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“Things began to go south for me when I got assigned to a smart-ass lieutenant who’s been a terrible influence on my sweet, young mind.”
“Right.” Amused by him as always, Sam drew out the single word for effect. “You were easily led.” She approached the paramedics who were hovering over Lonergan. “We’d like a word with Mr. Lonergan,” she said to the one who seemed to be in charge.
He used a hand motion to tell his team to allow her and Freddie in. The witness wore a tank top, running shorts and high-tech running shoes. Sam put him at midthirties.
“Mr. Lonergan, I’m Lieutenant Holland—”
“I know who you are.” His shoulders were wrapped in one of those foil thingies that runners used to keep from dehydrating or overheating or something like that. What did she know about such things? She got most of her exercise having wild sex with her husband. Except for recently, thus her foul mood.
Lonergan’s dark blond hair was wet with perspiration. His brown eyes were big and haunted as he looked up at them.
“Can you tell us what you saw?” Ever since she’d taken down a killer at the inaugural parade, she was recognized everywhere she went. She hated that and yearned for the days when no one recognized her. But that ship had sailed the minute her sexy young husband became the nation’s vice president late last year. Her blown cover was entirely his fault, and she liked to remind him of that every chance she got.
“I was running on the trail like I do every day, and when I came around that bend there, I saw something in the water.” He took a drink from a bottle of water, and Sam took note of the slight tremble in his hand. “At first I thought it was a garbage bag, but when I looked closer, I saw a hand.” He shuddered. “That’s when I called 911.”
“How far out was it?” Sam asked.
“About twenty feet from the bank of the river.”
“Was there anything else you could tell us about the body?”
“I think it’s a woman.”
“Why do you say that?” Freddie asked.
“There was hair.” Lonergan took another drink of water. “Once I realized what I was looking at, I could see long hair fanned out around the head.” He looked up at them. “Do you think it’s that student who went missing?”
Sam made sure her expression gave nothing away. “We’d have no way to know that at this point.” The entire Metro PD had been searching for nineteen-year-old Ruby Denton for more than two weeks. She’d come to the District to take summer classes at Capitol University and hadn’t been seen since her first night on campus. The story had garnered national attention thanks in large part to the efforts of her family in Kentucky.
“I bet it’s her,” Lonergan said.
“Do me a favor and keep that thought to yourself for now. No sense upsetting the family before we know anything for certain.”
“That’s true.”
Sam handed him her card. “If you think of anything else, let me know.”
“I will.” After a pause, he said, “I was out here yesterday, and she wasn’t there. I would’ve noticed if she’d been there.”
“That’s good to know. Thanks for your help.”
“It’s sad, you know? For someone to end up like that.”
“Yes, it is.” She stepped away from him to confer with the paramedic in charge. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s in shock. He’ll be fine. You think it’s Ruby Denton?”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I just told him—we have no way to know until Dr. McNamara gets the body back to the lab. Until then, we’d be speculating, and that sort of thing only makes a hellish situation worse for a family looking for their daughter. Ask your people to keep their mouths shut.”
“Yes, ma’am. No one will hear anything from my team.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s going on over there?” Freddie asked, drawing Sam’s attention to the tapeline, where Beckett was arguing with a bunch of suits.
“Let’s go find out.”
They walked back the way they’d come, along the trail to where Beckett held his own against four men in suits with reflective glasses and attitudes that immediately identified them as federal agents.
“What’s the problem, gentlemen?” Sam asked.
“There she is,” one of them said in a low growl that immediately raised Sam’s hackles.
“Let us in,” another one said. “Right now.”
“I’m not letting you in until you tell me what you want,” Beckett said. “This is a potential crime scene—”
“We need to speak to Mrs. Cappuano.” The one who seemed to be in charge of the Fed squad took another step forward. “It’s urgent.”
Sam’s heart dropped to her belly and for a brief, horrifying second she feared her legs would give out under her. Nick... Why would federal agents have tracked her down at a crime scene in the middle of her workday unless something had happened to him?
Please no.
