by Linda Howard
“You’re good, Sam,” Nick said, his tone reverent.
As if she had been in a trance, Sam looked up at him. “What?”
“The way you describe it…If I were a juror, I’d convict.”
“All I have to do now is prove it and figure out who did it.”
“You will.” He moved to the closet, opened the doors and contemplated the row of dark suits, dress shirts in white, various shades of blue and some with pinstripes. There were easily a hundred ties to choose from.
Peeking into dresser drawers, Sam asked, “Did he ever wear anything besides suits? Where’re the jeans? The sweats?”
“He didn’t keep a lot of that stuff here.”
“Where else would it be?”
“At his place in Leesburg.”
“He has a second home?”
Nick nodded. “A cabin near his parents’ property. We both use it as a retreat from the insanity of Washington.”
“Why didn’t you say anything about it the other day?”
“To be honest, it never occurred to me. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly then. I’m still not. Between what happened to John and seeing you again…”
“Take me there.”
“Now?”
She nodded.
“It’s almost midnight. You’ve been at it for eighteen hours. I can take you tomorrow.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I won’t have time tomorrow. If you drive, I’ll nap in the car—if you can stay awake that is.”
“I’m fine. I do my best work from midnight to three a.m.”
His comment was rife with double meaning that Sam refused to acknowledge. Her face, however, heated with embarrassment as she helped him decide on a dark navy suit, pale blue silk dress shirt and a tie decorated with small American flags. They unearthed a garment bag, and Sam zipped it over the suit.
“Underwear?” she asked.
“He didn’t wear it in life.”
“How in the hell do you know that?”
Nick laughed. “We were at a luncheon with the Daughters of the American Revolution a year or so ago, and everyone was starting to leave when one of the blue hairs came to tell me the senator needed me at the head table. I went into the room, and he was sitting all by himself.”
“How come?”
“Apparently, he’d managed to split his pants and was in need of an exit strategy.”
Sam laughed at the picture he painted. “Let me guess—he was in commando mode?”
“You got it. So I found him an overcoat—not an easy feat in July, I might add—and got him out of there with his pride intact.”
“Where did that fall in your job description?”
“Under ‘other duties as assigned,’” he said with a sad smile that tugged at her heart.
“All right then. No underwear. Shoes?”
“Would you want to spend eternity with your feet encased in wingtips? The tie will be bad enough. I’m sure I’ll hear plenty about that when we meet up again in the afterlife.” He reached for her hand and linked their fingers. “Thank you for helping me with this.”
Flustered, she extracted her hand and jammed it in her pocket. “It’s no problem.”
“Is choosing clothes for the deceased part of your job description?”
“This is definitely a first.”
On their way out of John’s bedroom, Nick looked at her in a way that reminded Sam of what he wanted from her. A burst of yearning took her by surprise. Sam wasn’t a woman who yearned, especially for a man. She was focused, efficient, dedicated to her work and her family, hard nosed when she needed to be, and independent—fiercely and completely independent. So it should have been unsettling to want a man as much as she wanted Nick.
Truth be told, she had fantasized about him for years after the night they spent together. She had followed Senator O’Connor’s career and watched hours of congressional coverage in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the senator’s trusted aide. But only rarely had she seen Nick. He apparently kept a much lower profile than his illustrious boss.
In the parking lot, he held the passenger door of his car for her.
She slid into the buttery soft leather seat and sighed with contentment. When he turned the car on, she quickly discovered the seats were heated and felt like she’d gone straight to heaven. “This car suits you.”
“You think so?”
“Uh huh. It’s classy but not showy.”
“Is that a compliment, Samantha?”
She shrugged.
He reached for her hand as they headed out of the city. When she tried to resist, he held on tighter. “No one but us, babe.”
“There’s no tablecloth to hide under.”
He flashed that irresistible grin and laced his fingers through hers. “Give me just this much, will you?”
Since he’d asked so nicely and it really wasn’t much, she didn’t argue with him even if the simple feel of his hand wrapped around hers set her heart to galloping and put her hormones on full alert. Guilt was mixed in there, too. She had no business spending this much time with him or wanting him so fiercely. But since it was dark and she was tired and no one was looking, rather than push him away, she tightened her grip on his hand.
CHAPTER 14
Sam hadn’t expected to sleep. But the combined lull of the moving car, the heated seats, Nick’s hand wrapped companionably around hers…
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.”
Coming to, Sam looked out at the vast darkness and was able to make out the shape of a cabin in front of the car. “Let’s get to it.”
The rush of frigid air slapped at Sam’s face. She followed Nick up the gravel path to the door and stood back while he used his key in the lock.
Inside, he flipped on lights.
Sam blinked a comfortable living area into focus. Big, welcoming sofas, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, overflowing bookshelves on either side of the stone fireplace, framed family photos and a couple of trophies. Here, at last, was Senator John Thomas O’Connor.
