by Linda Howard
“That’s all I can ask.” Releasing her hand, he caressed her cheek. “When will I see you?”
Before she knew it the words were tumbling from her face as if her mouth was on autopilot. “There’s this thing tomorrow. Family dinner at my dad’s. If you want to come.” All but stuttering now, she added, “I’d understand if you didn’t want to because there’re so many of us—”
He stopped her with a finger to her lips. “What time?”
“Dinner’s at three.” Her cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. “But if you want to come earlier, we could take a walk. Check out the market. If you want.”
“I want.” He slid his arms around her waist and brought her in snug against him. “I really want.”
She should’ve been prepared by then for the way her legs turned to jelly when he kissed her in that particular proprietary way, but the sweep of his tongue, the pressure of his hands on her ass holding her tight against his instant arousal…no way in hell she could prepare for that.
“So,” he asked, peppering her face and lips with kisses, “does this mean we’re together? I mean, you’re asking me to do stuff.” His teasing grin did nothing to offset the serious look in his eyes.
With her hands on his chest, she managed to extricate herself. At the bedroom door, she paused and turned back to him. “I’ve crossed every line there is to cross here, Nick.”
“I know that,” he said, his expression pained.
“If the job requires it, I won’t hesitate to cross back.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Satisfied that he understood, she left him with a nod and a small smile.
He followed her downstairs. “Sam?”
She swung open the inside door. “Hmm?”
Framing her face with his hands, he said, “Fly safely.”
She winced.
“What?”
“I hate to fly. Hate it with a passion. I’ve been trying not to think about it.”
Grinning, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Just close your eyes and try not to think about it.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Okay, I’m going now.”
“Okay, I’m letting you.” Except he didn’t. He hung on for a moment longer. “Be safe. This thing with that Johnson woman…Be careful.” He kissed her. “Please.”
“I always am.”
“Guess what?”
“What?”
His lips landed on hers for another mind-altering kiss. “You’re pretty damned hot yourself.”
Sam gave herself one last minute to sink into the kiss.
With what appeared to be great reluctance, he finally released her.
CHAPTER 21
Nick stayed at the door to watch her walk to her car. Damn, if the woman didn’t make his mouth water with that curvy body and long-legged gait. The whole package was a huge turn-on. He acknowledged they were walking a fine line that was causing her great ethical conflict, but Nick could only be grateful for the second chance they’d been given. And despite her reluctance to acknowledge that this was an actual relationship, he had no intention of messing it up this time.
Long after she should have driven away, she sat at the curb. He wondered if she was on the phone. Tipping his head so he could better see her face, he noticed it was tight with frustration. He cracked the door, heard the unmistakable click of a dead car battery and waved at her to come back in.
Furious, she got out, slammed the car door and started back up the stone pathway to his door. She was halfway there when the car exploded.
The blast was so strong it shattered the storm door and propelled him backward onto the floor. His head smacked hard on the tile, but he fought through the fog to remain conscious so he could get to her.
Barefooted, shirtless and panic-stricken, he crawled through the glass calling for her. The quiet neighborhood had descended into bedlam. He heard people screaming and could smell the acrid smoke coming from the burning car. “Sam! Sam!”
Blood flowed from a cut on his forehead. He swiped at it and started down the stairs, ignoring the pain of jagged glass under his feet. “Samantha!” Frantically, he scanned the small front yard, the street, the neighbors’ yards.
A moan from the bushes behind him caught his attention. “Sam!” He rushed to the huddled form in his garden and had the presence of mind to realize that the miniature evergreens he had planted the summer before had most likely saved her life. “Sam! Sam, look at me.” With the scream of sirens in the distance, he gently turned her head. Other than a knot on her forehead and a shocked glow to her eyes, he didn’t see any obvious injuries.
“Bleeding,” she whispered. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.” He picked branches from her hair, brushed dirt from her cheek. “Do you hurt? Anywhere?” Releasing a long deep breath, he swayed with lightheadedness. “Babe. Jesus.” Sitting with her in the garden, he did battle with the blood pouring from his forehead. He held her tight against him and whispered soothing words as she trembled in his arms.
“Need to call. HQ. Report it.”
“I’m sure someone called 911. Just stay still until we get you checked out.”
“My ears are ringing.”
“Mine, too. You didn’t hurt anything else?”
“Chest hurts.” She trembled. “God, Nick. Oh my God.” Clutching her stomach, she rocked in his arms.
He tightened his hold on her. “Shh, babe.” The blood coming from the cut on his forehead seemed to finally be slowing. “Breathe. Deep breaths.”
An Arlington police officer approached them. “Are you folks all right?”
“I’m on the job.” She showed him the badge she pulled from her tattered coat pocket. “Detective Sergeant Holland. Metro.”
“Are you hurt, Sergeant?”
“I don’t think so, but it was my car that went up. I need to get word to my brass.”
“I’ll call it in for you.” Until the cop handed Nick a blanket, he’d forgotten he was wearing only the now-torn sweats. “And I’ll send the paramedics right over.”
“Thank you, Officer…”
“Severson.”