Sam immediately began bargaining with a higher power she didn’t believe in. She’d give up anything, anything in this world except Scotty, if it would keep the man in front of her from saying words that could never be unsaid or unheard.
Only Freddie’s arm around her shoulders kept her from buckling in the few seconds it took for Sam to recover herself enough to speak. “What do you want with me?”
“We need you to come with us, ma’am.”
“That’s not happening until you tell us who you are and what you want,” Freddie said.
In unison they flashed four federal badges.
“United States Secret Service,” the one in charge said. “We need you to come with us, ma’am.”
Sam didn’t recognize any of them. Why would she? Nick’s detail was in Iran, and Scotty’s was with him. “I... I’m working here. I can’t...” Bile burned her throat as her lunch threatened to reappear. With her heart beating so hard she could hear the echo of it strumming in her ears, she somehow managed to choke back the nausea. Later she’d be thankful she hadn’t puked on the agents’ shoes. Right now, however, she couldn’t think about anything other than Nick. “Has something happened to my husband?”
Freddie tightened his grip on her shoulder, letting her know his thoughts mirrored hers. That didn’t do much to comfort her.
Looking down at her with a stone-faced glare, the agent said, “We’re under orders to bring you in. We’re not at liberty to discuss the particulars with you at this time.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Freddie asked. “You can’t just take her. She’s not under Secret Service protection, and she’s working.”
“I’m afraid we can take her, and we will, by force if necessary.”
“What the fuck?” Beckett spoke for all of them. At some point he’d moved to the other side of her.
Like someone flipped a switch, they moved with military precision, busting through the tapeline, grabbing hold of her arms and quickly extracting her before her stunned colleagues could react. Sam fought them, but she was no match for four huge, muscled, well-dressed men who whisked her away with frightening efficiency.
In the background, she could hear Freddie and Beckett screaming, swearing—at least Beckett was—and giving chase, but they, too, were no match for this group. Before she knew what hit her, she was inside the cool darkness of one in the Secret Service’s endless fleet of black SUVs, the doors locking with a sound that echoed like a shotgun blast.
“Move,” the agent in charge ordered.
The car lurched forward just as Freddie and Beckett reached it. Freddie pounded once against the side window with a closed fist before the car pulled out of his reach.
Sam watched the scene unfold around her with a detached feeling of shock and fear. Something awful must’ve happened. That was the only possible reason for this dramatic scene. She was far too afraid for Nick to work up the fury she’d normally feel at being kidnapped by federal agents. Her hands were shaking, and her entire body was covered in cold chills.
If Nick had been harmed in some way or if he was... No, no, no, not going there. If he was hurt, what did it matter if Secret Service agents had grabbed her? What would anything matter?
She bit back the overwhelming fear and forced herself to focus. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?”
CHAPTER TWO (#u3e246bd7-aa16-5261-8947-fcb0bbd09212)
NO ONE SAID a word.
Silence had never felt heavier or more oppressive. Why wouldn’t they tell her what was wrong? Out the front windshield she noticed several other black SUVs had joined their caravan. They moved with stealthy speed, emergency lights flashing as they flew through notoriously clogged District streets. Drivers who regularly ignored police sirens got the fuck out of the way for the Secret Service.
While trying to control her galloping heart and frantic need to know what was happening, she made herself watch the world go by outside the car, trying to figure out where they were taking her. When they hung a left, she realized they weren’t going to her home.
How did she even know these guys were actually with the Secret Service? What if terrorists pretending to be federal agents had kidnapped her?
“I want to see your badges. Up close. Right now.”
The one sitting closest to her handed his over.
Sam studied it carefully. Thomas J. Jackson, United States Secret Service. The badge seemed legit. She gave the others the same scrutiny, noting the one in charge was named Daniel Cooley. “What do you want with me?”
“We’ll brief you fully when we arrive at our destination,” Jackson said.
“Which is where?”
“We’re not at liberty to share that information.”