She shrugged off her coat, pushed up the sleeves of her sweater, tugged the clip from her hair and got to work. Two hours later, she had discovered that John loved Hemingway, Shakespeare, Patterson and Grisham. His musical taste ran the gamut from Melencamp to Springsteen, Vivaldi to Bach. She had sifted through photo albums, yearbooks and a file cabinet that seemed to have no rhyme or reason to anyone other than its owner.
She perused a series of essays John wrote for his senior project at Harvard, detailing the roles of government and the governed. The essays were bound into a small navy blue volume with smart gold embossing.
“He was proud of that,” Nick said from the doorway to the office.
Startled, she glanced up at him. She had almost forgotten he was there.
“His father had the book made and gave it to everyone who was anyone.” Nick stepped into the room and handed her a steaming mug.
“Oh, is that hot chocolate?” she asked, soaking in the mouthwatering aroma.
“I figured it was too late for coffee.” He had removed his suit coat and released the top buttons on his dress shirt. Her eyes fixated on a dark tuft of chest hair.
“You figured right. Fat free, calorie free, I hope.” Swirling her tongue over the dollop of whipped cream on top, she took a moment to appreciate the taste. Looking up at him again, she found his hazel eyes locked on her. “What?” she asked, her voice shakier than she intended it to be.
“It’s just…you…and whipped cream. It’s giving me ideas.”
She swallowed, hard.
“I like your hair down like that,” he added.
Choosing to ignore the comments and the flush of heat that went rippling through her body, she returned her attention to the book John had dedicated to his father. A photo slid out from between the pages and fell to the floor. Sam put her mug on the desk and leaned over to retrieve the picture of a strapping blond boy of about sixteen in a football uniform.
“What’ve you got there?” Nick asked.
“Looks like a photo of John when he was in high school.” She turned it over to find the initials “TJO” and a date from four years earlier. “Oh. It’s not him. Who’s TJO?”
Nick took the photo from her, studied the likeness, and then turned it over. “I have no idea, but he could be John when I first met him.”
“Did he have a son, Nick?” She thought of Patricia Donaldson and the three-thousand-dollar-a-month payments.
“Of course not.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I’m positive,” he said hotly. “I’ve known him since he was eighteen. If he had a son, I’d know it.”
“Well, if that’s not his son, whoever he is, he bears a striking resemblance to John.” Sam tucked the photo into her bag with plans to ask the senator’s parents about it in the morning. “He had quite a thing for Spider-Man, huh?” She gestured to the shelves in the corner that housed John’s extensive stash of Spiderman collectibles.
Nick smiled. “He was obsessed.”
She picked up a carved placard from the desk that bore Spider-Man’s signature saying, With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility. Studying it for a long moment, she glanced at Nick. “Did he believe this?”
“Very much so. Despite his sometimes lackadaisical approach to his job, he took his responsibilities as seriously as he was able to.”
“But not as seriously as you would have.”
“Let’s just say if our roles had been reversed, I would’ve done a lot of things differently.”
“Have you ever wanted to be the one in the corner office?”
“God no,” he said with a guffaw. “I work much better as the guy behind the guy.” He seemed to sober when he remembered he had lost his guy when John died.
“With his parents’ okay, I’d like to have a team go through here more methodically tomorrow.” She stretched and got up. “I’m running out of gas after twenty hours.”
“I’m guessing you’ll want to talk to his parents about that photo,” Nick said, “so why don’t we crash here and go see them in the morning?”
Her eyes darted up to meet his. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he said with a sexy smile. “There’s a guestroom I use when I’m here. I’ll take John’s room.”
Sam ran it around in her mind as she finished her hot chocolate. Technically, the cabin wasn’t a crime scene, so she didn’t have an issue there. She was exhausted, he didn’t look much better, and she could knock a few things off her to-do list in the morning if she stayed in Leesburg, including another discussion with Terry O’Connor if he was available.
“All right,” she said, even though she would’ve preferred separate hotel rooms, but hotels were in short supply in that corner of the county. She got up to follow Nick down the hallway to the bedrooms.
“Bathroom’s in there,” he pointed. In the guestroom, he rooted through an antique chest of drawers and pulled out a large T-shirt. “One of mine if you want something to sleep in. There’re extra toothbrushes and anything else you might need in the bathroom closet.”
“Thanks,” she said, embarrassed and shy all of a sudden—two emotions she rarely experienced.
He slid a hand around her neck to draw her in close to him. For a long, breathless moment he just looked at her before he kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning. Holler if you need anything.”
Devastated by the simple kiss, she watched him cross the hall, her heart pounding and her hands damp. She hated being off balance and out of kilter, which of course was why he had done it. Feeling defiant, she used the bathroom and then left the shirt he had given her on the bed as she stripped out of her clothes and slid naked between the cool sheets.
Less than a minute later, she was out cold.
