Текст книги "Fatal Scandal"

Автор книги: Marie Force

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Twenty

Sam watched Stahl as he made a dozen or more trips from the garage into the family room, carrying items that had clearly been placed there in anticipation of this situation.

Even though she was still berating herself for the stupidity that had put her here, she took tremendous satisfaction from his pronounced limp, which had resulted from the time he attacked her on her own front stoop. He’d left that confrontation with a broken kneecap and a ruptured testicle. That was probably why he had such a hard-on for her, a thought that turned her stomach.

Sam honestly believed she could get through anything he had in store for her as long as he didn’t touch her that way. The thought of being assaulted by him... No. Don’t go there. Do not go there. Think about Nick and Scotty. Think about being with Nick in the loft and in Bora Bora. Think about the love and the joy and the life we have together. Don’t give him one second of any time you have left. And don’t think like that either. That’s not going to help anything.

Watching Stahl unzip a bag that contained a semiautomatic weapon, Sam had to acknowledge the possibility that this wasn’t going to end well for her. He had her tied so tightly she couldn’t do a thing to help herself. She was completely at his mercy, just the way he wanted her.

She wanted to know how he and Marissa had come together to form this unholy alliance. She wanted to ask what he hoped to gain by taking her hostage. He had to know the entire police department would be looking for her. Maybe that’s what he was counting on, and judging from the arsenal laid out in front of her, he was ready for the entire department.

She shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position, which only reminded her of how badly she needed to pee. She absolutely refused to give him the satisfaction of watching her wet her pants. Her bladder could explode before that would happen. The movement sent a shaft of pain through her face and skull, making her see tiny dots of light that often meant the onset of a migraine. She moved her jaw, painfully, trying to determine if it was broken. Didn’t seem to be.

Were they looking for her yet? Freddie and Hill weren’t working today, which meant two of her closest colleagues wouldn’t know she was missing. Gonzo would wonder where she was when she didn’t meet him as planned at HQ. He’d begin to ask questions.

Would he call Nick?

God, Nick, I’m so sorry for doing this to you, my love.If he kills me, Ihope you know I was thinking of you and Scotty and my family.But mostly you.

To pass the time and to give her something else to think about besides whatever unpleasantness Stahl had planned for her and how badly she needed to pee, Sam let her mind wander from the moment she first met Nick on a deck at a party, to the next time she saw him in John O’Connor’s apartment after his boss and best friend had been murdered. She’d tried to resist him in the midst of the politically charged investigation, the first one she’d been on after the Johnson case had ended in disaster.

Truth be told, she’d actually done a horrible job of resisting him. The night she’d gone to his place in Arlington, they’d been so hot for each other, they’d practically done it standing up against his door the minute she walked into the house. They’d done it against a wall the very first time, she recalled. The night they’d met seven years ago. At the time, it had been the hottest sex of her life, but he’d topped himself many times since then in the year they’d been back together.

She smiled to herself, and then winced in pain, when she recalled the bet she’d made with him—that he couldn’t make her come three times in thirty minutes. Not surprisingly, he’d won the bet and set their wedding date for six short weeks later.

Their wedding, which had been the most incredible day of her life. Nick’s mother had shown up uninvited, but Sam had gotten rid of her before she could ruin anything for him. They’d had the same words, “You’re my home,” inscribed on the inside of their wedding bands. Despite the ropes tied tightly around her wrists, she could reach her ring with her thumb, rubbing back and forth against the cool metal reminder of all she had to live for.

Her mind drifted to the blissful days and nights they’d spent in Bora Bora on their honeymoon. She wanted to ask him if they could go back again this year to celebrate their first anniversary. What was the first anniversary gift again? Paper. That’s right. She would write him a letter and tell him how much she loved him and wanted to spend the next fifty or sixty years with him.

Fifty or sixty years. Right now she’d be perfectly satisfied with fifty or sixty more hours with him.

That all his greatest fears for her safety could’ve led to this broke her heart into a million pieces, imagining him getting the news that she was missing and maybe dead.

