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“I really don’t want you to say that. You have no reason to apologize to me or Scotty or anyone. You were asked to serve your country. No one can fault you for what’s happened since then.”
“Still... I hate that it’s been so stressful for you and Scotty, even if neither of you says much about it.”
Sam raised herself up on one elbow. “It’s only stressful for us because we can see what it’s doing to you.” She caressed his face, noting the dark circles and lines of exhaustion that were new in the last few months. His insomnia was always merciless but never more so than since he’d become vice president.
“What do you say we agree to take this situation one minute at a time and not get too far ahead of ourselves with what might happen?” she asked.
“I think that’s the only way we can do it.”
“So, no more speculation or talk of vice presidents or conversations with the DNC or anything other than contending with whatever is happening in that very minute?”
“I’ll put out the word that I don’t want to talk about it until or unless I absolutely have to.”
“Excellent.” She dropped her head to his chest and put her arm across his midsection.
“You should know, however, that it’s going to take a lot of distractions to keep my mind from wandering.”
Even though he couldn’t see her face, she rolled her eyes. “Your subtlety still sucks.”
“You just said I was getting better at it.” He moved quickly, taking her by surprise when he came down on top of her, perfectly positioned for further distraction.
“Nice move,” Sam said, gazing up at the gorgeous hazel eyes that always looked at her with love and affection and desire and a million other emotions that couldn’t be easily summarized in mere words.
“You liked that?”
She nodded, loving that he seemed so pleased with himself. “I like all your moves.”
“How about this one?” With one determined tug, he ripped the silk panties from her body and entered her in a single thrust that buried him to the hilt.
“That was a good one too,” she said when she had caught her breath.
He nuzzled her neck as he began to move. “Hold on to me, babe, and don’t let go. No matter what.”
She wrapped her arms and legs around him, wanting him as close as she could get him. “I’ll never let go.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u99104933-900c-57d2-b8bc-cf29aa606eb5)
THEY RETURNED TO the city on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend with a morose thirteen-year-old in full mourning for the end of summer vacation. “It’s so unfair,” Scotty said, “that vacation goes by so fast and the school year crawls.”
“I used to feel the same way,” Sam said. “The end of vacation was like torture.”
“It is torture!” Scotty agreed. “No more sleeping late or watching TV until midnight or going to the beach or baseball camp or anything fun for months.”
“I feel you, buddy,” Sam said.
“Samantha,” Nick said in the stern tone he saved for special occasions, “this might be a good opportunity to remind our son of the value of education and how important it is that he give eighth grade his full effort so he can use this year to prepare for high school.”
Sam and Scotty exchanged glances. “Nah,” they said together, cracking up and high-fiving.
“You two think you’re so funny,” Nick said.
“We are funny,” Scotty said, “and you’re no help whatsoever in this situation. Do you think I want to hear about high school when I have a whole year of eighth grade algebra to suffer through first?”
“He does make a good point,” Sam said, earning a glare from her husband. “One minute at a time, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nick said, recognizing defeat when it stared him in the face.
The Secret Service motorcade arrived at the Ninth Street checkpoint, where they were stopped for much longer than usual.
“What’s the delay, Brant?” Nick asked.
“Huge media swarm.”
And just that quickly they were reminded of what they were coming home to. It took the Secret Service ten minutes to clear a path for the motorcade to proceed onto Ninth Street. As they alighted from the car, shouts for comment about the upcoming hearings, the president’s son, whether Nick was preparing to be president and other things they couldn’t make out filled the air around them.
“Welcome home,” Nick said grimly as he eyed the massive gathering outside the gate. “The neighbors must be thrilled to have us back.”
Escorted by agents in front of and behind them, they went up the ramp outside their double townhouse to the front door manned by a new agent on Scotty’s detail.
“Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Cappuano, Scotty... Welcome home. Hope you had a nice vacation.”
“Thanks, Liam,” Nick said. “It was a great vacation.”
“That ended far too soon,” Scotty added. “One more day and then back to the grind.”
“What’s this I hear?” Skip Holland asked as he manipulated his electric wheelchair through the big living room to greet them. Sam’s dad and his wife, Celia, had come out to the beach for a day but had chosen not to stay for the whole time. Sam suspected that he hadn’t wanted to disrupt their good time with his medical needs, but he’d never say so. “Is someone unhappy to be heading back to school?”
“Unhappy is putting it mildly,” Sam said.
“School is a necessary evil,” Skip said bluntly.
“I’m surrounded by educational rebels,” Nick said, throwing up his hands.
Scotty laughed. “I definitely landed in the right family.”
His statement hit Sam square in the heart. She loved hearing him say things like that, especially when they had reason to wonder if he would someday resent the limitations he would experience as he grew older surrounded by Secret Service agents watching his every move. For now, he was as happy and well-adjusted as could be—except when the first day of school loomed.
Sam bent to kiss her dad’s forehead, one of the few places he still had sensation after being shot on the job three and a half years ago. “How you doing, Skippy?”
“Hanging in, baby girl. How was the rest of the vacation?”
“Fantastic, delightful and amazing,” Sam said. “I can’t wait to go back next year.”
“A whole year.” Scotty moaned as he flopped on the couch. “I’ll never make it.”
“Go get unpacked, Drama Queen,” Sam said to her son.
“Do I hafta?”
“Yes, you hafta. And take a shower too.”
“And so it begins,” Scotty said to Skip, dismay radiating from him.
Skip laughed at his theatrics. “Part of being a man is doing things you don’t want to do because it’s the right thing. Just ask your dad. He knows all about it.”
“He knows all too well,” Sam said.
“Now you guys are making me feel bad for whining,” Scotty said. “Compared to Dad, I ain’t got no problems. And don’t tell me ain’t ain’t a word. It was used for effect.”
