“Semantics,” she said, scoffing. “Did you get me the warrant for his DNA?”
“Signed, sealed and delivered.”
“Cruz and I are heading out now. I need to see McBride for a moment, and then we’ll track down Mr. Bartholomew.”
“What’re you up to with McBride?”
“Not sure yet. Could be something, could be nothing.”
“Let me know if it’s something.”
“I will.”
“Where’s your tail?”
Realizing she had once again forgotten all about the two police officers following her, she glanced in the mirror. “Right where they belong.”
“Excellent. Keep me posted.”
Closing the phone and dropping it into her pocket, she took a moment to absorb the news that Peter Gibson was once again walking the streets. Sam gripped the wheel but didn’t put the car into drive.
“Gibson?” Freddie asked.
She nodded.
He let out a curse that was so wildly out of character for him that Sam couldn’t help but laugh.
“He’ll screw up again, and when he does, we’ll be ready,” Freddie vowed.
“I have no doubt.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Not your fault. We all screwed this up, and now we have to live with it. The best thing we can do now is to get justice for our current victims. They’re counting on us.”
“I admire the way you’re rolling with it.”
“What choice do I have?”
“None I suppose.”
“I had a somewhat major revelation while talking to Selina Rameriz this morning,” Sam said to Freddie as they pulled out of the HQ lot.
“And that was?”
“The reason they recruited immigrant women for the call girl ring—so they wouldn’t recognize the schmucks paying for their services. Sure, they might recognize the president and vice president, but how many Americans can pick out the speaker of the House let alone one of the senators from Virginia?”
“Well, everyone in America would know Nick.”
“Luckily, he has no need for call girls,” Sam said dryly.
“Cook is a pretty big name in American politics.”
“People new to the country wouldn’t recognize it.”
“True.”
“So it’s rather brilliant of them to recruit beautiful young immigrant women who’d have no idea who they were servicing,” Sam said.
“And who wouldn’t raise much suspicion if they suddenly turned up dead.”
“The person who killed them certainly wasn’t counting on a senator being in love with one of them.”
“He also wasn’t counting on us,” Freddie said. “They probably thought the MPD wouldn’t care much about a couple of dead cleaning ladies.”
“They thought wrong.”
“You bet your ass they did.”
“Such language, Lieutenant,” he said, frowning.
Sam gave him the finger.
“I’m offended.”
“You’ll survive.”
“What’re we seeing McBride about?”
“I have a picture I want to show her. Just a hunch.”
“Your hunches are usually spot-on.”
“If this one is, we’ve got our killer.”
Judging by Jeannie’s visceral and almost violent reaction to one of the six photos Sam showed her, they’d found their man.
As she pushed the picture away, Jeannie began to sob.
Michael, whose haggard face and red eyes told the story of how he’d taken the news about the rape, crawled right into the bed with her and wrapped his arms around her.
“Who is he?” Jeannie whispered.
Sam folded the photo and jammed it into her coat pocket. “Mitchell Sanborn, chairman of the Democratic National Committee.”
“Oh God, it’ll be all over the news.”
“Yes.”
“Will you arrest him right away?”
“I’m going for him as soon as I leave here.” Sam hesitated but only for a second before she reached for Jeannie’s hand. “If there’s anyone who should hear about what happened from you, the time to tell them is now.”
“My mother,” Jeannie said, turning frantic eyes on Michael. “My family.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Michael said. “I called your mom. She’s bringing your sister over. I’ll talk to them.”
“It’s not enough that this had to happen, but now it’ll be blasted all over the news too,” Jeannie said as her tears turned to anger.
“We’ll get you through this,” Sam said, gripping the other woman’s hand. “I had an idea, and it might not seem to make any sense…”
“What idea?” Jeannie asked.
“Remember when
The Reporter
was getting ready to publish the story about my near-abortion years ago?”
Jeannie nodded.
“Nick encouraged me to get ahead of the story—to tell it my way before they could tell the incorrect version.”
“You’re not suggesting I actually talk to the media…”
“I’m saying you might want to consider talking to
one
reporter, and tell him you’re all right, you survived, you’re on the mend. Show him—and the rest of the world—that this guy didn’t ruin you.”
“I’m still not sure he didn’t.”
“People don’t need to know that.”
“If I did this, wouldn’t it hurt the case?”
“Only if you gave away things that only you and he would know. I’m suggesting a very high-level interview that puts the story in your words but doesn’t jeopardize the case. You know what you can say and what you can’t.”
Jeannie glanced at Michael. “What do you think?”
“It’s entirely up to you, of course, but I agree with Sam that it’s worth considering.”
“I can’t imagine telling a stranger…” Her voice faded to a whisper, and her eyes filled with new tears.