Tears made her eyes burn, so she closed them tightly to keep the tears from escaping. She wouldn’t give Stahl the satisfaction of seeing her bawl either. But oh, how she wanted to bawl when she imagined how Nick would suffer over losing her. And there was no way Stahl would let her out of here alive. Not when he’d already tried to kill her once.

It occurred to her, as she contemplated the possible end of her life, that she’d been extremely lucky up to now. She’d gotten through situations that should’ve killed or badly injured her. And she’d managed to steer clear of her many enemies.

Until now.

As Stahl readied for battle, Sam prepared for the worst. If her life ended today at his hands, she could only hope that Nick would know that her last thoughts had been of him.

* * *

Captain Malone drove Gonzo and Farnsworth to MacArthur Boulevard. Gonzo breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sam’s car parked at the curb.

“Thank God,” Farnsworth said, the first words any of them had spoken since they left HQ. “Let’s get SWAT out here.”

“All due respect, sir,” Malone said, “I’d like to know what we’re dealing with before we decide what we need.”

“I want her out of there,” Farnsworth snapped back.

“We all do, Joe. But we’ve got to do this right. We’ve got to protect her and the rest of our team.”

“Let’s go take a look.”

Gonzo got out of the car and followed them up the sidewalk, glancing around at the other nearby houses. Ever since he’d been shot, he was constantly worried about it happening again. You never knew who was aiming for you.

On the Springers’ stoop, they glanced inside through the glass windows that framed the black door.

“Oh, Jesus.” Malone pointed to the feet and pool of blood they could see on the foyer floor. He stood up taller, tipping his head down trying to get a better look. “It’s the maid.”

“Have you seen what you need to see?” Farnsworth asked.

“Make the call,” Malone said to Gonzo.

They went down the stairs and tried to see in the basement windows, which were covered by blinds.

“Someone needs to tell Nick,” Farnsworth said grimly as they returned to the car.

“I’ll call Christina,” Gonzo said. “She’ll know how to get through to him.”

“Do you think she’s already dead in there?” Farnsworth asked, seeming older and more defeated than Gonzo had ever seen him.

He’d watched Sam grow up. Something like this would hit him even harder than the rest of them. And then Gonzo thought of Sam’s father and had to swallow a growing lump of fear that settled in his throat. What would any of them do without Sam Holland at the center of their lives?

Before he could let the panic get the better of him, he made the call to Dispatch asking for SWAT. Then he called Christina. “Hey, baby. I need a favor.”

“Sure, what’s up?” He tried not to notice the unusually chilly tone of her voice. She was mad at him for going back to work before the doctor said it was okay.

“I need you to get in touch with Nick for me. Sam’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“We believe she’s being held hostage at the Springers’ house.”

“Where all the kids were killed?”

“Same place.”

“Oh my God, Tommy. Is she...”

“We don’t know anything yet. Her car is parked outside, the maid is dead on the floor inside and no one has heard from Sam in more than an hour. We’re operating under the assumption that she’s in there and being held against her will.”

“What am I supposed to tell him?”

“I would just say we’re not sure yet what’s going on, but we think she’s being held hostage.”

“He’ll want to come there.”

“The Secret Service won’t let him anywhere near here.”

“He’ll lose his mind when he hears this. There’s nothing else you can tell me?”

“We’re doing everything we can. That’s all I can tell you right now.”

“I’ll make the call. Keep me posted? Please?”

“I’ll try.”

“Tommy.”

“What, baby?”

“Please don’t get hurt again. I don’t think I could take it.”

“I won’t. Love you.” Gonzo didn’t care that his captain and chief could hear him. He’d recently learned a hard lesson on how easily and quickly his life could be taken from him. He’d never again worry about such trivial things as his superiors hearing him tell his fiancée he loved her.

“I love you too.”

Gonzo ended that call and placed another to Cruz. “You need to get over to the Springers’ house on MacArthur,” Gonzo said when Freddie took the call. “They’ve got Sam in there.”

