Trial by Fire (21 page)

“Nate, stop! Don’t say anything like that, even in anger. We are going to have to record everything you say. Goddammit, Nate, you know that! And no, I don’t want your fucking badge or your gun. But we do need your phone to confirm—”

The Chief’s rising anger solidified Nate’s. Without letting the Chief finish his sentence, Nate tossed his phone on the table and strode toward the door.

The Chief tried to stop him.

“Nate, please. Sit down. Help us—”

Nate sneered, “Yeah, right.”

For the first time, Sam spoke.

“Nate.”

Nate turned to face him.

Sam’s voice was as quiet, and as controlled as his expression.

“You know, I could pull rank, Nate.”

Nate frowned, then allowed a grin to slide over his face. He quirked a brow and slowly nodded. His voice was soft, insinuating. “You could try.”

Sam stood and rounded the table. He met Nate at the door. Rather than anger, Nate saw his sincerity.

“Nate, I need your help. I need to know where you think this is going. I need your insights, your—”

Nate derisively cut him off. “You’re the hotshot, Sam. Figure it out for yourself.”

He strode into the hallway, slamming the door hard behind him.

Chapter 20

Nate stormed to the gym. After hitting an all-time record for his ten mile sprint on the bike, he headed for the bag. He didn’t bother with gloves. He attacked the bag as though it had Laura’s face on it. Alternating between a ferocious round of flying kicks and barehanded punches, he began to get his breathing down to his athletic rate. As his breathing calmed so did the blood rushing in his ears. He became aware of the silence surrounding him and looked up to see the guys who were in the gym when he arrived packing up their gear and heading to the door.

Seeing Sam in the doorway wearing workout gear, the mass exodus made sense. From what he could hear as he moved across the gym toward him, Sam was thanking each of the men as they left.

Nate wiped the sweat off his face and chest and shook his head at Sam.

“Taking your new role kinda seriously, huh, Commander? Now you’re telling the men when they can work out and when they can’t? Little presumptuous, don’t you think, given you’ve only been in charge for little over an hour?”

Sam shrugged. “Yes, I am taking my new role seriously, Nate. I needed privacy to interview my chief witness and it seems this is the only way I can get his attention.”

Nate shook his head and said with a dismissive grin. “Not gonna happen, Commander. I’m working out right now.”

As Nate walked away, Sam called after him.

“In that case, Detective, I’ll have to join you.”

Nate watched him strip off his sweats and head to his gear. Unlike Nate, Sam grabbed boxing gloves and a helmet out of his equipment bag and began to warm up on the bag.

Nate leaned against the post and drawled, “Are you sure you wanna take me on, Commander? You know damn well you’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

Sam quirked an expressive brow. “If that’s what it takes to talk to you, guess I don’t have much choice.”

Nate debated. He had to admire the fucker. Sam didn’t run from a confrontation. Nate was so goddamn mad, he didn’t know if getting in the ring was wise. But the more he thought about it, the idea of beating the hell out of
Commander
Sam Carter didn’t sound half bad.

“Want to take it to the ring?”

Sam danced back from the bag and met his gaze.

“Sure, if that’s what you need.”

Nate guffawed. “Yeah, that’s what I
need
alright.”

He grabbed gloves and a helmet off the gear rack and climbed into the ring. He held the ropes down for Sam and said, “After you, hotshot.”

Ten minutes into their fierce, relatively even battle, Nate couldn’t help but think it was too bad Sam had shooed the men out of the gym. As one of the fighters, he knew they were putting on a hell of a show. If Sam was a couple inches taller and weighed twenty pounds more, they would have been evenly matched. As it was, Sam’s pure technical prowess had Nate on the ropes several times. It felt good, damn good. As they flew at one another, landing one strike after another, Nate’s fury began to lessen and his respect for the other man rose. The guy really was a stand-up guy; he was willing to put himself in the ring with an angry class A fighter to give Nate what he needed. A way to bury his fury without killing someone.

Nate stepped back after he landed a particularly fierce torrent of blows to Sam’s torso.

“You know, Sam, I could take you at any point I decide to end this.”

Sam staggered back, gulping for air. He nodded in agreement. “Yes, I know you can. But, maybe after you knock me down you’ll be willing to talk to me so that we can work together to solve this fucking case.”