“Exposing your personal pain to strangers is difficult,” Sam said. “But Nick was right in my case. Once we put out the statement, the lies
The Reporter
printed lost some of their power over me. I don’t think I would’ve gotten through that episode as well as I did if I hadn’t gotten the chance to tell the story my way.”
“Do you know someone? A reporter I could talk to?”
“I have just the guy. He’ll do right by you. Darren Tabor from the
Star
. He did the joint interview with Nick and me.”
“I loved that interview. He did a beautiful job.”
“It was okay,” Sam said begrudgingly. Talking to reporters about her personal life would never sit well with her, but she’d done it for Nick and his campaign.
“Would you be there with me?” Jeannie asked Michael.
“Always. For as long as you need me, I’m right here.”
Jeannie sent him a small but grateful smile and tightened her hold on his hand. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ll make the call and have Darren meet you at Michael’s house later this afternoon. That way you’ll have time to get home and settled first.”
“Thank you, Sam. I feel better just knowing who did this and that you’re going to get him.”
“I’m going to nail his ass to the wall,” Sam vowed. “For you and the others.”
“I’m counting on that.”
Gonzo awoke and sat up quickly, his heart racing. Alex had been crying relentlessly for hours. Finally, the baby had worn himself out and drifted into restless sleep a little over an hour ago. Gonzo and Christina had fallen into bed to sleep while they could. Through the baby monitor Gonzo could hear the little coos the baby made in his sleep, and was reassured. Sam’s sisters had told him the panic receded eventually. He certainly hoped so. Living in a perpetual state of terror was draining, to say the least.
Gonzo glanced over at Christina. He wanted so badly to kiss her, but he hated to disturb her after she’d been up most of the night helping with the baby. He shifted onto his side, put an arm around her and drew her in closer to him. As much as he loved having the baby in his life, he missed the uninterrupted time with her.
She murmured in her sleep, and he kissed the top of her head, breathing in the sweet fragrance of her hair.
“Tommy,” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I woke up and couldn’t hear him. I got worried.”
“He’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine.”
“Are we?”
She looked up at him, smiling. “Of course we are.
“I love you so much, Christina. I spent my whole life trying to avoid this kind of committed relationship. Now that I have it, I can’t imagine why I was so eager to avoid it. And I’m not just saying that because you’re helping me with the baby.”
“I know.” She caressed his face. “I love you too. I can’t believe how fast everything happened and how content I feel.”
He curled his hand around her neck and pressed his lips to hers. Sinking into the kiss, Gonzo’s heart beat harder as he understood with a clarity he’d never experienced quite so vividly before that she was
it
for him—the one he’d been waiting for without even knowing he’d been waiting.
Shifting on top of her, he reveled in the feel of her soft skin.
Her hands moved on his back, soothing and arousing. She raised her hips in invitation, and he entered her in one swift stroke. No other woman had ever affected him the way she did. When they were first together, he’d expected to grow tired of her the way he had all the others. But the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted her. He was beginning to realize he would never get enough. That was certainly unprecedented.
Resting on his elbows, he brushed the hair back from her face and touched his lips to hers. “So beautiful. Such a lady.”
“Not always,” she said with a coy grin. Her hands cruised down his back to grip his ass, tearing a groan from deep inside him.
She triggered something primal in him, something possessive and altogether new as he made fierce love to her.
Afterward, he rested carefully on top of her, worried as always about how much bigger than her he was. Her fingers sifted through his hair as she ran her foot up and down his leg.
Gonzo breathed her in, wanting her again, wanting her forever. “Marry me,” he said. The words were out of his mouth before he had a second to consider the implications.
She gasped. “Tommy…”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just blurt that out. I don’t have a ring, and a classy woman like you deserves a romantic proposal…” At the sight of her tears and the sound of her laughter, he stopped. “What?”
“If you don’t stop talking you’ll ruin the most romantic moment of my life.”
She staggered him. “Yeah?”
Nodding, she reached for him and brought him down for a kiss that made his head spin.
“Let me try this again…Christina Billings, I love you. Will you please marry me?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing through her tears. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Tommy Gonzales.”
“I’ll get you a ring. As soon as I can.”
“I don’t need one.” She hugged him tight against her. “I have everything I need right here.”
Alex chose that moment to let out a lusty wail.
“And then some,” Christina whispered, smiling as she kissed him.
Sam and Freddie sat in the car outside the headquarters of the Democratic National Committee on South Capitol Street.
“How’s this gonna go?” Freddie asked.
“We’re going in there and arresting Sanborn for Jeannie’s kidnapping and rape. Once we get him to HQ, we’ll hammer him on the rest.”
“What about Bartholomew?”
“He’s next.”
“Isn’t that Sanborn over there?” Freddie pointed to where two men were having a heated discussion.
