Chapter Three
They arrived home to Shelby asleep on the couch, wrapped up in Avery’s arms. The agent was awake, watching the New Year’s festivities in Times Square on TV. Nick hated having that guy in his house, but Hill’s attentions were now focused on Shelby rather than Sam. At least he hoped so.
Every so often he caught him looking at Sam with something way outside the bounds of friendship, and at those times, Nick wondered if he’d really moved on or if he was merely using their wonderful personal assistant to stay close to Sam. If Nick ever discovered that to be true, he’d have the agent transferred to an outpost in Siberia so fast his head would spin.
He’d like to think he was above using his position for his own agenda, but in the case of the FBI agent who had a “thing” for his wife, he wouldn’t hesitate to have him removed from her orbit if it came to that. So he kept a close eye on the guy who seemed to be around their house more and more often lately. With all the women in the District he could be dating, why their personal assistant?
Not that Shelby wasn’t fabulous—she was. Any guy would be lucky to date her. But Nick found the situation curious at best, fishy at worse. So while Sam talked to Hill, Nick went through the motions of hanging their coats in the front hall closet. He hoped Hill would get the hint and go home so Nick could take his wife to bed.
What if he said that? “Hill, could you please leave? I need to make mad, passionate love to my wife, and you’re screwing things up just by being here.” Nick smiled to himself as he imagined the look of utter scorn he’d receive from Sam if he said it, but damn, he wanted to. Rather than get himself in trouble when he was planning to get very lucky, he went into the kitchen to fix himself a nightcap from the bottle of bourbon Graham O’Connor had given him on the one-year anniversary of John’s death.
Rather than wallow in their ongoing grief, they’d chosen to toast their son and best friend with drinks and cigars that had left Nick feeling rather sick at the end of the evening. But they’d gotten Graham and his wife, Laine, through the day, and that was all that mattered. One year. How was it possible that John had already been gone a year? He’d never believe the changes to all their lives since then, most particularly Nick, who’d gone from John’s chief of staff to the Senate to vice president of the United States in one short dizzying year. He’d also gone from single to married to fatherhood in the same year.
The best part, by far, had been reconnecting with Sam in the wake of John’s murder. That something so amazing and life-changing could’ve come from the worst day of his life was nothing short of a miracle. She was a miracle. His miracle.
She came into the kitchen looking gorgeous in the clingy, sexy black dress, her cheeks still red from the cold, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Hiding out?”
“Nothing of the sort.” He held up his glass. “Having a nightcap. Join me?”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Feeling risky tonight, are you?” Bourbon wasn’t usually her drink of choice, but he poured her a couple of fingers nonetheless. “Is he gone?”
“They both are, so you can come out of hiding. I’m proud of you, though, for leaving me alone with him.” She patted his face indulgently. “My little boy might be growing up.”
Amused, he took a sip of his drink. “Does thinking about how quickly I could have him transferred to Siberia count as growing up?”
“Nick...”
“What? I didn’t say I was doing it. I simply said I’d thought about it.”
She shook her head and grinned at him. “Want to know what I was thinking about?”
“Always.”
“You’ll have to come upstairs to find out.” Taking her drink with her, she left the kitchen and headed for the stairs.
Curious and aroused and amused, he went after her, watching the gentle sway of her exceptional ass on the way up. That she put a little extra swing in her step for his benefit wasn’t lost on him. His detail had disappeared into what used to be his study and now served as command central. The loss of the office space was a small price to pay for being allowed to remain in their home. He had no idea what the agents did all night while he slept, and he honestly didn’t care.
Before the new job, Nick had craved the time alone with Sam at the end of every long day. Now he absolutely lived for it. From the moment their bedroom door closed behind them, they were completely alone until seven the next morning, at which time he was required to check in with the detail—five days a week. On weekends, they gave him until nine. In private, he and Sam referred to it as his “prison schedule.”
In the hallway outside Scotty’s room, Darcy, one of the agents assigned to his son’s detail, stood when she saw them approach.
“Good evening, Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Cappuano, and Happy New Year.”
“Same to you, Darcy.” He gestured to Scotty’s door. “May we?”
“Of course.”
By now, Scotty’s detail was accustomed to the fact that they never went to bed without checking one last time on their sleeping son. After being away from him, even for a few hours, they needed to lay eyes on him.
Nick followed Sam into the room that was tricked out in Red Sox and superhero decorations and smelled like the Hatchet cologne he’d recently begun wearing much to their dismay. Sam had tried to tell him that no girl—ever—would be attracted to a guy who smelled like that stuff. She’d bought him some Lacoste cologne for Christmas, and they were hoping he’d take to it—soon.