“Tell me one thing.” She swallowed the largest ball of fear that had ever lodged in any throat ever and forced herself to ask the most unimaginable question of her life. “Is my husband dead?”
Jackson, bless his heart, took mercy on her. “No, ma’am.”
Sam rested her head back against the seat, closed her eyes and released the breath she’d been holding from the second she realized the Secret Service had come for her. Adrenaline coursed through her system, making her feel amped and drained at the same time. “And my son?”
“He’s fine.”
She’d never been more afraid at any time in her life than she’d been in the last ten minutes, and it would be perfectly all right with her if she never felt that way again—ever. Then it dawned on her that Jackson had said Nick wasn’t dead. He hadn’t said he was fine either. Was he hurt? Clinging to life? Taken hostage? Being held for ransom? On a flight that’d been hijacked?
One after another, the scenarios went through her mind, each more horrifying than the last. What if... Oh God, I can’t even... I just can’t.
They drove for quite some time before the driver took an abrupt right onto a ramp that descended into what looked like a parking garage. The car stopped in front of a security door that rose to admit them, and the car lurched forward into darkness.
Sam spun around in her seat to watch the door close behind them. What the actual fuck was happening? And where the fuck was she?
The door next to her opened, and one of the agents held out a hand, as if to help her from the car. “Right this way, ma’am.”
She ignored his hand and got out on her own, hoping there’d be some answers at the other end of “right this way.” All four agents surrounded her as they traveled down a long corridor that ended at a closed door.
Cooley punched in a code on a keypad next to the door, and it slid open to reveal another dark room. Sam blinked several times, her eyes protesting the darkness after the bright sunshine outside.
“Ma’am?” He gestured for her to go in ahead of them.
She didn’t want to go in there. Every instinct was telling her not to step forward, to run away, but she knew they’d never let her escape. This was reminding her far too much of the march down the stairs into hell in Marissa Springer’s basement.
“Wh-what is this place?” Sam hated the hitch in her voice that made her sound nervous.
“It’s a secure facility,” Cooley said. “You’ll be safe here.”
“How do I know that?”
“You have to trust us.”
“Why should I trust you? I’ve never laid eyes on any of you before you showed up at my crime scene and basically snatched me without any information as to why I was being snatched. You’ll have to pardon me if I’m currently running a little low on trust.”
“I understand how you must feel, Mrs.—”
“Do you? Do you really? Is your husband the vice president of the United States? Is he protected by the agency that just snatched me from a crime scene for no reason that I’ve been made aware of? Is he in Iran, a country not exactly known for its hospitality toward Americans? Do you not know if your husband is injured or worse? If you can’t answer yes to any of those questions, then you actually have no fucking idea how I must feel!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know how you feel, but if you’d please come with us, I assure you that everything will be explained in due time.”
“Due time,” she said with a bitchy-sounding snort. “Is that agency speak for ‘when we get around to it’?”
“We’ll brief you as soon as we’re authorized to do so.”
Sam was about to give in and go into the room when she heard a shout from behind her.
“Mom!”
She spun around to see Scotty heading toward her, surrounded by his Secret Service detail. The sight of the familiar agents was welcome proof that the four who’d snatched her were legit. Her son ran into her outstretched arms.
“What’s going on?” he asked. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and his face was flushed from being outside at camp. He was wearing an orange camp T-shirt, a Feds cap and his baseball cleats.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, “but I’m told we’re going to be briefed soon.”
“Is it Dad? Has something happened?”
“I’m not sure. They told me he’s alive, but they haven’t said anything more than that.”
That he visibly crumpled at the news Nick was alive let her know how afraid he’d been, and for that alone, she’d never forgive the Secret Service for this stunt. It was one thing to scare the hell out of her. It was another thing altogether for them to scare the hell out of her kid. As soon as she found out what the fuck was going on, heads were going to roll.
“If you would.” Cooley again gestured to the room on the other side of the steel door.
Sam took Scotty by the hand and led him into the huge space, where there were comfortable-looking sofas, tables with books and magazines neatly arranged, and a counter with snacks and drinks on ice.