“It is! And that’s Daniels with him,” she said, referring to the speaker of the House. “He was third on my list. Gee, wonder what they’re fighting about.”
“How about we go see?”
They emerged from the car, and with Sam’s detail following them, made their way toward the two men who never saw them coming until they were nearly upon them.
Sanborn looked up, saw Sam and blanched. Then he took off running. Daniels bolted in the other direction. “Get him,” she called to Freddie as she took off after Sanborn. “One of you go with him,” she said to her two-officer detail. To the cop who followed her she said, “Stay out of this and leave it to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sanborn ran down South Capitol Street, darting in and around pedestrians. Sam’s legs and lungs burned with exertion, but when she thought about what this monster had done to Jeannie, a new burst of adrenaline brought her within an arm’s length of her prey. Worried about him managing to slip through her fingers, she sprung at him from behind and took him down hard on the pavement. The impact briefly knocked the wind out of both of them. As she struggled to cuff him, he fought her off, and his elbow caught her hard in the abdomen.
“Let me go, you fucking bitch. You have no idea who you’re screwing with.”
The shot to her gut had left her seeing stars and fighting for every breath. “I know exactly who I’m screwing with—and your days of raping and murdering women are over.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy, and I’ll have your job for this.”
“We’ll let the DNA tell the story.”
That seemed to shut him up. Choking back a surge of nausea, she pressed her knee to his back and managed to get the cuffs on him. She left him lying facedown on the sidewalk and stood to call for backup. A sharp pain in her belly had her bending in half, hands on knees as she tried to breathe through it the way she used to do before she gave up the soda that had caused crippling stomachaches. This pain, however, felt different…
“Are you okay, Lieutenant?” her detail officer asked.
“Fine. Just need a minute.”
“That was an awesome tackle.”
“Thanks.” A second, sharper pain ripped through her when she tried to stand up. Son of a bitch…When she tried to stand up straight another pain ripped through her.
“You don’t look too good, Lieutenant.”
“I’m okay,” Sam managed to say.
Within minutes the street was swarming with MPD officers and cars. Sam ordered that Sanborn be taken to HQ and held in an interrogation room until she arrived.
“I think Lieutenant Holland needs medical attention,” the young detail officer said.
Sam looked daggers at him. “I do
not
. I told you I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Sam stalked off in the direction of where they’d parked, hoping Freddie had managed to grab Daniels. She was aware of the young officer scurrying after her, but all her focus remained on breathing her way through the pains that continued to come fast and furious.
Of course she recognized the pains for what they were. After all, she’d been through this three times before. This time, though…This time…If she allowed herself to acknowledge what was happening, she’d never be able to finish the job on behalf of Regina, Maria and Jeannie. So she kept breathing, kept walking, kept functioning when inside her heart was shattering.
Outside the DNC building, Freddie jogged up to her. “Did you get him?”
“Yep. You?”
“In custody and on the way to HQ.”
“Let’s go pick up Bartholomew.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, following her to the car.
“Fine.”
“Then why are you pale as a ghost, sweating and breathing funny?”
“Took an elbow to the gut. Hurt.”
“Maybe we should hit the ER.”
She dug out her phone to update Malone. “The only place we’re hitting is the vice president’s office and then HQ to nail these bastards.”
“With you, boss.”
Sam and Freddie had to surrender their firearms to get through security at the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, located adjacent to the White House. Being without her weapon always made her twitchy, but when added to the growing discomfort in her abdomen, she was downright anxious.
They were escorted to the vice president’s suite where they were told that Mr. Bartholomew was in a meeting.
Sam and Freddie exchanged glances.
She leaned on the reception desk to bring her face down close to the nervous-looking man. “Go get him,” she said in her lowest, most sinister tone.
The young man scooted back from his desk and disappeared into the office.
Another sharp pain stole Sam’s breath.
“Sam…”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“Um,” the receptionist said when he returned, “right this way.”
Sam and Freddie followed him to a large office that was filled with pictures and political memorabilia—yet another shrine to a long, successful career.
Bartholomew stood as they entered the room. He was tall, heavy and bald. Sam tried to imagine poor Selina Rameriz trying to fight him off. She’d never stood a chance.
“What can I do for you?”
“Jack Bartholomew?” Freddie asked.
“Yes.”
Freddie flashed his badge. “We need you to accompany us to MPD Headquarters for a conversation about Selina Rameriz.”
“
Who?
”
“The call girl you raped and sodomized?” Sam said. “Remember her?”
Bartholomew blanched. “I did no such thing! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“You know
exactly
what I’m talking about.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy!”
Sam had to laugh at how they all said that. “If that’s the case, then you won’t mind coming with us, giving us a sample of your DNA and clearing this whole thing up. Will you?”
At that, a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead.