Fatal Deception (12 page)

“Is Sam okay?”

“She says she’s fine.” It had taken all the fortitude he could muster to stay away from the emergency room when everything in him pulled him toward her—as always. “A plastic surgeon stitched up her face, and she’s back to work now.”

“We’d totally understand if she can’t make it tonight.”

While Nick knew he was being completely irrational, the thought of going without her irritated him. He never asked her to support his work. Everything in their lives was about her work, her cases, her investigations.

As soon as he had the thoughts, he regretted them. She was hurt, for crying out loud. She’d saved numerous lives, including her own. What right did he have to be angry that her injuries might mess up his big night? But was he wrong to want his wife with him for an important event in his career? “I guess that’ll be up to her,” he said to Graham. “If she feels up to it. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”

“No need. If she’s there, she’s there. If not, everyone will understand.”

“I feel bad. We set this up months in advance.”

“Don’t apologize. We certainly know better than most people how unpredictable her job can be.”

“That’s good of you. Thanks for understanding.”

“No thanks needed. So, there’s something I need to talk to you about. I was hoping to do it tonight, but it’ll probably be too crazy.”

“What’s going on?”

“I got a call from Halliwell,” Graham said of the new Democratic National Committee chair. Halliwell had replaced Mitchell Sanborn after Sanborn’s arrest earlier in the year. “He wanted my take on what you’d think about doing the keynote at the convention.”

Nick was rendered speechless. By putting him front and center at the convention, they’d be setting him up for a White House run in the next election. The DNC had expressed their interest in the past, but this would make his heir-apparent status official. “What did you tell him?”

“I suggested he speak to you directly,” Graham said with a laugh. “You certainly don’t need me behind the scenes pulling the strings anymore. Back in the day, I would’ve killed for your approval ratings. They’re grooming you, Nick. You get that, don’t you?”

“I’ve never won an election in my life, and they’re grooming me for the top job,” Nick said, amused and honored and astounded. And saddened. This should’ve been John’s moment. Nick never lost sight of that.

After a long pause, Graham said, “You’re thinking about John, aren’t you?”

“Always.”

“Me too. Last week, I started to pick up the phone to call him, and then I remembered... Whenever that happens, it takes me right back to that first awful day.”

While Nick tried hard to never think about finding his best friend and boss murdered, it was also the day he’d reconnected with Sam years after a memorable one-night stand. That something so great could’ve come from such a heartbreaking event still astounded him. Nick set his gaze on the photo of John that he kept on the credenza. “I do the same thing. I find myself wanting to tell him something, to ask his opinion. Far more often than I care to confess.”

Graham cleared the emotion from his throat. “What’ll you say to Halliwell?”

“I suppose that depends on when and if he asks.”

“He will. You’re their top choice. Apparently, Derek Kavanaugh was going to speak with you about it, but then his poor wife... Is there any sign of the baby?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Not yet anyway.”

“Lord, what he must be going through.”

“It’s not pretty.” Nick had heard from Harry at lunchtime that Derek was in worse shape today. As the hours dragged on with no word about Maeve, Derek’s composure was shattering.

“It’s a nightmare,” Graham said, speaking from experience. “Anyway, about the convention...”

“If they ask me, I’ll do it. Of course I will, but I want you and Laine to know that it never leaves my mind that all this should’ve been John’s.” This wasn’t the first time Nick had worried that his adopted parents would think he was capitalizing on the opportunities their son’s death had afforded him.

“We know, son. Of course we do. But we’re so very proud of you too. I hope you know that.”

“Thank you,” Nick said in a hushed tone. It never got old to hear that the senator who meant so much to him, who’d taken an ambitious young man under his wing and given him a life he never could’ve imagined, was proud of him. “You don’t know what that means to me.”

“I can’t wait to see you up there front and center at the convention. You’ll blow them away. Even the Republicans will be lining up to vote for you.”

The notion was so preposterous that Nick couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure they will.”

“Some kind of dogfight heating up for the general election, huh?”

