Fatal Scandal: Book Eight of the Fatal Series (20 page)

She was eager to hear what had come of McBride and Tyrone’s trip to Lori Phillips’s church, and she wanted to know if Arnold had found anything more in the text messages from Lori’s phone.

The doorbell chimed inside the house while Sam waited on the stoop. She was about to ring the bell again when Edna opened the door. “Hello again.”

“Mrs. Springer asked me to stop by again. Could I speak to her, please?”

Edna glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Um, yes, come in.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” Edna stepped back, still holding the door, so Sam could walk into the house.

As she crossed the threshold, Sam was hit by one of her gut feelings.
I
shouldn’t be here by myself.
I
didn’t tell anyone where I was going.
I’ve broken all my own rules
.

The click of a gun engaging only cemented her suspicions.

“Close the door, Edna, and lock it,” Marissa said. “Right now.”

Edna began to cry. “Miss Marissa, don’t do this. You don’t want to do this.”

Marissa put a bullet between the eyes of Edna Chan, who fell to the floor.

Her ears ringing from the blast, Sam had to leap out of the way or Edna would’ve taken her down with her. “What the fuck?”

“Put your gun on the floor and kick it over here.”

Furious with herself for fucking this up so royally, Sam stared down the other woman, looking for a hint of fear or nerves or anxiety. All she saw was calm, cool resolve. This was not good. Due to the TV appearance first thing, Sam had failed to wear her clutch piece on her leg the way she usually did while working a case, so she’d be completely disarmed if she handed over her gun. “What’s going on here, Marissa?”

“You’re done asking questions. I’m in charge now. Kick your gun over here or I’ll shoot your knee. You’ve got five seconds. Four, three, two...”

“Fine.” Sam withdrew her gun from the back of her skirt and thought for a second about trying to get a shot off. But even with the safety disengaged as it was whenever she was on duty, she’d be dead in the time it took to pull her weapon. Instead, she put it on the floor and kicked it in Marissa’s direction. “What happened between the last time I was here and now?”

“Nothing. You did exactly what we expected you to do. You went to talk to James and then you came back here when I asked you to. This time we’re ready for you.”

“Who’s
we
?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Come with me.”

This was ridiculous, Sam thought as she walked toward Marissa. She could kick this woman’s ass, and Marissa was actually holding
her
hostage? Did she dare try to kick the gun out of her hand? The thing that stopped her was the way Marissa had dropped Edna with a perfect shot. That indicated a certain level of expertise.

“What do you want with me?”

“Enough with the questions.”

“Um, you’re holding a gun on me, and I’m not supposed to ask why?”

“You know why.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

The look Marissa gave her was positively venomous. “I blame
you
for my son’s death.”

“Which one?”

“
Billy!
Your incompetence led to my son’s death, and you’re going to pay for that.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re taking me hostage because I built a case against your son that went bad when
he
took hostages?”

Marissa leaned in closer to her. “No, I’m going to
kill
you because you and your band of incompetents ruined my life.”

In that moment, the shock seemed to pass and reality set in. Unless someone missed her and figured out where she was, she was going to die in this house where so many others had already died.

Shit fuck damn hell.

Marissa marched her down the basement stairs. Sam immediately noticed the pool table, where they’d found drug paraphernalia and empty vodka bottles the night of the murders, had been removed. The bloodstained carpet remained, however, and every surface was still smudged with the fingerprint powder Crime Scene detectives had left behind. Sam wondered how Marissa could bear to live in the house with all these reminders of her son’s violent death.

“Sit.” Marissa gestured with the gun to a wooden chair in the middle of the room.

Keeping a wary eye on the gun, Sam did as directed. “So what’s the plan, Marissa? How long are you planning to keep someone the entire police department will be looking for in a matter of minutes?”

“I told you to shut up, and I meant it.”

“You have to know they’ll be looking for me.”

“You’re so
arrogant
. Prancing around town like you own this city. Your husband is vice president, and you forgo Secret Service because you don’t think you’ll need it. How funny is that now? Taken hostage by a housewife. I wonder what your husband would pay to get you back?”