“Thank you,” Sam said again. When they were alone, she glanced at Nick. “I’m sorry.”
“What the hell for?”
“For bringing this to your home.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “I never thought they’d really try to kill me. I never imagined they had the balls.”
“Don’t you dare apologize to me, Samantha. You’re a victim here.”
“Your windows are broken. Your neighbors’, too.”
“Screw that. It’s glass. It can be replaced. But you…” His voice hitched with emotion. Brushing his lips over the lump on her forehead, he took a deep shuddering breath. “There’s no replacing you. I ought to know. I tried for six years.”
“Nick,” she said, haltingly, “I’m supposed to hold it together and do my job, but this…” She fixed her eyes on the firefighters hosing down what was left of her car.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let it.”
Smiling now but still shaky, she turned to him and wiped the drying blood from his brow. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“By not letting you out of my sight.”
“Nick—”
“Sergeant Holland?” Officer Severson said. “The paramedics are ready for you.”
“We’re not finished,” she told Nick as she gestured the paramedics over. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“You bet your fine ass we will.”
*
Remarkably, Nick’s injuries were more serious than Sam’s. He required five stitches to close the cut over his left eyebrow and stitches in his right foot after doctors removed several slivers of glass. In addition, he had a slight concussion and a minor case of hypothermia from the hour he spent half-dressed in the cold.
Sam, on the other hand, had only a bump on the head and an ugly bruise on her bre
astbone where she’d connected with the bushes. When she allowed her mind to wander to what could’ve happened, she was beset by the shakes. She decided it was better if she didn’t think about it until she had to. Standing at Nick’s bedside, watching the plastic surgeon stitch his forehead, Sam’s knees went weak as the needle passed through his flesh. Nothing freaked her out more than needles—not even airplanes.
The TV was tuned to John’s public wake in Richmond, with special coverage of the O’Connor family’s poignant visit the day before. Nick was riveted to the coverage, but Sam was riveted to the needle.
“You’ll have a scar,” she whispered.
“No way,” the doctor protested. “He’ll be good as new.”
“Damn,” Nick said with a grin. “I was hoping for a gnarly scar.”
“It’s not funny,” Sam snapped.
“Hey.” He squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you wait outside? You’re pale as a ghost.”
“I’d rather stay in here where there’re needles than face what’s waiting for me out there.”
“And that would be?”
“I heard the lieutenant and the captain are here, no doubt media, too. It’ll be all over the news that I spent the night with you.”
“We’ll deal with it, babe.”
“I will deal with it. You will say nothing, you got me?”
“I’m not going to let you get reamed for something we both had a hand in.”
“You’re a civilian. You won’t help me if you try to fight my battles for me, Nick. You have to promise me you’ll resist the urge to speak.”
“Or?”
“I’ll have Freddie toss you in the can until the dust settles.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh no?” She leaned in close to his battered face, but not too close to the needle. “Try me.”
The doctor smiled. “I think I’d listen to the lady if I were you—unless you want to be back for more stitches.”
“The lady,” Nick said, never taking his eyes off Sam, “is sadly deluded if she thinks she can order me around like one of her collars.”
“Ohhh,” Sam said. “Listen to him spewing cop talk.” Reaching behind her, she grabbed her cuffs and snapped them on him and the bed rail so fast he never saw it coming.
“What the fuck?” He tugged on the cuffs, clanked them against the metal rail. “Goddamn it, Sam!”
“Ah, you need to stay still unless you want a needle straight through to your brain,” the doctor said.
“I’ll be back to get him after I’ve dealt with my bosses,” Sam said to the doctor. “Keep him quiet until then.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the doctor said, seeming awestruck by her brassiness.
“You’re going to pay for this, Samantha,” Nick growled.
She brushed a kiss over the uninjured side of his forehead. “Be back soon.” Over her shoulder, she added, “Behave.” As she walked away, the furious clatter of cuffs made her smile. “That’ll teach him to screw with me.” Her smile faded when she encountered Lieutenant Stahl’s angry scowl in the waiting room. Realizing she was still braless, she pulled her tattered coat closed and crossed her arms.
Stahl gestured her to a deserted corner. Captain Malone followed them.
“Sergeant,” Stahl said. “I’d like an explanation for what you were doing at the home of a material witness—overnight.”
“Yes, sir, Lieutenant, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“How about we add a rap for insubordination to your growing list of problems?” Stahl retorted.
“Lieutenant,” Captain Malone said, the warning clear in his tone. To Sam, he said, “Your injuries were minor?”
“Yes, sir. Bump on the head, bruised sternum.”
“And your companion?”
Sam gave him a rundown of Nick’s injuries. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“No. The street was deserted. Luckily, it was a weekend.”
Yes, luckily, Sam thought, feeling a tremble ripple through her as she realized how truly lucky she—and Nick—had been. “Has Explosives gotten anything on the car?”
“They’re there now. Our people are bumping heads with Arlington. The chief was on the phone with their chief asking for some latitude when I left.”
“I’m sorry to have caused all this trouble, sir.”