Sam leaned over the bed, brushed dark hair from Scotty’s forehead and kissed him. Nick followed suit, running his fingers through the hair that was so much like his he might’ve been the boy’s biological father. But he wasn’t. Some other guy had fathered him, and they were making the required effort to find him so they could finalize the adoption. Nick might actually sleep at night once that was done.
He shared a smile with Sam, then followed her from the room.
“Good night,” they said to Darcy.
“Good night. Sleep well.”
In their room, Nick closed the door and locked it. None of the agents would dare step foot in there unless the house were on fire or the country under attack, but Nick always locked the door anyway, needing the assurance that for these few hours anyway, they’d be completely alone. If Scotty needed them, he would knock on the door.
He stripped off his tie and shirt, tossing them over a chair in his haste to be free of the dress clothes he spent far too much time in these days. Watching Sam’s contorted effort to reach the zipper of her dress had him crossing the room to assist.
“Oh, please,” he said. “Allow me.” Moving her hair to the side, he punctuated his words with kisses to the back of her neck that had her sighing and leaning against him. “I can’t get to the zipper with you snuggled up against me.” He slid his arms around her.
“I needed this first.”
“Anytime.”
“Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“It was entirely my pleasure, as is any time I get to spend with you.” He peppered her neck with kisses, making her moan when he latched on to her earlobe. “Let me get that zipper for you. I want to see what’s under this number.”
“There wasn’t room for much, so don’t get too excited.”
He pressed his erection into the cleft between her buttocks. “Too late.” Her girlish giggle, the one she saved only for him, was music to his ears. He released her only enough to access the zipper. With it unfastened, she shimmied out of the dress, sending his arousal into the red zone as he watched her hips slide from side to side. “Could I get that on video sometime?”
“In your dreams.”
“That was so hot, babe.”
“What was? All I did was take off my dress.”
He took hold of her hand and pressed it against his erection. “And look what happened when you did.”
“Mmm, that feels pretty serious. We should do something about that.” She turned to him, her breasts barely contained by a sheer strapless bra. His gaze wandered down to the scrap of thong that covered her.
He licked lips that had gone dry with lust. “And you said I shouldn’t get too excited. Look at you.”
She pulled his T-shirt up and over his head and then went to work on his belt and pants. “I’d so much rather look at you.” When he sprang free of his boxers, she took him in hand and then dropped to her knees before him.
Oh, Christ. “Sam, I don’t know if I can take that tonight.”
“Since when are you good for only once? It’s a holiday. We’ve got all night, and we even get to sleep in.” As she spoke, she let her lips vibrate against his shaft as she stroked him. The combination was overwhelming, and she’d barely touched him. Then she opened her mouth and drew him in, sucking and licking her way down his length.
“God, Samantha.” When his legs began to tremble, she cupped his balls, sliding her fingers back and forth until he could no longer control the need to pump his hips.
She took most of him, letting him slide into her throat and then swallowing, which finished him right off.
Fisting her hair, he let go of all his thoughts and cares and worries, giving everything he had to her in wave after wave of pleasure. She brought him down slowly, gently licking and touching him until he nearly had to beg for mercy. She kissed her way up to his belly and then to his chest, tonguing his nipples and then his lips.
“Come with me.” She grabbed the comforter and two pillows off the bed and brought them to the floor in front of the gas fireplace, which she lit with the press of a button. “Remember last year?”
“I remember.” He joined her on the floor, wrapping his arms around her as she arranged the comforter over them. “The first night we spent in this house.” Behind her back, he unhooked her bra and moved it out of the way, loving the feel of her breasts against his chest. Then he pushed the thong down her legs, and slid his leg between hers.
“In case I never told you,” she said, “I really love this house. I love that it’s right near my dad’s. I love that you live here and that Scotty lives here now and that we got to stay here after your promotion.”
Laughing, he said, “Is that what we’re calling the mess I’ve made of our lives?”
“Uh-huh. I love that I got a whole room for a closet, and you know how much I love our loft.”
“The loft is a personal favorite of mine too.” As he kissed her, he moved so he was on top, poised between her legs while gazing down at her. “But having you here with me is the best part. You and Scotty. You guys are all I need to be happy.”
Based on the fact that he hadn’t heard a word from his new boss or the new boss’s staff since the day he was sworn in, Nick had a sneaking suspicion that Nelson had used him to boost sagging approval ratings. The president had been reelected by one of the narrowest margins in history, and the Democrats had lost control of the House. The president’s second term promised to be contentious and polarizing, so a popular vice president wouldn’t hurt anything.
