Fatal Deception (8 page)

After a long moment of silence, he said, “You can’t tell me what to do. You know that, don’t you?”

“I can in this case.”

“Since you’re being your usual mouthy self, I’ll take your word for it that you’re fine. However, I make no promises about coming to see for myself.”

“I’ll tell the doctors you’re prohibited.”

“Which will land our nonexistent marital troubles in the papers. Is that what you want?”

She couldn’t deny he had a point.

“Only my wife could stop for a bagel and take a gun to the face. When I think about what a close call the gun to the face probably was... And you wonder why I’m always worried about you.”

“Don’t think about it, and don’t worry. Everything is fine. I promise.”

Since the paramedic in charge was getting pissed waiting for her and the rag they’d given her to mop up the blood had soaked through, she waved them over. “I gotta go. See you tonight.”

“Samantha...”

Her heart never failed to skip a beat when he said her name in that particular way. “Yeah?”

“I love you. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Back atcha, Senator. See you later.”

Chapter Six

Before they’d let her leave the scene, Sam received another round of profuse thanks and grateful hugs from the people who’d been in the store during the attempted robbery. The clerk was particularly appreciative and promised Sam free bagels for life.

The paramedics escorted her to the ambulance, where they applied medication to the wound that felt like they’d poured battery acid on her face. The pain was so ridiculous, she nearly passed out, and it was all she could do not to ruin her badass reputation by crying like a baby.

“Sorry,” the lead paramedic said.

He’d probably enjoyed inflicting maximum pain to pay her back for making him wait.

Sam focused on breathing through the pain as they transported her to the George Washington University Hospital emergency department, where she’d been somewhat of a regular in the last year. At the hospital, she was whisked into a room and was grateful to see a doctor she recognized. Anderson, if she remembered correctly. Since she had only one working eye at the moment, she couldn’t make out the name embroidered into his white coat.

“You again?” he asked with a grin.

“What can I say? The service is so great here, I can’t stay away.”

After the paramedics transferred her from the gurney to the hospital bed and left, the doctor got up close and personal with her face, poking and prodding until Sam wanted to beg for mercy. By the time he was done, she was shaking and nauseated.

“That’ll require a plastic surgeon,” he declared.

“Oh, come on! Why can’t you sew it up and get me out of here? I’ve got a murder and kidnapping to contend with.”

“Believe me,” he said with a laugh, “you don’t want me sewing that. A celebrity like you needs to be worried about a big ugly scar on her face.”

“Those are fighting words,” she growled. “For your information, I’m not a celebrity. I’m a cop, and I need to get to work.”

“You may be a cop, but you’re also a celebrity, and I ain’t doing it.”

“They teach you that grammar in medical school?”

“They teach you that charm at the academy?”

Despite the pain it caused her, Sam glowered at him, but he didn’t blink. She hated when that happened. Her glower was rather potent, if she said so herself.

“I’ll page plastics and be back to let you know how long you’ll be our guest.”

“Doc.” She swallowed hard. “Will this require shots? In the face?”

“Couple of them, but they’ll numb you up first. Don’t worry.”

Right, don’t worry
, she thought as her entire body went cold with fear. The only thing that freaked Sam out more than needles was flying. No, needles were worse. Definitely worse. And needles to the face had to be the absolute worst. She’d rather take on ten gunmen single-handed than have a shot in the face.

Freddie came in with Captain Malone trailing behind him.

“I had your frequent-flyer card punched,” the captain said. “So don’t worry about that. You’re one incident shy of a free ER visit.”

“Very funny. I’ve got a dead body in the morgue and a missing baby, and I have to sit here and cool my heels until McSteamy can sew me up.”

“Who?” Freddie asked.

“Plastic surgeon.”

“The guy’s name is McSteamy?” Malone asked, perplexed.

“Don’t you watch
Grey’s Anatomy
?” It was the one show Sam never missed. Didn’t everyone know who McSteamy was? “You watch it, don’t you?” she asked her partner.

“Sorry, far too busy for such foolishness,” Freddie said.

“Right,” Sam said. “I know what you’re busy doing.” She pushed a finger into her closed fist and waggled her brows at him, which made her face sting with the fury of a thousand fire ants.

With a mortified glance at the captain, Freddie slapped at her hands. “Shut up, Sam.”

Naturally, his mortification made her laugh. Mission accomplished.

“Children,” Malone said. “Keep your hands to yourselves.”

Dr. Anderson returned to the cubicle. “It’s going to be an hour,” he said grimly. “Maybe two.”

“Oh my God! I can’t sit here for two hours when I’ve got a murdering kidnapper on the loose!”

“I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” Anderson replied.

“There’s no one else in this entire hospital who can give me some stitches and send me on my way?”

“Trust me when I tell you that you want the right guy for this job. When he’s done, you’ll barely have a scar. I’ll be back. Sit tight.”

“Sitting tight is not her strong suit,” Malone muttered to the doctor’s retreating back.

“I heard that,” Sam said.

Her mentor, who was tall and brawny with wise gray eyes and close-cropped silver hair, sent her a smug grin.

