Fatal Scandal: Book Eight of the Fatal Series (17 page)

“I don’t like having to behave.”

She gave him a gentle shove toward the stairs. “Move it. I need to hit the shower and make myself presentable.”

“We’re going to talk about the
A
word later. I have needs,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye.

Needs that had been met in the past by someone else, not that he’d ever come right out and said that. He’d shrugged when she asked him if he’d done that before, and it had nagged at her ever since that he’d done it with someone else and not her.

He escorted her downstairs, past the agent outside Scotty’s door and into their bedroom, closing the door behind him. “Why did you just go silent on me?”

“Perhaps it was because you were attempting to have an inappropriate conversation that could be overheard by all the wrong people?”

“How is that conversation inappropriate? You went quiet. I want to know why.”

She turned to face him. “Because! It drives me crazy that you’ve done that with someone else and not me. But I don’t even know if I want to. I just know that I don’t want you to have anything with someone else that you haven’t had with me.”

He stared at her, an incredulous expression on his handsome face. “Samantha, for the love of God, I have never had
anything
with anyone else that could
ever
be compared to what I have with you.”

“You had that.”

“So what? Do you think I spend one second of my life thinking about people who never mattered to me a fraction as much as you do?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Look at me, babe.”

It was easier to have this conversation with her back to him, but she did as he asked.

He looked her straight in the eye. “I don’t think about anyone but you. I think about you so much there’s no room for thoughts of anyone else.”

“But still, you want that.”

“I want that with
you
, because I think you’d love it,
not
because I’ve done it before and dream about the good old days.”

“I hate that you’ve done stuff with other people that you haven’t done with me.”

“Samantha! Baby, listen to me, I’ve never had anything like this before. Not even close.”

“You said you have needs.”

“I was
joking
because I love the way you get all red-faced when we talk about any kind of kinky sex.” With his hands on her hips, he tugged her into his embrace. “I can’t bear the thought of something like this bothering you so much.”

“It doesn’t bother me a lot,” Sam said, beginning to feel foolish for making an issue of it. “Just a little.”

“Please don’t let it bother you at all. If we get there, we get there. If we don’t, we don’t. You can’t possibly think that I find anything lacking in our sex life. For God’s sake, Sam, we’re like bunnies. There can’t be a more sexually satisfied husband in all of America than I am.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at the emphatic way he said that.

With his hands on her face he gazed at her with those incredible hazel eyes that saw right through her. “You have nothing, and I do mean
nothing
to be insecure about where I’m concerned. I’m your slave, babe.”

Sam slipped her arms inside his suit coat and clung to him.

He wrapped his arms around her. “Please tell me you know that.”

“I do. Of course I do, and it’s silly of me to be worried about ancient history.”

“Yes, it is silly. How could you think I’m not entirely thrilled with every single thing about our life together? Well, except for the parts where you get shot at or pistol-whipped or run off the road. I could live without that shit.”

She smiled up at him. “So could I.”

Looking down at her, he said, “I don’t like knowing you have these insecurities. What’ll we do about that?”

“They’re not insecurities so much as a desire to experience everything there is to experience with you.”

“That we can do, as long as it’s not tied to some misbegotten notion that you have to live up to some expectations that I don’t have.”

“Okay.”

He held her for another minute. “Are we good?”

“We’re great. We’re incredible.”

“Yes, we are. We’re incredible exactly the way we are, and don’t you ever forget it.”

“I won’t.” She went up on tiptoes to kiss him. “Now go run the country while I get ready for TV.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yes, you will.”

“I love you so much, Samantha. I wish I had the words to tell you how much.”

“You just did a pretty good job. And PS, I love you just as much.”

He kissed her again and then let her go. “Be careful out there today.”

“Always am. Got far too much to live for to screw up, so don’t worry.”

“That’s like telling me not to breathe.”

“Be gone with you. I have to beautify.”

His phone chimed with a text that he glanced at. “Crap, it’s from Shelby. She’s sick and not able to work today.”

