearance does she have?”

“Secret.”

Sam tugged the notebook from her back pocket and made a note to get a hold of the background check Christina Billings would’ve been required to undergo for a government security clearance. “What about you?”

“Top secret.”

“As of when?”

“As of the senator’s appointment to the Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs. Before that it was secret.”

“Who else has top secret?”

“Only the senator.”

“Who’re his heirs?”

Nick considered that. “Well, I suppose it would be his niece and nephew, Emma and Adam.”

“But you don’t know for sure?”

He shook his head.

“Who would?”

“Probably his father and their attorney, Lucien Haverfield.”

Sam wrote down Haverfield’s name.

Freddie came into the room carrying two bags of take-out. “Start without me, boss?”

“We’re talking heirs,” Sam told him. “Mr. Cappuano believes it’s most likely the senator’s niece and nephew.”

“Makes sense,” Freddie said. “Are we doing this here or in the conference room?”

Nick gestured to a small table. “Here is fine with me.”

“Let me grab the recorder,” Freddie said.

“Do you mind if we eat in here?” Sam asked Nick. “Detective Cruz gets cranky if he doesn’t get his mid-day influx of grease on time.”

Nick smiled but Sam noticed his eyes were tired and sad. “No problem. I eat at that table more often than I do at home.”

“Speaking of home, did you notice anything else out of place or missing?”

He shook his head.

“Let me know if you do.”

“So you believe me? That someone broke in.”

She replied with a small nod and had trouble meeting his intense gaze, startled to realize she was afraid of what she might find in those incredible hazel eyes.

“Am I interrupting something?” Freddie said when he returned with the recorder.

Sam cleared her throat. “No. Let’s get this done. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”

CHAPTER 9

After a quick stop at the Chinese restaurant on Capitol Hill where they confirmed that Christina Billings had in fact picked up take-out around eleven the night before last, Sam drove Freddie back to the office.

“So,” he said. “Do you want to tell me what that was all about before?”

“What?”

“You and Cappuano. I felt like a third wheel on a hot date.”

Sam shot him a glance. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well, gee, let’s see.” Counting on his fingers, he said, “Pregnant pauses, simmering gazes, and of course the entertaining innuendo. Need I continue?”

Unnerved that Freddie had noticed the sparks flying between her and Nick, she realized she should have known her savvy partner would have tuned in to what she had tried so hard not to encourage during their hour-long interview with Nick. The effort to keep things professional and focused had left her drained. “You’re imagining things.”

“No, I’m not. What gives, Sam?”

“Nothing. I barely know the man.” That much was true—sort of. “Whatever you
think
you saw was the result of your overactive and undersexed imagination.”

“Wow,” Freddie said on a long exhale. “Who said anything about sex?”

Simmering with retorts she didn’t dare pursue, Sam pulled into the parking lot at the public safety complex.

Before she could get out, Freddie stopped her. “What happened on that trip to Loudoun County yesterday?”

“Nothing.” Now,
that
was true.

“I’m your partner, Sam.” He gripped her jacket to keep her from escaping. “Talk to me.”

She tugged her arm free of him. “There’s nothing to say! We’ve got a million things to do, and you’ve got time to grill me about something you’re
imagining?
”

“I’m a trained observer—trained in large part by you. I don’t care what you say, there was enough heat in that room to burn down the capitol.”

Sam fumed in silence. This was
exactly
why she told Nick that what happened the night before couldn’t happen again. She didn’t need any more aggravation right now.

In a softer tone Freddie said, “Whatever’s going on, I hope you’re being careful. You’ve got a lot at stake right now.”

“Thanks, Freddie. I’m glad you reminded me of that. Otherwise I might’ve forgotten about the child who died on my watch.”

“Sam—”

“We have work to do.”

“I’m on your side. I hope you know that. If you want to talk—”

“Thank you. Can we get to work now?”

With a deep sigh, he reached for the door handle.

Sam stalked inside, again pushing her way through the gaggle of reporters gathered in the foyer. Leaving them wanting and frustrated gave her tremendous joy.

She felt bad about being so testy to Freddie who’d been a pillar of support in the wake of the Johnson case, but she didn’t want to hear what he’d have to say about her past relationship with a witness—a relationship she hadn’t disclosed, knowing that if she did, she’d be taken off the case. That couldn’t happen. She desperately needed a big win on a high-profile case like this one to get her career back on track.