Nate was incredulous. “So you’re willing to let me beat the crap out of you so you can
talk
to me?”

“If that’s what it takes, Nate, to convince you that I am on your team.”

Nate groaned and put up his gloves ending the match.

“Oh, for Christ sake. Get the hell out of here before I change my mind. Get to the showers.” He climbed out of the ring and said over his shoulder, “Then let’s go someplace where we can talk.”

~~~

“This is a great car. What’s the difference between the S and the Turbo.”Sam rubbed his hand over the tricked out dashboard.

Nate grinned. “To begin with, 130 horse power. The Carrera S has 400 HP, the Turbo has 530. Oh and the minor issue of $60,000.”

“Well, I happen to know that the S runs at about $100,000, so you’re telling me I’m sitting in a $160,000 automobile?”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I said that was the starting price. But, c’mon, hotshot, what kind of a Ferrari do you drive? I’m assuming an FF?”

It was Sam’s turn to laugh. “Am I that much of a stereotype? You’re right. If I did have a Ferrari it would definitely be the FF. But, hell, even a ‘nepotistic Police Chief wannabe’ occasionally steps an inch or two outside of the predictable. To answer your question, I drive an Audi R8 coup. Pretty much for the same reason you drive this beauty. The R8 has as much horse power as your Turbo. Oh and since we’re measuring dicks, has about the same starting price.”

Nate took a deep breath. Time to eat a little crow or better yet a lot of it.

“Look, Sam, I was out of line in the Chief’s office. Way out of line—particularly what I said about you. That was a horseshit thing for me to say. I apologize.”

Sam shrugged. “Well at least you didn’t add that I’m also a black dude reaping all of those preferences.”

Nate sighed. “I keep thinking that Erin has made a better man out of me, but guess the asshole is too deeply engrained. But again….”

“Forget it, Nate. What you said is true. And you didn’t have to add the black part. We both know it’s there. So save the apology.”

“Okay. I’ll buy that. I could describe you that way and be accurate. But that’s just the surface. You’re a stand-up guy and a smart one. And Christ, you’re as much of a shrink as my fucking cousin. You understood me well enough to taunt me into the ring. It was gutsy. We both know I could have beaten the crap out of you. And you still took the chance. Thanks. To coin a phrase, I needed that.”

“You’re welcome.”

He mused, “The one thing I don’t know yet is how good a detective you are. But I guess we’re about to find out.”

“Let me put it this way, Nate. I didn’t risk my pretty-boy face for nothing. We both know without your help and leading behind the scenes, this murder investigation is going nowhere fast.”

Nate threw him an ironic grin. “See. I knew you were a smart guy.”

When they turned into the driveway and pulled up in front of the cabin, Sam whistled. “Damn, Nate. Is this where you live? This is extraordinary.”

“Yeah, thanks. It’s not finished yet, but I’m getting there.”

“Don’t tell me you built this place, Nate? This looks like something in Architectural Digest. Did you design it?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I knew that I wanted it to fit in the woods, be as much like a cabin as I could make it. But I’m a sucker for innovative architecture. I liked the idea of melding wood and stone with huge expanses of glass. That combination reminds me of how the lake looks nestled in the forest.”

Sam whistled again. “You are a surprising guy, Nate. You work hard to cultivate that badass reputation of yours, and then you start waxing poetically about the simpatico nature of glass and water.”

“Yeah, I know. Some magazines did approach me. Guess the idea of a dumb cop building something that looks like this is too good a ‘man bites dog’ story for them to pass up. Naturally I refused them all. The most important element of this place is that it’s my sanctuary. Until Erin, the only people who had been in it were Connor and the Chief—and of course Marcus, Mama D and the girlie girls, though that was a few scant times. Erin changed all of that. I guess you could say that she’s my sanctuary now.”

“I can understand that. Both of you fit here. This is also a beautiful piece of land. Do you own any acreage?”

“Almost ten acres including a thousand feet of shore line. The Chief gave it to me when I graduated from college. He owns fifty acres surrounding my piece. Guess he wanted to keep an eye on me.” He sighed, “Which reminds me: next to you, I owe the Chief the biggest apology for earlier today. But unfortunately he’s accustomed to it.”

“Did the Chief also give you the wherewithal to buy all these toys, Nate?”