All the money in the world
, Sam thought, saddened at the thought of him hearing she was in danger when there was nothing she could do to reassure him. She couldn’t think of him—or Scotty or the rest of her family—or she’d lose her composure. She needed to stay focused on Marissa and the gun and trying to figure out what she hoped to accomplish.

Sam had far too much to live for to let a frustrated housewife be the end of her.

When Sam was seated in the wooden chair, Marissa pulled a phone from her pocket and made a call. “I got her to come back,” Marissa said while Sam tried to figure out who she was talking to. “Get over here. Now.” She ended the call and returned the phone to her pocket.

Then she began to pace back and forth in the space where the pool table used to be. She never took her eyes off Sam, who sat perfectly still while watching Marissa’s every move. How had she misjudged this woman and this situation so completely? Sam had made a career out of trusting her instincts and following her gut. Both had let her down in this situation. She’d gotten no sense of violent tendencies during her initial visit with Marissa, but she should’ve taken what James told her about Marissa to heart before coming back here alone. She’d been in too big of a rush to think it all the way through, and she was paying for that now.

“Could I use the bathroom?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“So I should just pee right here?”

“If that’s what you’ve got to do.”

Sam hadn’t really had to go, but once she was told she couldn’t, she needed to go urgently. She chalked that up to nerves. She was in a bad spot. No two ways around it, but she’d been in bad spots before, such as the time she’d walked in on a robbery in progress at a convenience store and managed to neutralize the shooter and save a few lives—including her own.

Then there was the time her malicious ex-husband had gotten the big idea to bomb her car—and Nick’s. When hers had detonated, she’d been hurled against the brick-front townhouse where Nick had lived then. He’d been hit by flying glass, but they’d both survived. They’d been run off the road by some gangbangers, looking to use them to score initiation points. He’d broken ribs and she’d had a severe concussion, but they’d both walked away.

The week of her wedding, a perp had shot at her from a second floor window. Freddie had anticipated the shot, jumped on her and got her out of the way of the bullets, but not before her head connected with a huge rock, giving her yet another concussion.

Thinking about all the times she’d been through worse than this and come through fine boosted her confidence in this situation. What was one slightly crazy woman with a gun against a seasoned cop who’d overcome all that? If only she knew who Marissa had called and what they were planning. Did they want to take the vice president’s wife hostage to make headlines? She immediately dismissed that angle because Marissa had indicated this was about revenge for Billy’s death. It was about discrediting the department—and her.

“Did you kill Lori Phillips?”

“Do I have to shoot you to shut you up?”

Before Sam could answer, the upstairs door opened and closed.

“Down here,” Marissa called up the stairs.

Sam held her breath, waiting to see what would happen next and looking—always—for a way out. But Marissa never took her eyes or the gun off her.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs took Sam’s anxiety level into the red zone. She saw the belly first and had to smother the urge to gasp when Stahl appeared in the basement, his beady eyes alight with pleasure at the sight of her on the other end of Marissa’s gun.

“Well, well,
well
, lookie here.” He rubbed his hands together with glee, which made Sam’s stomach turn with dread and nausea.

“Stop celebrating and tie her up,” Marissa said.

“Don’t snap at me, bitch. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. You need to let me enjoy it.”

“Do your enjoying after you tie her up.”

As Stahl approached her, it took all the self-control Sam possessed to keep from blinking or flinching or doing anything else that would only add to his satisfaction. No matter what happened here, she wouldn’t give him anything more than she had to.

“What’s a matter? Cat got your tongue, Lieutenant?”

She stared at him, unblinking.

He slapped her hard across the face, making her see stars. Then he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked—hard. “When I ask you something, you’d better answer me.”

Sam spit in his face.

Chapter Nineteen

Stahl’s complexion turned that unattractive shade of purple she was so used to seeing. He used his sleeve to wipe the spit from his face and then delivered a punch to the same spot he’d slapped.