That was why she planned to work around the clock, if that’s what it took, to break this case as fast as she could—long before anyone found out that she had once spent a night with the man who’d found the senator dead. If she was unsuccessful and her superiors discovered that she’d had yet another lapse in judgment, she could kiss her hard-won career goodbye. And then what would she do? What was she without this job?
Who
was she? No one.

Shaking off that unpleasant thought, Sam told Freddie she’d be back after the press conference and headed for Chief Farnsworth’s office. On the way, she stopped in the restroom to splash cold water on her face. Looking up at her reflection, she was startled by the bruised-looking circles under her eyes, the pale, almost translucent skin made more so by weeks of sleepless nights, and eyes that couldn’t hide the torment.

She had told them she was ready to come back, had assured the department psychologist she could handle anything the job threw her way. But could she handle seeing Nick Cappuano again? Could she handle how it had felt—even six years later—to be engulfed once again by those strong arms, to be kissed by those soft lips, to be on the receiving end of those heated eyes?
God!
Those eyes of his were flat-out amazing.

“Stop, Sam,” she whispered to the face in the mirror, a face she barely recognized. “Please stop. Do your job and stop thinking about him. Think about the senator.”

Reaching for a paper towel, she blotted the excess water from her face and took a deep breath. “The senator,” she said once more as she prepared to stand next to the chief at the press conference.

* * *

The questions were brutal.

“How can you trust someone with Sergeant Holland’s poor judgment to oversee such an important investigation?”

Chief Farnsworth, bless his heart, made it clear that she was the detective best suited to lead the investigation, and she had his full confidence and trust.

As Sam imagined what he’d have to say about her relationship with a material witness, she swallowed hard.
Enough of that
, she thought.
You’ve made your decision where he’s concerned. It was one night, so stop thinking about it. Yeah, right. Okay
.

Once the reporters were done attacking her, they moved on to more specific questions about the investigation.

“Do you have any suspects?”

The chief nodded at Sam to take the question. “We’re considering a number of possible suspects but haven’t narrowed it down to one yet.”

“What’s taking so long?”

“The senator led a complex, complicated life. It’s going to take some time to put all the pieces together, but I’m confident that we’ll bring the investigation to a satisfactory conclusion.”

“Any word on funeral plans?”

“You’ll have to ask his office about that.”

“Can you tell us how the senator was murdered?”

“No.”

“Was his apartment broken into?”

“No comment.”

“Was there a struggle?”

“No comment.”

The chief stepped in. “That’s it for now, folks. As soon as we have more to tell you, we’ll let you know.” He ushered Sam off the stage and into his office. “You did a good job out there. I know that wasn’t easy.” Studying her for a long moment, he said, “You’re not sleeping well.”

She shrugged. “Got a lot on my mind.”

“Maybe you should talk to Dr. Trulo about a prescription—”

Sam held up a hand to stop him. “I haven’t reached that point yet.”

“I need you at the top of your game right now.”

“Don’t worry. I am.”

“I like this Christina Billings for a person of interest.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, shaking her head. “The people in the office said the food was hot when she returned with it, so it seems like she went straight back. The records at the parking garage show she returned twenty-eight minutes after she left.”

“Could she have gone to his place before the restaurant?”

“She’d have had to drive across the District to the Watergate, kill him and get back with Chinese in half an hour. Not enough time. Plus, the knife severed his jugular. The blow would’ve sprayed blood all over her. Cappuano, the chief of staff, said she had on the same suit the next morning that she’d worn the day before because they pulled an all-nighter at the office to get ready for the vote the next day. Based on that, I’m on the verge of ruling her out.”

The chief rubbed at his chin as he thought it over. “Do some digging into her. She had motive, opportunity and a key. Don’t rule her out too quickly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Same thing with his brother. Again, we have motive, opportunity and no alibi if he can’t produce the woman he says he was with.”

“Right. We’re going to talk to him more formally. Another thought that’s been running around in my head is the sister and brother-in-law, Lizbeth and Royce Hamilton.”

“Why?”

“Their kids are most likely the senator’s heirs. The O’Connor parents will be here at six to view the body. I’ll ask Graham O’Connor about his son’s will, and I’ve got Cruz digging into their finances. Then there’s Stenhouse, the O’Connors’ bitter political rival. He went home to Missouri for a long-planned fund-raiser today, but we’ve got an appointment with him in the morning.”

“What do you think of that angle?”

“Not much, which is why I didn’t stop him from going to Missouri. There’s no way he had a key to the place, and I’m convinced that whoever did this was someone John O’Connor was close to.”

“Girlfriends?”