“Who does?”

“We’re not really sure yet, but the maid is dead on the floor inside the front door, and Sam’s car is parked at the curb. No one has heard from her in more than an hour.”

“Shit.” Since Cruz rarely swore, that said it all. “How do you know she’s in there?”

“We don’t know for sure, but we’re operating under that assumption.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Call the rest of the squad, will you? I don’t want to put it on the radio.”

“Yeah, I will. Gonzo...”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t know anything.”

“I’m coming.”

* * *

Marissa pulled back the blinds to peek outside. “There’re cops out there, Leonard.”

“Close the blinds and come away from the window,” Stahl said.

“I just want to see what they’re doing.”

“Marissa, do what I tell you to!”

“Don’t snap at me. You wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t called you, and you certainly wouldn’t have her without me.”

“Shut your mouth and come away from that window. I’m in charge now.”

“The hell you are! This is my house and my plan.”

With speed and dexterity Sam wouldn’t have thought him capable of, Stahl raised a nine-millimeter handgun and shot her in the gut.

Marissa gasped as she went down, a look of shock on her face as a gurgling sound came from her mouth. The gut shot had been intentional. He didn’t want to kill her instantly. He wanted to make her suffer. She whimpered pathetically, but Sam didn’t have an ounce of sympathy for her. That’s what happened when you got in bed with the devil.

The blast, occurring three feet from Sam’s head, was deafening. Her ears rang and the spots before her eyes became brighter. She shook off the shock to take note of what Stahl was doing.

He pulled a roll of something that looked like wire from a duffel bag. Then he grabbed a pair of work gloves and put them on. Carrying the spool of wire, he approached Sam.

She curbed her natural impulse to shy away from him. In fact, she refused to look at him, even when he grabbed her chin and tried to force her to.

“You know what I hate most about you?” he asked, his breath hot and moist against her face.

Sam stayed focused on a picture of what looked like the Rocky Mountains that hung on the wall.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled hard. “Look at me when I talk to you!”

She remained stubbornly focused on the picture.

He pulled her hair until tears came to her eyes, but she never looked away from the picture as she imagined cool mountain air, crunchy snow beneath her feet and Nick on skis. Did he like to ski? She wasn’t sure, and she hated that she didn’t know, that they’d never gotten around to talking about skiing.

She’d sucked at it the two times she’d tried it.

“Are you listening to me?” Stahl roared as he slapped her hard across the other side of her face. “I fucking hate you because you think you’re better than everyone else.”

Iam better. I’m better than you ever dreamed of being.

“You showed up right out of the academy acting like a hotshot because of who your father was—and don’t get me started on him. He had his dick so far up Farnsworth’s ass, and everybody knew it. How else do you think he made it to deputy chief? Someone must’ve been seriously pissed about that to shoot him.”

Sam wanted to ask him if he was that someone, but again, she wasn’t going to play his game. Not now or ever.

As he ranted about her father, he began wrapping the wire around her. Her heart skipped a beat and a bead of sweat ran down her back when she glanced down to discover it was razor wire.

“And then they give you my command. Tell me something. How long have you been fucking the chief? Has it been since you were a kid? Is that why he looks at you like you hung the moon? Do you have a magic pussy or something? I wish I had the time or the desire to find out, but the thought of fucking you makes me want to puke.”

Right back atcha.

She almost sighed—audibly—with relief to know that particular atrocity wasn’t in his plans, but she maintained her silence, which she could tell was getting to him. He’d expected her to be her usual mouthy self, and he didn’t know what to do with silent Sam. Silent Sam. If she weren’t tied to a chair and being wrapped in razor wire that was already poking through her clothes to puncture her skin, she’d find that funny. When was she ever silent?

The razor wire hurt, especially when he pulled it tight against her neck. If she so much as moved, her jugular could be punctured. So she remained very, very still, even when he brought his face right down in front of hers.

She closed her eyes, refusing to look at him.