Sam fought through the darkness that descended upon her after the initial blast of pain, trying to stay conscious. Whatever happened, she had to keep her wits about her.

Stahl pulled a length of rope from his back pocket and moved to the back of the chair. He went for maximum pain as he tied her wrists and ankles to the chair. The one bit of solace she took was if she were tied like this, he couldn’t rape her. She figured she could get through just about anything but that.

“The stupid bitch at CBC took the bait,” Stahl said. “They’re reporting that the FBI is talking to Farnsworth about his whereabouts when your asshole husband was killed.”

“Very good,” Marissa said with a satisfied smile.

To Sam, he said, “I also heard that your fuck toy Cruz did exactly what we expected him to do and went into the jail last night to tune up Elliott.”

Sam processed that information, her foggy brain racing to keep up after the brutal punch. Cruz had gone into the jail to deal with the guy who’d hurt Elin. Had that been another setup?

Stahl cinched the ropes in tight around her wrist, so tight that her fingers immediately tingled from the lack of blood. He leaned in close to her. “You and your boys are going down.”

Sam blinked back the tears that filled her eyes from the pain shooting through her skull. She refused to give him the pleasure of seeing her break down. The fact that they were tying her up rather than shooting her was a small consolation. It meant there was something they wanted before they took her out.

Her people would be looking for her. At least she hoped they would. Nick would look for her when she didn’t show up at the reception. She just had to stay calm—and alive—until the cavalry arrived.

* * *

Gonzo got to HQ around four o’clock to find the pit deserted. He tried Sam on her phone, but it went to voice mail after it rang four times.

“Hey, it’s Sam Holland. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“It’s Gonzo. I’m at HQ. Where are you?” He ended the call and went to his cubicle, which had been cleaned and organized in his absence, mostly likely by his partner, Detective Arnold.

Speak of the devil. Arnold came into the pit carrying a stack of paper and a large coffee. He stopped short at the sight of Gonzo, his eyes bugging. “What’re you doing here?”

“The world has gone mad, so I figured I’d come do what I can to help.”

“It’s so good to see you here.”

“Thanks,” Gonzo said to the young man who’d saved his life by applying pressure to a wound that surely would’ve killed him without Arnold’s quick action.

“Did the doc say it was okay to come back?”

Gonzo picked up his ball of elastics and squeezed the tight rubber object. His strength still wasn’t what it used to be, but it was getting better every day. “Nope.”

“So, um, should you be here?”

“Probably not.”

“Gonzo.”

“Don’t start on me. I’ve already heard an earful from Christina all the way back to town from Harper’s Ferry. I need to be here. I can’t sit at home watching the media tear my life apart. Besides, something stinks to high heaven around here.”

“We were just talking about that in the cafeteria. Two people who’d made trouble for the department suddenly murdered in the span of two days? That feels calculated, you know?”

“Not to mention, how did Lori find out about my connection to the judge? How did Billy Springer know we were coming after him for the murder of his brother?”

Arnold took a look around the deserted pit, lowering his voice. “You think it’s an inside thing?”

“I don’t know what to think. Do you know where the LT is?”

“She was going to tell Springer’s wife and then coming back here last I heard.”

“How long ago was that?”

Arnold checked his watch. “A while ago now.”

“Is Cruz with her?”

Arnold shook his head. “He’s out today. Elin is still in the hospital.”

“So who’s with Sam?”

“No one.”

Tugging Arnold’s portable radio off his belt, Gonzo tried to reach Sam but got no answer. He got up too quickly and a dizzy spell had him grasping the cubicle wall.

“Are you okay?” Arnold asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just moved too fast.”

“I’d hate to see you screw up your recovery by coming back too soon.”

“I’m not going to screw up anything. And while it’s just us here, I want to say, you know, thanks for what you did that day. I don’t remember much of anything that happened after we got to Friendship Heights, but from what I’m told, you saved my life. I just want you to know I’m grateful. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for a while now, but there always seems to be other people around when we’re together.”