“No word about why she was at the ER?”

“No, that’s all she said.”

“Well, damn, that changes the day.”

“Not really. The agents can get Scotty to and from school, and they’ll be here with him when he gets home.”

“So now we’re relying on them to babysit?”

“He hardly needs babysitting. He’s thirteen.”

“Still, how warm and fuzzy to come home to his Secret Service detail.”

“Tell you what, I’ll suggest he go to Skip and Celia’s after school, and I’ll give her a heads-up that he’ll be coming if it’s okay with them.”

“That’ll work. I’ll check in with them too. I just hope Shelby’s okay. I’ll try to get a chance to call her.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get him up, and I’ll see you later at the reception if you can make it.”

Sam would never admit that she’d forgotten all about the reception. “Good luck today.”

“Thanks, you too.” He stole one more kiss on the way out the door.

Sam headed for the shower, her mind swirling after their conversation. It never failed to amaze her how different her second marriage was from her first. She and Peter hadn’t talked about the things she and Nick covered so effortlessly. Everything was on the table with Nick, and she loved that about their marriage.

She hurried through a shower, took the time to blow-dry and straighten her hair and chose a black suit with a cranberry silk blouse under it for TV. She shoved jeans, a sweater and her trusty hiking boots into a backpack to change into later. From the bedside table, she withdrew her service weapon, which she tucked into the waistband of her skirt, as well as her badge, cuffs and notebook, which she put in the backpack.

When she got downstairs, Scotty was finishing a bowl of cereal while watching
Sports Center
on Nick’s iPad.

“Wow, you look nice,” he said. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“Going on TV this morning with Chief Farnsworth.”

“Oh, hey, that’s cool. How come?”

“There’s been a lot of crap flying around since the Springer investigation, and we’re going to tell our side of it. Or try to anyway.”

“That’s a good idea.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “It was
my
idea.”

“It’s a good one.”

“Unless of course it blows up in our faces.”

“Don’t let that happen.”

If only it were that simple. She downed a piece of peanut butter toast, then went back upstairs to brush her teeth and check her appearance one last time. In deference to her TV appearance, she slipped on her engagement ring and the diamond key necklace. She released a deep breath. Being on TV always made her incredibly nervous, but she was glad to do anything that might help take some of the heat off the chief.

Sam went downstairs where Scotty was putting the lunch Nick had made for him into his backpack.

“Nick told you Shelby is out today, so you’ll be coming home with the agents and going to Skip’s if it’s okay with them?”

“Yeah, he said he’ll text me after he talks to them.”

“Sounds like a plan then.”

“Is Shelby okay?”

“I think so. She didn’t say what was wrong, but I’m sure she’d be happy to hear from you if you text her later.”

“I’ll do that. Are we going to Nick’s reception at the White House? He ironed my work clothes for me.”

As Sam wondered what the heck time her husband had gotten up—or if his insomnia had kept him up all night—she hugged her son. “I hope to be able to go. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

“Have a good day, buddy. I love you.”

“Love you too.” He paused before he said, “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Last night I told Nick that at some point, when it feels right, I’d like to call him Dad. Would it be okay if I did the same with you?”

The request hit her like a ton of bricks to the chest. “You wanna call me Dad?” she asked, making light of it so she wouldn’t bawl her head off.

“Sam,” he said impatiently. “You know what I mean.”

She went to him, because how could she not? “Yes, I know what you mean, and nothing would make me happier in the entire world than for you to call me Dad. I mean Mom.”

Scotty laughed. “You’re such a dork.”

“You’re a bigger dork.”

“Doubtful.”

“We’ll continue this conversation later, my friend. I’ve got TV people waiting for me.”

“I’ve got algebra waiting for me. I’d rather be you.”

“I’d rather be me too.”

Debra, one of Scotty’s agents, came into the kitchen. “Ready to roll?”

“Ready,” he said. “See ya, Sam.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Chapter Sixteen

After battling traffic, she arrived at the CBC studios on Connecticut Avenue, stressing out about how close she was calling it. In full uniform, the chief greeted her in the reception area.