“You can play your little games, Holland. But we’ll see who wins this round.”

She kept her eyes closed and thought about Nick, imagining the scent of his cologne, the scent of home, and finding comfort in him.

* * *

Scotty stayed close to Nick’s side during the reception, almost as if he was afraid to let Nick out of his sight. The poor kid had been through so much at an early age, and just when things were beginning to settle for him, a new challenge arose. Nick had hated telling him the news about his biological father.

He’d also hated the spark of curiosity he’d seen in Scotty, as well as the spike of jealousy he’d experienced at realizing the boy was interested in the man who’d fathered him. Of course he was. Anyone would be. But Nick didn’t want him to be interested in any other father but him. Petty much? Yeah, he knew it was, but he couldn’t help the way he felt.

Maybe Scotty wouldn’t like the guy and would see him once and be done with him. But what if he liked him? What if he wanted to see him again? How would Nick be able to stand turning him over to his other father on any kind of regular basis? He’d loved being the first father the boy had ever had. He wanted to be his only father.

“What do you think, Nick?” Graham O’Connor asked, stirring Nick from his musings.

“About what?”

“I told you he was spacing out,” Scotty said with a laugh.

“Sorry,” Nick said with a sheepish grin for them.

“I was wondering what you thought of the West Wing so far.”

“One day in, and so far, so good.” He wasn’t ready yet to share his concerns about Nelson’s motivations with anyone other than Terry, even Terry’s father. “Still trying to figure out where everything is and what I’m supposed to be doing, but I suppose I’ll work that out eventually.” At least he hoped so. No sign yet of Nelson, his chief of staff Tom Hanigan or Derek Kavanaugh at the reception.

The first chance he got, he planned to ask his good friend Derek if the chill he was feeling from the Oval Office was intentional. He’d hate to think he’d been so wrong about someone, but he’d expected better from Nelson, especially after the way he’d wooed him and waged political war to get him confirmed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terry take a phone call and then head into his office and close the door. Probably Lindsey. Nick was thrilled for them both. They made a great couple, and he couldn’t be happier for his chief of staff after the road he’d traveled in the last year to turn his life around.

While Nick chatted with Graham, Laine and staffers who’d come from the Senate with him as well as those who’d recently joined his White House team, he saw Terry come out of his office and head straight for him. He couldn’t help but notice the odd look on his face.

“A moment please, Mr. Vice President.”

“Excuse me,” Nick said.

“Duty calls,” Graham said gleefully. No one was happier about Nick’s new job than Graham.

When Scotty started to follow them, Terry said, “Scotty, will you go see if my mom needs a refill for me?”

“Sure.” Scotty dashed off to tend to Laine O’Connor, one of his favorite new friends.

When Terry headed for Nick’s office, he followed him, closing the door. “What’s going on?”

“Christina called.”

“I thought she might be here. We invited her, right?”

Terry nodded and rubbed a hand over the late-day stubble on his jaw. “I...I wish I didn’t have to tell you...”

Nick’s entire body went cold with fear. “Tell me what?”

“Sam’s in some sort of trouble. Gonzo asked Christina to track you down. They believe Sam is being held hostage at the Springer home on MacArthur Boulevard.”

“They believe?” Somehow he was able to force the words out despite the fear that gripped him. “They don’t know?”

“Not for sure. Her car is parked out front, and no one has heard from her for quite some time. They haven’t yet tried to gain access to the house. Christina said Gonzo told her they’re still assessing the situation.”

When Nick pulled his personal cell phone from his suit coat pocket, his hands trembled as he checked to see when the most recent message from his wife had arrived. More than five hours ago. Five hours. Jesus.

“I need to go there.”

“The Secret Service will never allow you to go to a possibly active crime scene.”

At the words possibly active crime scene, Nick’s chest began to ache along with his stomach. “Will you get Brant in here, please?”

“Nick.”

“Do it, Terry. Please.”

Terry walked out the door, leaving Nick in a state of stunned disbelief. Was she already dead and no one wanted to tell him? No. If she were dead, he’d know it. He’d feel it.