Sam cracked up along with her husband and father. What had they ever done for entertainment before Scotty came into their lives? She went to her son and hugged him. “I promise we’ll do everything we can to make the reentry as painless as possible, beginning with a bowl of ice cream as big as your head after you unpack and shower. Deal?”
He flashed that irrepressible grin that reminded her so much of Nick’s. Even though they didn’t share DNA, father and son were alike in many ways—except in their attitudes toward education. In that way, he was entirely Sam’s son. “Deal.” Dragging his suitcase behind him, he scampered up the stairs, the suitcase banging on every step as he went.
“That kid,” Nick said, shaking his head.
“Is the best,” Skip added. “I get such a kick out of him.”
“Don’t we all?” Sam said. “He has us firmly wrapped around all ten of his fingers, but we can’t let him know that or we’ll lose complete control of the asylum.”
“I know a little something about being wrapped around a certain someone’s little finger,” Skip said with a meaningful smile for Sam. “And if you don’t want him to turn out like you, proceed with caution.”
“Hey!” Sam laughed at the impish expression on the one side of her father’s face that hadn’t been left frozen by the stroke he’d suffered after being shot.
Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID, groaning loudly when she saw the number for Dispatch. “Not yet! I’m still on vacation until midnight!”
“You don’t have to take the call,” Nick reminded her.
“If they’re calling me before I’m officially back, whatever it is must be bad.” She flipped open her phone. “Holland.”
“Lieutenant, I was asked to inform you of a fatal drive-by shooting of a teenager in Southeast.” The dispatcher rattled off an address in the Penn Branch neighborhood, southeast of the Anacostia River. “Are you able to report to the scene?”
Sam’s stomach ached at the thought of a child roughly the same age as her own son being gunned down in her city. “I’ll be there.” She closed the phone and told her dad and Nick what’d happened.
“Ah crap,” Skip said. “The kids are the worst.”
“Sorry to hear it, babe,” Nick said, putting his arm around her and kissing her temple.
She looked up at him. “I have to go, even though I’m not officially back on duty yet. Hope you understand.”
“Of course I do. Just be careful out there.”
“I always am.” She kissed him, and then kissed her dad’s forehead again. “I’m going to change my clothes.” A crime scene was no place for another of the maxi dresses she’d bought for the beach.
“Let me know about the case when you get a chance,” Skip said.
“You know I will.” Sam dashed upstairs to the closet that Nick had made for her in the smallest bedroom and changed out of the dress and into jeans, a T-shirt and running shoes. She grabbed an MPD sweatshirt since HQ was like a meat locker this time of year with the AC set to frost.
Crossing the hall to her bedroom, she went to the locked drawer in her bedside table to retrieve her service weapon, badge and the notebook that she jammed into a back pocket of her jeans as she ran for the stairs. Adrenaline pumped through her as it always did when a new case required her focus.
In the living room, Nick waited to see her off.
“Did Dad leave?”
“Yeah, he said he’ll talk to you later.”
“And you’ll see to the bowl of ice cream as big as his head for the boy when he gets out of the shower?”
“I will,” he said with a smile.
“Tell him I’m sorry I had to leave.”
“I’ll do that too.” He kissed her. “Thanks for a great vacation. You have no idea how badly I needed it.”
“I think I have a small idea. Whatever happens in the next few weeks, we’ll handle it the way we always do. Try not to worry.”
“That’s like telling me not to breathe, but I can do it for you.” He kissed her again. “The whole world wants a piece of us right now, so be extra vigilant. Don’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”
As a modern, independent woman, she ought to hate when he showed his alpha side, but she didn’t hate it. She loved that he was so protective of her. “I won’t. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Liam opened the front door for her and nodded to her as she headed for the ramp and the tricked-out black BMW Nick had outfitted for any possible on-the-job emergency she might encounter. The windows and side panels were bulletproof, the technology so sophisticated she’d never understand how it all worked and she had provisions for three days off the grid if it ever came to that.
As she drove the short distance from her Capitol Hill home to the crime scene, she called Freddie.
“Welcome back, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you. Did you hear some hoodlums in Southeast threw a welcome party for me?”
“I got the call, and I’m on the way. But aren’t you off duty until midnight?”
“They called me, gave me the choice, and I’m on the way too.”
“Oh good. I hate cases involving kids. I’m glad you’ll be there.”
“Do you have anything more about the kid who was killed?”
“I know as much as you do.”
“All right. I’ll see you in a few.” Sam tossed the phone to the passenger seat and pressed down on the accelerator, eager to get back in the game. She couldn’t imagine any other life for herself than one that included chasing down murderers and throwing their guilty asses in jail.
If things went sideways with Nelson and Nick became president, would she be forced to give up her job? When he became vice president, they learned that only the president, vice president, president-elect and vice president-elect were required to have Secret Service protection. That was how she’d managed to hang on to her job, for now, without a detail in tow. But being first lady would be a whole new ballgame, and she was under no illusions about what that would probably mean for her.
“Take your own advice and don’t think about that until you have to.” The very thought of being sidelined in the gilded cage that was the White House made her break out into a cold sweat that had her turning off the AC and opening the window to let in the stifling humidity.
The unusually heavy traffic was indicative of a home game for the DC Federals baseball team, one of several possible explanations for gridlock on the Sunday night of a holiday weekend.
Sam drove into the Penn Branch neighborhood, made up of a mix of middle-class single-family homes and poverty-ridden housing projects. The neighborhood formed a triangle between Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast and Branch Avenue Southeast. Sam pulled onto Hilltop Terrace Southeast. Rows of townhomes lined the street, which was currently filled with emergency vehicles. She parked behind a squad car and took off toward the epicenter of action half a block away.