“Was I supposed to wear the uniform?” she asked.

“No, you look great. I just thought it would be appropriate for me to wear it today.”

“And you wear it well. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

“I appreciate you doing this. I know it’s not something you’d do for just anyone.”

“If I have to put up with all the interest, I may as well take advantage of it when it suits my purposes.”

“Was Nick okay with it?”

“He was all for it. He agrees with me. He informed me last night that I’m
famous
now, and I may as well make the most of it.”

“Famous,” the chief said with a snicker. “You were infamous before he was ever vice president.”

“I know, right?”

He shook his head at her snappy comeback. “Any word on the Phillips investigation this morning?”

“Just that she was with two guys before she died, one of them Mr. Hughes from Baltimore. Lindsey is trying to identify the second profile, if he’s in the system. We’re going to dig in to the church she belonged to today, among other leads.”

“And Sergeant Gonzales?”

“Safely out of town at his parents’ place in Harper’s Ferry for the time being, where he’s about to spontaneously combust.”

“Let’s take the opportunity today to mention he’s not a suspect.”

“We’re on the same page there.”

The producer came out to get them and led them through winding corridors filled with cages and wires and all sorts of other junk that Sam wanted to stop to take a closer look at. They were deposited into a waiting room where coffee and donuts were available to guests.

“I’ll be back to get you in a few minutes,” the producer said.

“Thank you,” the chief said. To Sam, he said, “Coffee? Donut?”

“You go ahead. I’m all set.” She was too nervous to risk more coffee making her stomach ache during the interview. A TV mounted in the corner showed the on-air anchors delivering the morning’s headlines, including an update about the mother of Detective Sergeant Gonzales’s son being found dead days after she went public with the conflict of interest in their custody case. Of course there was no mention of how seriously injured he’d recently been in the line of duty.

“It’s infuriating,” the chief said quietly.

“For him too. All those years of decorated service disregarded like they mean nothing.”

“Say that today. As often as you can.”

“It won’t look like I’m defending my friend?”

“So what if it does? It’s true.”

“You’re feisty today,” she said, smiling at him.

“I’m pissed off with the way my department is being portrayed in the media lately.”

“Do the Public Affairs people know they’re sending out a pissed-off chief today?”

He winked at her. “We’ll let that be our little secret.”

Laughing, she said, “Until you take it to the airwaves.”

Farnsworth shrugged. “What can they do? Smear me in the news? Check. Already done.”

“Have you heard from the mayor?”

“She’s called a couple of times. I might’ve forgotten to call her back.”

Sam snorted. “See why I love you so much? You’re awesome.”

“I could say the same about you, Lieutenant. No one has made me look better during my tenure as chief than the firebrand who runs my Homicide Division and also happens to be my niece.”

Though she was touched through and through by the compliment, she nudged him with her elbow. “Stop being so schmoopy. Next they’ll be saying we’re having an affair the way Stahl used to.”

“
Stahl
said
that
?”

“All the time. How else could I possibly get the chief to do whatever I wanted him to?”

“I hate that bastard. I’m so glad he’s gone for good.”

“Is he?” Sam asked.

“He can’t come back from assaulting you outside your own home. There’s no way he gets out of that with the Secret Service agents prepared to testify to witnessing it.”

“Speaking of witnessing things, Sanborn’s trial starts this week.”

“How’s McBride handling that?”

“She’s handling it. Sort of.”

“I hate that she has to relive that nightmare in open court.”

“So do I, but it was way too much to hope for that Sanborn would take a plea deal and spare her having to testify. I worry that it’s going to set her back to day one.”

“Do whatever you need to as her commander to get her through it.”

“I will, thank you.” Her phone dinged with a text from Captain Malone. Peter Gibson rented another apartment near the old one and was in Florida for the holiday. Cross him off the list. He’d included Peter’s new address for Sam’s information.

She breathed a sigh of relief to know that whatever was going on, it had nothing to do with her ex-husband. Thanks, she wrote back to the captain. Now about Stahl.