“Billings is getting us a list of women he’s seen socially in the last six months and anyone who had a key. I’m also going to ask the senior Senator O’Connor if there might be keys still floating around from when he lived there.”

“The surveillance videos were no help?”

“We couldn’t I.D. anyone and neither could Cappuano. The video captures activity in the lobby and elevator areas but not at individual doors, so that didn’t help much. It was a cold night, and everyone was bundled up pretty tight with hats and scarves. We had trouble making out faces.”

Startled, the chief looked up at her.

“What?”

“People were bundled up...”

“What about it?”

“Is it possible Christina Billings had a coat she ditched after the killing?”

Intrigued, Sam puzzled that over. “That would explain why the suit wasn’t ruined.”

“Exactly. Might be time to get a warrant to search her car.”

“Jesus,” Sam said. “Why didn’t I think of this?”

“You would have. I think you’ve got a timing problem where she’s concerned, but it seems to me like you’ve got every base covered, Sergeant.”

“I’m trying.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” the chief called.

The door opened and Freddie stepped into the room, looking nervous and uncertain.

“Detective Cruz.”

“Hello, sir,” Freddie stammered. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the officers going through the documents taken from the senator’s apartment have uncovered a life insurance policy that I think you need to see, Sergeant Holland.” He handed it to her.

Sam scanned the document, her eyes widening at the two-million-dollar amount. An involuntary gasp escaped when she saw the beneficiary’s name: Nicholas Cappuano.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Sam stormed past Nick’s startled staff straight into his office and slammed the door behind her.

He never looked up from what he was doing when he said, “Back so soon, Sergeant?”

“You son of a bitch!”

He finally glanced at her, but there was steel in his normally amiable eyes. “Care to explain yourself?”

“How about
you
explain
yourself.”
She slapped the insurance policy down in front of him.

Without breaking the intense gaze, he reached for the document. “What’s this?”

“You tell me.”

He finally looked away from her. “It’s an insurance policy.”

“To me it looks like a
two-million-dollar
insurance policy,” Sam clarified. “Flip to the last page.”

He did as she asked. “
I’m
the beneficiary?” he asked with what appeared to be genuine shock.

“As if you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t! I had no idea he’d done this!” An odd expression settled on his face. “So...that’s what he meant.” His voice faded to a whisper.

She wanted to demand he say more but waited for him to collect his thoughts.

“I once told John, back when I first met him and figured out who his father was, that I couldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams ever being a millionaire. He said, ‘You never know.’” Nick ran his hand reverently over the pages of the policy. “Then about a month ago, the subject came up again because I made a joke about how rich I’m getting running his office. He said I still had plenty of time to be a millionaire and that what I was doing—what we’re all doing—was more important than money.” Nick looked over at Sam. “That was the first time it seemed to me that he really embraced the significance of the office he held. Then he said I could be a millionaire sooner than I thought and walked away.”

“You didn’t ask him what he meant by that?”

He shook his head. “It seemed like a throwaway line at the time, but now it takes on more significance.”

“Do you think he knew he was going to die soon?”

“No, but he had a sense that he was going to die young. He’d get into these maudlin discussions when we’d been drinking. We called them his philosophical moods.”

“Did he have these moods often?”

Nick considered that. “More often lately, now that you mention it. Christina asked me last week if I thought he might be depressed.”

“Did you?”

“Distracted might be a better word than depressed. He definitely had something on his mind.”

“And you have no idea what?”

“I tried to talk to him about it a couple of times, but he brushed it off. Said he was focused on the bill and getting it passed. I chalked it up to stress.”

“You really didn’t know about the insurance?”

“I swear to God. Give me a polygraph.”

Sam studied him for a long moment. “That won’t be necessary. Congratulations, looks like you’re finally going to be a millionaire.”

“Hell of a way to get there,” he said softly.

The last of the steam she’d come in with dissipated. “Nick...” She resisted the powerful urge to walk around the desk and embrace him. Clearing the emotion from her throat, she said, “His parents are coming in at six. They want to see him. Do you think maybe you could come, too? It might help them to have a familiar face there.”

“Of course.”

“I could take you and bring you back later so you don’t have to deal with the parking situation over there.”

“Sure.” He stood up and reached for the suit coat that was draped over the back of his chair.

Sam’s mouth went dry as she watched the play of his muscles under the pale blue dress shirt he had worn without a tie. His hands were graceful as he adjusted his collar. She remembered the way those hands had felt moving over her fevered skin so many years ago. The memory shouldn’t have been so vivid, but there it was, as bright and as real as if it had happened only yesterday.