Agent John Brantley Junior came into the room, closing the door behind him. “You asked to see me, sir.”

“My wife is involved in a situation at work. I need to go to her.”

“Where is she?”

“From what I’m told, it’s believed she’s being held hostage in a townhouse on MacArthur Boulevard.”

Brant was shaking his head from the word hostage forward. “I can’t take you there, sir.”

“Let me be clear—I’m going to her, and I don’t give a flying fuck if you come with me or not. But I am going. It’s up to you as to whether you’ll be joining me.”

The young agent with the close-cropped blond hair and the chiseled jaw stared at him with unblinking blue eyes. “My job is to protect you, sir. I can’t do that if you put yourself into dangerous situations.”

“My job is to protect her. I’m going.” Nick knew what Sam would have to say to him taking responsibility for her safety, but right then he didn’t care. He could only hope he’d get the chance to tell her he’d said it.

“Give me one minute to put something together.”

“Just you and me, one car, no motorcade. One minute. That’s all I’m giving you, and it’s sixty seconds longer than I want to give you.”

“Scotty?”

“Stays here with the O’Connors.”

With a brisk nod, Brant left the room.

Nick ran shaking hands through his hair, forcing air to his lungs. The thought of her in danger always made him crazy, but knowing for sure that she was in some sort of trouble made him tremble with fear. Nothing had ever scared him more than the possibility of losing her suddenly.

The door opened and Terry came in. “What did Brant say?”

“He’s working it out so the two of us can go.”

“I’m surprised he went for it.”

“He didn’t.”

Terry offered a small smile that he intended to be reassuring, but Nick could see the concern in his aide’s eyes. “I’m sure she’s fine, Nick. She’s always fine.”

“I wish I could be so sure. Do me a favor—keep Scotty here with your folks. I don’t want him to worry before we know what’s going on.”

“Of course. We’ll take care of him.”

“Thanks.” Nick stared at the door, willing it to open. “Make my excuses at the reception?”

“Yes, I will.”

“I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Nick bent at the waist, propped his hands on his knees and forced himself to breathe, knowing he wouldn’t be any good to Sam if he lost his composure. Somehow he also had to walk through a room full of people who’d be focused on him and leave his son without worrying him. Get it together, man.

Brant came back into the office. “Mr. Vice President? I’m ready for you, sir.”

Filled with dread and anxiety, Nick stood upright and forced himself to take a step forward and then another.

“Keep me posted,” Terry said.

Nick nodded as he walked past him into the room where the party was going on. He went to Scotty. “Hey, bud, I need to step out for a bit to take care of something. You’re going to stay here with the O’Connors, okay?”

“Where’re you going?”

“Something came up, but I’ll be back before you miss me.” God, he hoped that was true.

“Don’t worry about him,” Laine said, her hands on Scotty’s shoulders as she looked at Nick with concern. No doubt she was able to tell something was wrong with him. She was scary perceptive that way. “We’ll go home with him and his detail and make sure he gets his homework done.”

Scotty scowled at the dreaded word. “I thought we were friends.”

Laine laughed. “We are friends, and that’s why I want you to do your homework, so you can grow up to be just like your dad.”

“That’d be cool.”

Nick leaned in to give Scotty a quick hug. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“Okay. Nothing’s wrong, right?”

For the first—and hopefully the last—time, Nick looked him in the eye and lied. “Yeah, it’s all good. I’ll see you later.”

Brant ushered him out of the office.

Behind him, Nick heard Terry explaining that the vice president had been called away unexpectedly but wanted everyone to enjoy the party.

“This goes against every protocol we have in place,” Brant said tightly as they walked through the halls of the West Wing on their way out.

“I’m sorry to put you in this position. I’ll take the full blame if the shit hits the fan.”

“If? The shit is probably already hitting the fan. The rest of your detail is most likely reporting the breach to Headquarters as we speak.”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here before someone tries to stop us.”