Still looking for him.

Farnsworth checked his watch. “What the hell is taking so long? They told us to be here at seven and it’s seven twenty.”

“I’m sure we’ll be on soon. How many do we have after this one?”

“Four.”

“
Four?
”

He shrugged. “Can I help it that everyone wanted us when they heard you were coming?”

“Shit fuck damn hell.”

“Language, Lieutenant.”

“I’d apologize except I meant every word. Don’t they know I have a murderer to catch?”

“Oh, they know, but according to the Public Affairs people they were, and I quote, ‘Creaming their jeans’ when they heard you were part of the package.”

“That’s just nasty.”

“Don’t kill the messenger.” He was still laughing at his own joke when the producer returned to lead them onto the set, which was like half of a fancy living room. The other side was filled with cameras and wires and people wearing headphones. A young, extremely thin Asian woman fitted them with wireless microphones.

“It’s super cool to meet you, Mrs. Cappuano,” she said after she clipped the mike onto Sam’s lapel.

“Thanks, you too.” She caught the chief’s glance and noted he was trying not to laugh. He was in an awfully jolly mood for a guy who’d been skewered on a daily basis for weeks now. And hey, if her notoriety helped to ease some of his tension, she was happy to be the butt of his jokes.

During a commercial break they were shown to the sofa. Monica Taylor, one of the bottle blondes from the media scrum that covered the police department, shook hands with both of them, welcoming them like they were old friends. “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to have our nation’s second lady joining us this morning.”

“I’m here as Lieutenant Holland,” Sam said, wishing now she’d thought to clip her badge to her jacket before she left the house. “Not as the second lady.”

“Yes, of course.” Monica flashed a blinding white smile that had Sam wondering if she gargled bleach to make that happen.

“We’re live in five, four, three...”

“Welcome back to
Good Morning D.C.
, I’m Monica Taylor, and we’re delighted today to welcome two very special guests, Metropolitan Police Chief Joseph Farnsworth and Lieutenant Cappuano.”

“Holland,” Sam said with a glare at Monica. “Lieutenant Holland.”

“Oh, yes, of course. My bad.”

Right
, Sam wanted to say.
Sure it was
.

“It’s just that we’re all so excited about our new second family, and naturally there’s curiosity—”

“Is that why we’re here? To talk about the curiosity about my family? I thought we were here to talk about the baseless accusations Bill Springer has been making about the chief and the department since his sons were killed in November.”

“That’s what I thought too,” the chief said.

Visibly rattled, Monica said, “Yes, of course, we want to talk about all of that.” Thankfully, she seemed to get that grilling Sam about being the vice president’s wife was a no-go. “Let’s talk about the accusations Bill Springer has made and give you a chance to respond to some of them. Let’s start with his claim that his older son, Billy, is dead today because of you.”

“I know Mr. Springer would like to be able to blame it all on me,” Farnsworth said. “If I were in his shoes, I’d be looking for someone to blame too. I mean, how does a man deal with the knowledge that a child he brought into this world is capable of murdering his own brother and eight other innocents? How do parents ever accept that their son was a big-time drug dealer who’d been on our radar for more than a year before he was killed? Do I regret that Billy Springer died at the hands of my officers? Of course I do, but do I blame anyone but Billy Springer for creating a situation in which it was necessary for my officers to shoot him? No, I don’t.”

“Lieutenant, how do you feel about Mr. Springer’s allegation?”

“Like the chief said, I believe he’s looking for someone to blame, because without that, he’s forced to accept that his son was a murderer.”

“Mr. Springer blames you, directly, Chief, for his son’s death because you put the homicide investigation on hold so your officers could complete the narcotics investigation. Does he have a point there?”