The young detective looked like he might cry but then pulled himself together. “It was nothing you wouldn’t have done for me. Or at least I hope you would.”

Gonzo laughed. “If you’re stupid enough to get shot in the neck like I was, I’d do the same for you.”

“That’s comforting, Sarge. Thanks.”

“What’s with all the papers?” Gonzo asked.

“Lori’s phone records. Slow going.”

“I’ll let you get back to it. I’m going to find Malone and see if he knows where Sam is.”

“Keep me posted on what you hear.”

“Will do.”

Gonzo left the pit and went in search of the captain, who he found in a conversation with Farnsworth outside the chief’s office.

“Sergeant Gonzales,” Farnsworth said. “You’re back.”

“So it seems,” Gonzo replied.

Malone gave him a shrewd once-over. “Funny, I don’t recall seeing your return-to-work form.”

“It’s in the mail,” Gonzo said. “I’m good as new.”

“At the most, light duty, Sergeant,” Farnsworth said sternly.

“Absolutely.” Gonzo breathed a sigh of relief when he realized they weren’t going to send him home. “Does anyone know where Lieutenant Holland is? I tried to get her on the radio and on her cell and got her voice mail. She told me she had one quick thing to do and would meet me here, but that was more than an hour ago. Last Arnold knew, she was going to inform Marissa Springer.”

“That was hours ago,” Farnsworth said, his brows furrowing. “She was going there when Conklin and I parted company with her around eleven. She called me about seeing an investigator Mrs. Springer had hired to follow her husband but that didn’t pan out. No one’s heard from her since?”

Malone pulled his phone from his pocket and placed a call, frowning when he apparently got her voice mail. He then sent a text and watched his screen intently. “It delivered but it wasn’t read.”

“Let me try Cruz and see if he’s spoken to her,” Gonzo said with a growing sense of alarm. More than an hour off the grid. That wasn’t like her. At all. “Hey, Freddie.”

“What’s up? Where are you?”

“At HQ with Malone and the chief. We’re wondering if you’ve spoken to Sam recently?”

“Not since this morning when she called about Springer. Why?”

Gonzo shook his head and watched Malone and Farnsworth exchanged concerned glances. “We haven’t heard from her in a while, and we’re just trying to see if anyone else has.”

“Did you call Nick? She usually keeps in touch with him all day, but today may be different since it’s his first day at the White House. I can call Shelby too. She’s probably talked to Sam.”

“Let me know, will you?”

“Yeah, will do.”

“How’s Elin?”

“Sore but better. They’re sending her home soon.”

“What the hell happened?”

Freddie told him about the guy who’d been hassling her at the gym and the fight that had led to her injuries.

“Do we need to have a conversation with this guy?”

“Already done.”

Gonzo turned his back to the chief and captain and walked a short distance away. “What’d you do, Cruz?”

“I took care of it. That’s all you need to know.”

“Took care of it how?”

“I’m going to call around to try to find Sam. I’ll get back to you when I hear something. You do the same?”

“Yeah, but we’re going to talk about the other thing later.”

“Fine, see you.”

The line went dead and Gonzo was left with yet another uneasy feeling. He placed calls to all of the Homicide detectives, none of whom had heard from Sam in the last hour.

“What’re you hearing, Sarge?” Malone asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Should we call Nick?” Malone asked. “If anyone’s heard from her, he has.”

“What if he hasn’t, though? He’ll be in a panic. I’d prefer to wait a bit on making that call.”

Malone went to a house phone on the wall and dialed a number. “Archie, it’s Malone. I need you to put a trace on Lieutenant Holland’s phone. Do you have the number?” He paused and then groaned. “So it doesn’t have GPS capability?” After another pause, Malone said, “She’s getting a new phone. Immediately. Thanks anyway, Archie.” He slammed down the receiver.

“I’m going to the Springer house since that was the last place we knew she was,” Gonzo said.

“I’m going with you,” Malone said.

“Me too,” Farnsworth replied.