“You start down that path, you’re gonna piss me off.”
“What were you doing with Cappuano?” Stahl asked.
This time, Malone didn’t bail her out. Rather, he watched her with wise gray eyes that she knew from experience didn’t miss a thing.
“We’re friends,” she said haltingly. “We met at a party six years ago. I hadn’t seen him again until the, ah, until the senator was murdered. Cappuano has been cleared of any involvement and has been a tremendous asset to the investigation in a civilian capacity. Sir.”
“I’m taking you off the O’Connor case, effective immediately,” Stahl said, puffed up with his own importance.
“But—”
“Not so fast, Lieutenant,” Captain Malone said.
“This is my call, Captain,” Stahl huffed. “She’s my detective.”
“And I’m your captain.” Malone dismissed Stahl by turning his back to him.
The foul look Stahl directed at Sam would have reduced a lesser woman to tears. Fortunately, Sam wasn’t a lesser woman. She directed all her attention and focus on the much more rational captain.
“Sergeant, I’m disappointed in the judgment you’ve exhibited by getting involved with a witness,” Malone said.
“Exactly—” Stahl sputtered.
“Lieutenant!” the captain roared. “Get back to your squad.” When Stahl didn’t budge, Malone added a fierce, “Now.”
With one last hateful glance at Sam, Stahl stalked out of the emergency room.
“As I was saying,” Malone continued, “you’ve shown poor judgment with this involvement, but in the more than twelve years you’ve been under my command, I’ve never once had reason to question your judgment. I know you, Holland. I know how you think, how you operate and have had many an occasion over the years to appreciate your high ethical standards. So, the way I see it, the only way you hook up with a witness in the midst of the most important case of your career is if it’s serious.”
Sam might’ve swallowed her tongue—if she could’ve opened her mouth. “Sir?” she squeaked.
“Are you in love with this guy? Cappuano?”
“I…ah…I…”
“It’s a simple yes or no question, Sergeant.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not in love with him,” Sam sputtered, but the words rang hollow, even to her. Apparently, they did to him, too.
Looking satisfied, he studied her again, long and hard. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. I’m going to assume you’ve done nothing to compromise this investigation, that when you say Cappuano has been invaluable to you, you’re being completely aboveboard with me.”
“I am, sir.”
“In that case, for now you’re to have no comment to the press about your relationship with him. We’ll let the media folks spin it. I’ll take care of that.” He sat and gestured for her to take the chair next to him. “As for the bombing—”
“If you take me off O’Connor, you’re going to have to take my badge, too.”
“Sergeant, there’s no need for ultimatums. You’ve been through a traumatic thing.”
“Yes, I have, and by tomorrow morning, everyone in the city will know who I’m sleeping with. They’ll know Destiny Johnson meant it when she said she’d get even with me for what happened to her kid. They’ll know I’m no closer to a suspect in the O’Connor case today than I was the day it happened. They’ll know all that, and then they’ll hear that my own command didn’t have enough confidence in me to let me close this case. Where will that leave me?”
“You’re a decorated officer. Soon to be a lieutenant. This is a setback. That’s all it is.”
“On top of another setback. You want me to take command of the detective squad. I won’t have an ounce of authority left if you take this case away from me.”
“Your safety has to be a consideration. They’ve come at you once. They’ll come at you again.”
“Next time, I’ll be ready. I screwed up this time because I didn’t take her seriously. I know better now.”
“I’ve got to talk to the chief about this. He’s having a fucking cow. Gonzo and Arnold have Destiny Johnson in interview right now. Because we’ve had her in lock-up since yesterday, she’s playing dumb on the bombing.”
Freddie came rushing into the Emergency Room, looking pale and panicked. “Oh, thank God,” he said when he saw Sam talking with Malone. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“If you hug me, I’ll have you busted down to patrol,” Sam snarled at him.
Freddie stopped just short of the embrace, bent at the waist and propped his hands on his knees. “I heard it on the radio,” he panted. “Scared the freaking shit out of me.”
“He’s swearing,” Sam commented to Malone. “He only does that in extreme circumstances. I’m honored.”
Freddie tipped his face, met Sam’s eyes. “You almost got blown up. I’m sorry if I don’t find that funny.”
“I’m fine, Cruz,” she said, touched by his concern. “You can relax.”
“What are we doing?” he asked Malone, his eyes hot with anger and passion. “What can I do?”
“Gonzo’s got Destiny in interview,” Sam told him.
“I was thinking on the way over here,” he said, still breathing heavily. “What if it’s not Johnson?”
“How do you mean?” Malone asked.
Freddie stood up straight. “Destiny spews in the paper yesterday, right?”
Sam and the captain nodded.
“So say someone wants to hose up the O’Connor investigation? What’s the fastest way?” Before they could answer, he said, “Take out Sergeant Holland and have the full wrath of the department focused on Johnson. Presto. O’Connor is back burner. Senator or not, no one takes precedence over a dead cop.”
“That’s an interesting theory, Detective,” Malone said, clearly impressed.
Sam was filled with pride. Young Freddie was coming along very well. Very well, indeed.