Nate quirked a questioning brow and frowned. “That was a slick change of course, Commander. Are we starting the interrogation? If so, don’t you need a transcriber?”

San flushed. “Yes, I do want to know your financial situation. It could have a bearing on the evidence. But this can be off the record or you can just tell me no comment.”

“Well, hate to disappoint you, Sam. But I happen to be somewhat independently wealthy. As long as we define wealth in Chicadia Falls terms. But my money did come from illegal sources, if that’s any help. I guess my little drugged out prostitute mother did occasionally think of me. She died on me—literally. When I was six. They found me four days later, guarding her body. Somehow she’d managed to save some money, or had a smart john. Chief followed some rumors and tracked it down. Found a nice little nest egg in an auspicious trust fund. Both the Chief and Marcus taught me a lot about investment, and I’ve done fine. So the money angle is a dead end, Commander.”

Nate led Sam through the extraordinary great room. Sam murmured in appreciation at the twenty-eight foot, vaulted open-beamed ceiling and stone fireplace that took up virtually one whole end of the room. The opposing wall was floor to ceiling windows which opened to a stunning view of the tree-shadowed lake at the bottom of the hill.

Sam followed Nate into a beautifully appointed kitchen.

“Now if you tell me you actually cook in this place, I’ll start reconsidering my sexual orientation and make a pass at you.”

“I’m agnostic about most things, Sam, but I’ve stayed on the straight and narrow as to which side of the street I walk. Now what I do on my side is anything but straight
or
narrow but too much for your tender ears.”

He got out the coffee beans and ignoring Sam’s intrigued study of his DeLonghi high-end coffee maker, he programmed the contraption and leaned back against the counter with an aggrieved sigh.

“Which reminds me, Commander, if I know the Chief, he’s already talked to Connor, who will have talked to Erin, and they’ll be over here soon.”

Sam gave him a sheepish grin. “I should tell you, Nate, the reason I suggested we come here was not only to get out of the station but because there’s going to be an evidence team showing up here within the hour.”

Nate chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Dwayne Hedson called me on my way to the gym to make sure I was okay with them landing on me.”

Sam scowled then gave a resigned shrug. “Good thing I knew when the Chief appointed me, that I was going to be the leader in name only.”

“No, Sam. The Chief is right as usual. We’ve gotta do this by the book. Once the press gets wind of this—and given Laura’s obsession with attention, you can be sure they will hear about it soon—we’ve got to be squeaky clean.”

Sam huffed an annoyed snort. “I presume you mean squeaky clean on the surface. But don’t worry, I won’t forget my place. Oh and while you’re at it, since they refuse to return my calls, will you call your unusual accountant duo, if they’re not too engaged in committing some high level crime, and let them know that they have your permission to talk to me?”

Nate raised a brow. “I dunno, Commander, if I should give up all my sources. Next you’ll be wanting to talk to Eric Jacobs. If you think Nunn and Weise skirt the grid, Eric might just be too much for your Boy Scout sensibilities. You were a Boy Scout, right, hotshot?”

Sam cheek creased slightly but he gave a nonchalant nod. “Eagle, plus three silver palms.”

“Damn, hotshot. You really are an overachiever. Hell, maybe beneath that all-American super achiever is a potentially badass detective. Wouldn’t that be something?”

While waiting for the coffee to brew, Nate went to the refrigerator and snagged two long-necks. He quirked a questioning brow and at Sam’s affirmative nod, he plunked one of the cold brews in front of Sam. Settling in the chair across from him, he pulled on his beer, watching Sam make notes with a Visconti fountain pen in a leather bound journal. The Chief was the only other person he knew who used a fountain pen. Nate grinned to himself as Sam took a refined sip of his beer. Damn, the guy went first class all the way. Bet a lot of people underestimated him. The way they underestimated Nate. Lots of perps misread his badass attitude as evidence of an

arrogant overgrown Northwoods guy—which he was. And most people no doubt saw Sam as an overachiever trying to prove he was more than a racial stereotype. Not bad, Nate thought. Being underestimated is a gift, worth cultivating. Throws the assholes off.

Hearing the familiar squeal of tires in the driveway, Nate tipped his chair back against the wall and groaned. “Prepare yourself, hotshot. Here comes the cavalry.”