“He is correct in stating that I put the homicide investigation on hold—briefly—in order to give my Vice detectives, who’d been undercover with Billy Springer, twelve hours to complete a six-month investigation. He is incorrect in placing the blame for Billy’s death on me. It was Billy Springer’s decision to take his grandmother and cousins hostage that day. It was Billy Springer’s decision to shoot at my officers, gravely wounding one of them. If neither of those things had happened, Billy would still be alive today and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Do you concur, Lieutenant?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said. “Billy Springer almost killed Detective Sergeant Gonzales, who was shot in the neck and would’ve bled out if not for the quick action of his partner, Detective Arnold. Mr. Springer doesn’t seem to want to talk about how Sergeant Gonzales was wounded so seriously. He doesn’t want to talk about the eyewitness we have who was able to identify Billy as the person who killed Hugo Springer as well as the other eight young people in the Springers’ basement. None of that seems to matter to Mr. Springer. He would put all the blame on the police who responded to an active hostage situation and acted appropriately in light of Billy’s decision to shoot at us.”

“What I don’t understand,” Monica said tentatively, “is how Billy found out that you were looking at him for the murders of his brother and the other young people?”

“We’d like to know that too,” Farnsworth said. “We’re conducting an internal investigation to determine if any of our people were involved in conveying that information to Billy the night before he was killed. To our knowledge, none of the undercover detectives who’d gotten close to Billy saw him between the time I put the homicide investigation on hold and the time he took his grandmother and cousins hostage in Friendship Heights. We’re working on establishing a timeline and trying to determine the chain of events. When we have answers, we’ll make them public. Until then, all we can say is we don’t know how he found out, but we’d like to know as much as everyone else.”

“Lieutenant, your niece was assaulted at the party at the Springer home. Can you tell us how she is doing today?”

Pissed off by the question, Sam said, “She’s doing very well and completing her senior year of high school.”

“You mentioned Sergeant Gonzales, and I’d like to follow up on that by asking about his possible involvement in the death of his son’s mother, Lori Phillips.”

“Sergeant Gonzales had nothing to do with the death of Lori Phillips,” Farnsworth said sternly, “and it’s irresponsible for the media to be tossing accusations around without any proof to back them up.”

“Well, it’s true that Ms. Phillips has been making waves recently, going public with the sergeant’s connection to the judge who heard their custody case.”

“There’s a huge difference between being at odds with someone and killing them,” Sam said defiantly. “Sergeant Gonzales is one of the best and most capable police officers I’ve ever worked with. He’s a valuable member of my team, and he was nearly killed not that long ago in service to this city. I find it appalling that anyone would insinuate he was capable of murder a few short weeks after you were all calling him a hero. It’s disgusting.”

“It’s a natural assumption,” Monica said, her cool blond perfection beginning to curdle as it became clear to her that she was seriously outmatched.

“We don’t work on assumptions, Ms. Taylor,” Sam said. “We work on facts and evidence, and there’s not a single iota of evidence that ties Sergeant Gonzales to the murder of Lori Phillips, and to imply otherwise is to open yourself and your employer to massive litigation.”

“There’s no need to get hostile, Lieutenant.”

“There’s every need to get hostile, Ms. Taylor. This is a man’s life and reputation you all are playing with. It’s nothing to you to report he’s a suspect when he is absolutely
not
a suspect. Does it occur to you that you’re ruining someone’s life when you toss around words like
suspect
and
ax to grind
or some of the other things we’ve heard in the last twenty-four hours?”

“It looks like we’re out of time. I want to thank our guests for joining me today, and we’ll be right back after this check of the weather and traffic.”

Sam stood and pulled the microphone off, tossing it on the sofa behind her. “Your journalism professors must be rolling in their graves.”

“I didn’t go to journalism school,” Monica said testily.

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell. If Sergeant Gonzales chooses to file suit against you and others for implying he was guilty of murder, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did, I’ll back him up with everything I’ve got.”

“We’re done here,” Monica said. “Thanks for coming in.”

Farnsworth took Sam by the arm before she could tear the bitch’s head off, and half-dragged her out of there. “That was fucking awesome,” he said as soon as they cleared the shell-shocked set. Producers, directors and camera people stopped what they were doing to watch them go by.