“Sure is. The caucus is worried about Arnie,” Nick said of the fabulously wealthy businessman, Arnold “Arnie” Patterson, who was running for president as an independent candidate. “The closer we get to the election, the more his support grows, and unlike Nelson and Rafael,” Nick said of the incumbent president and his GOP rival, “Arnie is in no danger of running out of money in the home stretch.”

“I can’t imagine this country is ready for the likes of him,” Graham said, his tone rife with distaste. “No one even knows how he really came by his money. Everything about him is shady.”

“But he’s giving the people what they want—promises of lower taxes, less government, a renewed focus on family values, a Christian with liberal leanings. He’s an amalgamation of the best of both worlds, and that’s attractive to a lot of voters.”

“My fear is he’s going to take enough of the support away from Nelson that Rafael will get a cheap win,” Graham said. “Halliwell said Nelson’s camp is worried.”

“A lot can happen between now and November,” Nick said. “I’ve seen him on the stump, and I’ve noticed the loose-cannon element that worries his advisors. Look at how many staffers he’s gone through since Memorial Day. I hear he has his sons running the show, so that provides some continuity.”

“Word is if they don’t agree with him, he replaces them. I bet he’d fire his own kids if they disagreed with him.”

Nick laughed. “I ought to adopt that strategy. It would make for much quicker staff meetings, that’s for sure.”

“No kidding,” Graham said, chuckling. “So Scotty will be in town soon, huh?”

“We’re going to get him Sunday. Three whole weeks together. We can’t wait.”

“Bring him down to the farm to ride.”

“I will.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Nick hung up the phone and stared for a long time at the photo of John, thinking of their years together at Harvard, weekends with the O’Connors in Leesburg and working side by side during John’s five years in office. For the first time in a while, he allowed in the grief and longing. Nick would happily give up his office and all the notoriety that went with it for one more day with his best friend.

* * *

Sam stepped out the main door of HQ and into madness. The questions flew at her in one big roar as cameras flashed. Her gruesome mug would be all over the front pages in the morning.

“What can you tell us about the robbery?”

“How many stitches did you get?”

“Is there any sign of Maeve Kavanaugh?”

“Will you interview the president?”

“Is Derek Kavanaugh a suspect?”

Sam held up her hands to quiet the crowd. When the questions continued to fly at her, she zeroed in on a light post in the parking lot behind them until they got the hint that she wouldn’t say a word until they shut the hell up. It took a few more minutes, but they finally got the message.

“I’ll give you a statement and then take some questions,” she said. “The investigation into the murder of Victoria Kavanaugh and the apparent abduction of Maeve Kavanaugh is ongoing. Mr. Kavanaugh is not a suspect. I repeat, Derek Kavanaugh is not a suspect in the death of his wife or the abduction of his daughter.” Even though she reemphasized the point, Derek’s innocence would probably be buried under lurid sensationalism about a murder that touched the highest levels of the Nelson administration.

“We have no plans to speak to the president at this time, but he did confirm Mr. Kavanaugh’s alibi for the time of the murder and kidnapping. He was with the president’s senior team and campaign officials at a strategy session held at Camp David over the weekend.” She paused, made eye contact with several of the more familiar reporters. “One more time for the hearing impaired—Mr. Kavanaugh is not a suspect.”

Before they could shout more questions at her, Sam took a deep breath, praying the painkillers would kick in soon, because her face was starting to seriously hurt. “We ask your assistance in continuing to publish and broadcast the photos of Maeve Kavanaugh. SVU detectives are following up on every lead in the investigation into her disappearance.”

“Do you have any persons of interest yet?” one of the Barbie-doll TV reporters asked. Sam could never remember their names. They all looked alike.

“We’re following a number of leads.”

“What can you tell us about the robbery this morning?” Darren Tabor asked.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the video.” Sam shrugged, figuring the quicker she gave them what they wanted, the sooner she could get back to work. “I was buying a bagel, noticed the guy waving the gun around, texted my officers for backup and made my way to the front of the store, where I was able to neutralize the gunman. That’s all there was to it.”