As they left HQ and headed for MacArthur Boulevard, Gonzo’s chest tightened. He had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

Nick’s first day at the White House passed in a blur of meetings and briefings on everything from national security to the latest situation in Iraq and Syria to an update on the Ebola outbreak in Africa and the efforts being made by the Centers for Disease Control to keep the disease from further encroaching on U.S. borders. Within the West Wing, a fierce debate was under way about sending ground troops to Africa to help contain the virus and offer aid.

He could see both sides of the debate. Containing the disease was in the U.S.’s best interest, but he could also understand the military’s resistance to send troops into such a hot zone.

At quarter to five, Terry knocked on his door and came in. As he took a seat on the other side of Nick’s desk, he looked energized and invigorated by the day they’d put in. “So.”

“So?” Nick asked.

“So far, so good?”

“Yeah, I’d say that. Pretty intense day.”

“I’d venture to guess most days around here are intense.”

“I thought I’d see Nelson at some point.”

“You’re having lunch with him on Friday, and I’m sure he’ll pop in to the reception if he’s able to.”

“Sure, whatever.” Nick aligned the wedding photo of him and Sam on the corner of his desk. That and Scotty’s recent school photo were the only pictures on his desk.

“What’s up?” Terry asked.

“Nothing’s up other than the first day on a new job.”

“Why do you seem, I don’t know, out of sorts maybe?”

Nick shrugged. “I guess I’m sort of hoping I haven’t made a huge mistake.”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything today... It sort of feels like...”

“Like what?”

“Busywork. Stuff they’re throwing at me to keep me involved but on the periphery.”

Terry thought about that for a minute. “They might be easing you in.”

“Maybe.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“It occurs to me that Nelson has already gotten what he needed most from me.”

“A boost in poll numbers,” Terry said, nodding. The numbers showed the American people very much approved of the president’s choice of a new vice president.

“Bingo.” Nick held a pen between his index and middle fingers, letting it dangle. “He used me, Terry.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Nick raised a brow. “Don’t I? I haven’t heard a single word from him or any member of his team, except Derek, who I talk to regularly anyway, since the day I was sworn in six weeks ago. Not one word.”

“It was the holidays. Everyone was out of town from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. You know how this city works.”

“We still have a country to run. Are you going to tell me Nelson didn’t work—at all—for six weeks? And why did they encourage me to wait until after the first of the year to officially start work?”

“Because they knew you needed time to put a team in place?”

“Six weeks, Terry. That’s a long time for radio silence between the country’s top two leaders.”

“You should talk to Derek about it. Get his feel.”

“You think he’d tell me if Nelson was purposely leaving me out of things?”

“I think you guys have been friends a long time, and if he can tell you anything, he will.”

“True.” While he agreed with Terry, Nick still hated to put Derek in the middle of potential issues between his boss and his longtime friend.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it—yet. It’s early days. It’ll all shake out in the next couple of weeks.”

“I don’t want to be bored. I want to be busy.”

“Then we’ll keep you busy. To start with, you have a slew of interview requests. They want you everywhere—all the Sunday shows and most of the news magazines are clamoring for you.”

“Sure, I’ll do them. Let’s make the rounds. Do we need to clear it with Nelson’s people first?”

“I don’t see why. He asked you because you’re popular, so it’s safe to assume he’d approve of you capitalizing on your popularity.”

“I don’t like that word.”

“Which word? Popularity?”

“No,
assume
,” Nick said with a chuckle. “It gets people, even vice presidential people, in trouble. Let’s clear it with his team before we do anything. I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Vice President.”

Nick scowled at his friend. “Can it.”

“So I wanted to share a bit of personal news with you.”

“What’s that?”

“I asked Lindsey to marry me on New Year’s Eve and for some strange reason she actually said yes.”

Nick laughed at his choice of words and his befuddled expression. “Congratulations, Terry. I couldn’t be happier for both of you.”

“Thanks. I’m pretty happy too. A year ago, I never could’ve imagined the life I’ve got now.”

“Right there with you.” Nick’s personal cell phone rang and he took the call from his friend Andy. “Hey there.”