“What’re you thinking about?” she asked him.
He realized that he’d punched out on her, which he never did when she was naked beneath him. “How good you feel.” More than anything, Nick hated having to hide his worries from Sam, who’d been so supportive and understanding as the Secret Service invaded their lives and their home.
“You know how you can make me really happy right now?” she asked with the coy smile he adored.
“How?”
She took him in hand, stroked him until he was harder than he’d been before she made him come, and guided him home.
As he slid into her, his mind cleared of anything that didn’t involve her. Encased in her tight heat, he had no choice but to give her his full attention. As long as he had this, as long as he had her, he’d be okay. That was all he knew for sure. Then she wrapped her arms and legs around him, and his heart overflowed with love for her. She gave him everything, even things she didn’t know he needed.
“Samantha.” His lips found hers in a hungry, devouring kiss. He was still kissing her when he felt her tighten around him, a sign that she was close. She who’d had trouble achieving climax in past relationships came every time with him, which was another thing to love about what they had together. He gave it to her hard and fast, which always triggered her release. This time was no different.
He kissed her again, to smother the sound of her cries, and went with her, surging into her until they were both depleted and breathing hard. “Love you,” he whispered.
“Love you too. Happy New Year.”
“Same to you, baby.” Though he expected the New Year to be lousy on many fronts, he’d do everything he could to make sure it was a happy year for her and Scotty. Their happiness and safety were the only things that truly mattered to him.
* * *
A ringing phone woke them early the next morning. Sam groaned when she realized it was hers. She checked the caller ID and saw it was Dispatch. “Motherfucker.”
“Good morning to you too, love,” Nick said as he yawned.
“It’s work.”
“Shit.”
She sat up in bed and let the covers fall to her waist. “Holland.”
“Lieutenant, we’ve got a homicide on Constitution Ave near West Potomac Park. The victim is located inside a parked vehicle.”
“I’m on my way. Call Cruz.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Shit, fuck, damn, hell,” Sam said as she got out of bed and headed for the shower. So much for a holiday weekend off duty.
Nick laughed at her string of swears. “Sorry, babe.”
“Don’t the fucking murderers know it’s my weekend off?”
“They’re very inconsiderate that way.”
Over her shoulder, she said, “Shower. Now.” She loved the way his eyes widened with surprise at her command. The sound of his footsteps behind her made her heart beat faster with anticipation. She stepped into the shower and turned up the heat, filling the stall with steam as she quickly washed her hair.
He came in behind her, his arm encircling her waist. “Allow me,” he said, taking the bottle of conditioner from her and working it through her long hair.
Sam pushed her rear against his erection, which earned her a sharp slap on the ass that made her cry out with surprise and shocking desire. She’d never forget the first time he’d done that or how much she’d liked it.
He did it again, on the other side this time, before bending her at the waist and taking her hard and fast from behind. It was over almost before it began, but every inch of her body tingled with aftershocks as he washed between her legs and sent her on her way with yet another well-placed spank. “Be careful out there, babe.”
“Always am.”
“Let me know what’s going on when you can.”
“Will do. Thanks for the morning wake-up call.”
“Anytime.”
Sam kissed him and left him to finish his shower. She put on a robe to walk across the hall to get dressed, trying to ignore the agent who was positioned outside Scotty’s room as he made an equal effort to ignore her. How long would it take before she became accustomed to having people crawling all over her house?
She threw on jeans, a heavy sweater and the fleece-lined snow boots that Nick had given her for Christmas. Her wet hair would make her cold on the crime scene, so she put on a knit hat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. She went downstairs, grabbed an apple and a bottle of water before bolting past the agent at the door and stomping down the ramp, checking the time on her phone as she went.
Twelve minutes from phone call to car with shower sex. Not bad.
As she drove, she ate the apple and yawned her head off, jonesing for the diet cola she’d been forced to give up when her stomach revolted against the acid in the soda. While she wouldn’t have traded a minute of the evening she’d spent wrapped up in her gorgeous husband, she wished now that she’d spent a tiny bit more of it actually sleeping.
She parked illegally on Constitution Avenue and stepped under the yellow crime scene tape that a patrolman held up for her. “What’ve we got?” she asked Officer Beckett, who stood next to the car.
“Female vic, approximately thirty years old. Waiting for Dispatch to get me the details on the car.”
“Have you touched anything?”
“I gloved up to open the car door and check for a pulse. I also checked the glove box for a registration, but it wasn’t in there. That’s as far as I went on my own.”
“Good job.”