“You left out the part where he pistol-whipped you in the face,” someone shouted.

She gestured to the mess on her face. “I figured that part was pretty obvious.”

A wave of laughter went through the crowd.

“How many stitches?”

“I wasn’t counting.”

“Has the senator seen your face?”

“Not yet,” she said, and then immediately wanted to take back the words. She probably shouldn’t have said that, because he’d come across as unfeeling for not rushing to the hospital. While the old Sam wouldn’t have given a shit less what they thought, the new Sam had a politician husband who was in the midst of his first-ever campaign to protect.

“He was in hearings this morning,” she said through gritted teeth. “Anything else?” Not giving them even half a second to respond, she said, “That’s it for now,” and nodded at Hill to follow her through the horde to the parking lot.

“I don’t know how you can stand the constant scrutiny,” Hill said when they were clear of the reporters.

“Part of my job,” Sam said, uninterested in making small talk with the agent.

“I mean about your personal life.”

She sent a glare his way that probably wasn’t as effective as usual since half her face wasn’t working properly at the moment. “I knew what I was getting into.”

As they approached his nondescript sedan, he clicked the remote unlock button. “Hmm.”

Sam slid into the passenger seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“All I said was ‘hmm.’”

“People say that instead of what they really mean.”

“Is that right?” he said in that drawl that’d probably left a trail of wet panties in his wake.

A minute later he pulled into a sub shop and they picked up sandwiches and sodas.

“What is your problem anyway?” Sam asked once they were under way again.

“I wasn’t aware that I had a problem,” he said, devouring a turkey sub as he drove them northwest through downtown traffic, on the way to Route 66 West.

Sam had gotten tuna thinking it would be easier to eat, but her face hurt too much to chew. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You stare. At me. All the time.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flush of color settle in his cheeks and wanted to laugh. The oh-so-cool agent blushed like a schoolgirl.

“I’ve heard about your considerable ego, Lieutenant, but trust me when I tell you I’m thinking about the case—and not you—when I’m supposedly staring at you.”

For some reason, Sam didn’t believe him. It was something more than that—something she would do well to leave alone despite her usual inclination to pick apart such things. “So you’ve heard my ego is considerable, huh?”

Hill laughed. “Figures you’d take that as a compliment.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve had good reason to be cocky. Have you read about my case closure rate?”

Rolling his eyes, he said, “Who hasn’t? Your face is in the paper more often than the president’s these days.”

“Now that is not true.”

“Whatever you say. Let’s talk about Derek Kavanaugh and how we’re going to handle this meeting.”

“Ugh, do we have to?”

“I suppose we do. You said last night that you know him socially?”

“He and Nick are friends. Have been for years. I’ve only known him since last Christmas, but we got together with them once in a while.”

“What did you think of her?”

“There was nothing not to like about Victoria,” Sam said. “Gorgeous and vivacious and stylish and quick to laugh. Very much in love with her husband and child, or so it seemed to us.” Thinking about what they’d learned about the murdered woman had Sam questioning her every impression. “But who knows if she was an award-winning actress playing the part of the devoted wife when really she was part of a nefarious plot of epic proportions.”

“People suck,” Hill said, surprising her with his bluntness.

“Very often they do.” Sam rested her head against the seat, suddenly exhausted. “Where do we even start with this one?”

Hill turned to her, agape. “Are you honestly asking my opinion?”

“Keep your eyes on the road and call it a momentary lapse in judgment brought on by intense pain.”

“Is it bad?” he asked, sounding like he actually cared.

“It doesn’t feel great. That’s for sure.” She reached for the visor and pulled it down for a look in the mirror. “Holy shit,” she whispered. The entire right side of her face was purple and swollen with a strip of white bandage slashing horizontally across her cheek. Her right eye had been completely eclipsed by the swelling. “Wow, even more spectacular than the last time I looked.” Once again she thought of the evening’s fundraiser with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and was sorry she’d looked.