*
“Sam. Honey, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
Sam could hear him but couldn’t seem to force her eyes open.
“Babe.”
Her eyes fluttered open to find Nick sitting on the bed.
When he brushed the hair back from her face, she realized she was sweating and her heart was racing.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Mmm, sorry.” It occurred to her that she must’ve been loud if she had woken him. She glanced at him, noticing he wore only a pair of sweats, and let her eyes take a slow journey over his muscular chest.
“It was a doozy, huh? The dream?”
“I don’t know. I never remember the details, just the fear.” She rubbed a weary hand over her cheek and wished for a glass of water. “Did I…um…say anything?”
He replaced the hand she had on her face with his own. “You kept saying, ‘Cease fire, hold your fire.’”
“Shit,” she said with a deep sigh.
He stretched out next to her on top of the comforter and settled her head on his shoulder. “It was a traumatic thing, Sam, but it wasn’t your fault.”
Steeped in the masculine scent of citrus and spice, she closed her eyes against the rush of emotion and absorbed the comfort he offered. Just for a minute. His chest hair brushed against her face, making her want him so fiercely. “If only I could forgive myself as easily as you’ve forgiven me.”
He brought her closer to him.
“Um, Nick?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m kind of naked under here.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
As all the reasons this was a bad idea came crashing down on her, she attempted to struggle out of his embrace. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t have this. I can’t have you.”
“Yes, you can.”
Her face still pressed to his chest, Sam gave herself another second to wallow in the scent that she’d never forgotten. “Not here. Not now.”
He released a deep, ragged breath. “I missed you, Sam. I thought about you, about that night, so often.”
“I did, too,” she said, her eyes closed tight against the onslaught of emotions she’d only felt this acutely once before.
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. If you’re in the room, I want you.”
“I seem to have the same problem.”
“We’ve got a few hours until daybreak. Would it be okay if I just held you until then?”
“I’d love nothing more, but it’s too tempting. You’re too tempting.”
Sighing again, he released her and sat up. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “See you in the morning.”
Sam watched him go, knowing she’d never get back to sleep with every cell in her body on fire for him.
CHAPTER 15
Sam corralled her hair into a ponytail, strapped on her shoulder holster, clipped the badge to her belt, and adjusted her suit jacket over the same scoop-necked top she’d worn yesterday. When she was ready, she took a long look around to make sure she wasn’t leaving behind any sign that she had spent the night for the team she planned to send in there later that day. Satisfied by the quick sweep of the room, she emerged to find Nick waiting for her in the living room. Somehow he managed to appear pressed and polished in yesterday’s clothes. His face was smooth and his hair still damp from the shower.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
Wrapping her coat and his arms around her, he hugged her from behind and pressed kisses to her neck and cheek before he finally let go.
The spontaneous demonstration of affection caught her off guard. Unless it was leading to sex, Peter had never bothered with the random acts of affection that Nick doled out so effortlessly. Nick seemed to need to touch her if she was near him. That she liked it so much was just another reason to keep her distance.
The O’Connors’s home was located two miles up the main road from John’s cabin. Once again, Carrie met them at the door and was surprised to see them out so early.
“Are they up?” Nick asked.
“They’re having bre
akfast. Come on in.” She led them into the cozy country kitchen where Graham and Laine sat at the table lost in their own thoughts. Neither of them seemed to be eating much of anything.
Both had dark circles under their eyes. Weariness and grief clung to them.
“Nick?” Graham said. “You’re out early. Sergeant.”
Carrie handed mugs of coffee to Sam and Nick.
“Thank you,” Nick said.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you so early.” Sam stirred cream into her coffee and wished it was a diet cola. “But I have something I need to ask you.”
“Of course,” Laine said. “Whatever we can do to help.”
Sam retrieved the photo from her bag. “Who is this?” She placed the photo on the table between them.
They looked at the photo and then at each other.
“Where’d you get this?” Graham asked.
“At the cabin,” Nick said. “The photo was tucked into the essay book you had made for him.”
“It’s John’s cousin, Thomas,” Laine said, glancing up at Sam with cool patrician eyes. “His father is Graham’s brother Robert.”
“I don’t remember John mentioning a cousin that young,” Nick said.
Laine shrugged. “There were almost twenty years between them. They were hardly close.”
“He looks an awful lot like your son,” Sam said, testing for reactions.
“Yes, he does,” Graham said, his expression neutral. “Is there anything else?”
“Do you know where I can find Terry?” Sam said.
The question seemed to startle both O’Connors.
“I believe he’s working in the city this morning,” Graham said.
“The address?”
He rattled off the name and K Street address of a prominent lobbying firm, which Sam wrote down in the small notebook she pulled from her back pocket. “If you have no objection, I’d like to send a team into the cabin today to make sure we’re not missing something that could help with the case.”
“Strange people in John’s home?” Laine asked, visibly disturbed by the notion.