She pulled latex gloves from her coat pocket and snapped them on before leaning into the car for a closer look. The woman had long brown hair and pale skin. Sam noted bruising around her neck and throat, indication that she’d been manually strangled. She reached across the front seat for the purse that sat on the passenger seat and went through it looking for a wallet, which was at the bottom.
Sam pulled it out and stood upright, relying on the first light of day to get a read of the name and address on the Maryland license. Lori Phillips. A bolt of shock traveled through Sam, drawing a gasp from her tightly clenched lips as she took a second look at the woman and recognized her as the mother of Gonzo’s son—the same woman he’d faced off against in court, the same one he’d said he wanted to strangle.
“Fuck,” Sam whispered.
“What’s got you swearing before the sun is even up?” her partner, Detective Freddie Cruz, asked as he joined her.
Sam turned to him, not surprised to see him bed-headed and rumpled as he always was when he responded to calls late at night or first thing in the morning. “It’s Lori Phillips.”
Freddie’s mouth opened and then closed. “As in Gonzo’s Lori Phillips?” he asked in nearly a whisper.
“One and the same.”
“Shit.”
“Thus the swearing.” Sam didn’t tell him—and wouldn’t tell anyone—what Gonzo had said to her the night before. But she’d be having a conversation with her detective sergeant the second she could break free from the crime scene.
Freddie zipped his coat all the way to the top. A whipping wind made it that much colder than it already was. “How do we play this?”
“I don’t know. I just got here myself. I need a minute to think.” Sam took Lori’s phone out of her purse and handed it to Freddie. “How do we see what’s on this?”
Freddie took it from her and pushed some buttons. “It’s password protected. We’ll need to get it to Archie for a dump.” He glanced at something over her shoulder. “Here comes the ME.” Then he looked down at her, concern etched into his handsome face. “You don’t think—”
“No! I don’t think that. And neither do you.”
“Right. Of course I don’t think that.” After a long pause, he said, “But everyone else will.”
“Shit, fuck, damn, hell,” she muttered, staring down at Lori and thinking of the shitstorm that would erupt when the media caught wind of the fact that she’d been murdered. In any homicide investigation, Sam’s first thoughts were always for her victim and getting justice for both the victim and the victim’s family. In this case, however, she couldn’t help but think of her close friend and how this particular homicide would turn his life upside down.
“What you said.” As a rule, Freddie left the swearing to her, but even he was known to break loose in the most extreme situations, and this certainly counted as extreme. “What’s the plan?”
“Work the scene and keep a lid on our vic’s identity until I can get my head around this. Don’t tell anyone her name. See about getting video surveillance footage from around here. Surely we have cameras in the area. And the minute you can, get that phone to Archie at HQ.” Sam dropped Lori’s wallet into her coat pocket. “Beckett!”
The patrolman came over to them. “Yes, ma’am?”
“You hear back from Dispatch on the car?”
“Just now.” He handed her a slip of paper on which he’d written, George Phillips with an address in Bowie, Maryland.
“Thanks. I’m putting a gag order on every detail of this investigation. Got me?”
“Yes, ma’am. No one will hear anything from me.”
“Good. Where’s Crime Scene?” she asked of the detectives who would go through the vehicle with a fine-tooth comb.
“On their way.”
“Thanks, Beckett.” After she and Freddie did a visual search of the car and found nothing obvious to aid in the investigation, Sam waved for Lindsey McNamara, the District’s chief medical examiner, to come forward. “All yours, Doc.”
“Do we know who she is?”
“We do.”
Lindsey secured her long red hair into a ponytail. “And?”
“For right now she’s a thirty-one-year-old Jane Doe. Got me?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll brief you as soon as I can.” To Freddie, she said, “Keep an eye on things, get Patrol to begin a canvas of the area and keep me posted on anything that transpires. As soon as you can, get the phone to HQ.”
“Got it. Where are you going?”
“To Gonzo’s.”
“Sam. You gotta know, he would never...”
“We’d both like to think that, Freddie, but honestly, you never know what someone will do when they feel desperate and pushed to the brink.”
Freddie blanched. “You said you weren’t thinking that.”
“I gotta go. Keep the scene under control.”
“I will.”
As Sam took off toward her car, she ducked under the yellow tape and felt sick to her stomach. No, she didn’t actually think her close friend and colleague was capable of murder. However, Gonzo had been under a tremendous amount of stress as he recovered from the gunshot wound and also dealt with the media circus over his connection to the judge.
And now Lori was dead, and everyone would be looking to him. The first thing they did in any homicide investigation was investigate motive. And who had the greatest motivation to get Lori out of the picture?
Detective Sergeant Thomas Gonzales.