“I can’t sit here and do nothing.” To Freddie, she said, “If I can’t get to HQ, I’ll bring HQ to me. Get everyone over here right away. Tell Jeannie to bring a dry-erase board. And if they can get out of there without alerting Hill as to where they’re going, that’d be good. Hurry.”

As Freddie scampered off, Malone shook his head. “You’re too much, Holland.”

“I’ve got shit to do and a deadline today.”

“What deadline?”

“Fundraiser for Nick’s campaign tonight. It’s a big deal. He reserved me weeks in advance.”

Malone hooted with laughter.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“Wait’ll he gets a look at your face. Can I be there for that? Please can I?”

Sam attempted her trademark scowl, but that made the cut hurt like a son of a bitch, so she resorted to the old standby and gave him the finger.

“Don’t let Stahl see you disrespecting a superior officer that way,” Malone said of Sam’s nemesis. “He’ll convene an IAB hearing.”

“Let him. It was worth it.”

A nurse came into the cubical, carrying implements of torture.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, immediately on alert and anxious.

“I’m starting an IV so we can get some fluids into you.”

“My mouth is working fine.”

“That’s the truth,” Malone said.

Ignoring him, Sam said, “Get me a bottle of water. I’ll drink it right down.” Anything to avoid another needle.

The nurse held up the bag. “This is more than water. It’s electrolytes that you need because of the blood loss.”

“Get me a sports drink. I don’t want that.”

“Doctor’s orders.”

Sam crossed her arms tight across her chest. “No IV.”

The nurse glanced at Malone, who shrugged. “There’s not much point arguing with her when she’s in this—or any—mood.”

“Lovely,” the nurse said on her way out of the room.

Sam nearly swooned with relief when she realized she’d dodged the IV bullet. A familiar whirring noise from the hallway had her sitting up straighter on the bed as her father turned his wheelchair into her cubical. Her stepmother, Celia, was right behind him.

“We came as soon as we heard you were here,” Skip said, grimacing at the sight of her injury.

Sam was glad to see them but suspicious nonetheless. “And how did you know I was here?” she asked, even though she knew exactly how they’d heard.

“I can’t reveal my sources,” her father said. He came in as close as he could get for a look at her face.

In deference to his paralysis and his concern, Sam leaned forward to give him a better view.

He winced. “He gotcha good, huh?”

Shrugging, Sam said, “I got him better.”

“I had no doubt, baby girl.”

“She’s giving the nurses a hard time,” Malone said, probably in retaliation for the bird she’d sent his way.

“I don’t need you ratting me out to my dad,” Sam said. “Isn’t it time for your morning donut break?”

“Oh,” Malone said, his face lighting up, “donuts. Can I get you anything?”

The others demurred, and he said he’d be right back.

“Don’t rush on my account,” Sam called after him.

“Why are you giving the nurses a hard time?” asked Celia, a nurse herself.

“They want to stick me full of unnecessary needles.”

Skip laughed at her petulance. “You look like you did at twelve when you crashed your bike and they wanted to give you a tetanus shot.”

“Didn’t need it then, don’t need it now.”

Celia reached out to brush Sam’s hair back from her forehead and pressed a motherly kiss to her uninjured cheek. “Let them take care of you, honey. They know what they’re doing.”

Touched, as always, by Celia’s sweetness, Sam said, “Why does everything they’re doing have to involve needles? And why did my husband have to call you guys when I told him I was fine?”

“Because he was worried about you and couldn’t get here himself to check on you,” Skip said. “So he called in the next best thing.”

“You don’t have to stay. The plastics guy is going to stitch me up, and then I’m going to work.”

“We’ll stick around until you’re done.” Her father’s blue eyes, the exact shade of hers, allowed for no argument. He got a lot done with those eyes. “In case you need us.”

* * *

When Celia stepped into the hallway to take a phone call from her sister, Skip turned those formidable blue eyes on his daughter again.

“What?” Sam asked, suddenly feeling the need to squirm. He was one of two people who had the power to make her squirm.

“I had dinner with Joe over the weekend,” he said of his longtime friend, the chief of police.

An uncomfortable itch settled at the base of Sam’s neck when she sensed her father was pissed about something. “That’s nice. I know how much you enjoy seeing him.” His former colleagues at the MPD had been endlessly devoted since the devastating shooting that left Skip a quadriplegic two and a half years ago.

“He mentioned something I was quite surprised to hear, especially since my own daughter was involved and never saw fit to tell me about it.”

Yep, he was pissed. Sam wished she knew what he was talking about so she could prepare the defense she’d probably need. Whenever he got mad at her, it was usually with good reason. “What was that?” Sam asked, though she suspected she didn’t want to know.

“The Fitzgerald case.”

“Oh.” Sam’s stomach took a perilous dip. “That.”

“Yeah, that. The cold case of mine that you reopened when I was hooked to a ventilator earlier this year and unable to tell you to leave well enough alone.”

“You don’t understand—”

“You’re goddamned right I don’t understand! I told you once before to leave that one alone, and nothing has changed since then.”

Sam stared at him, mouth agape, which caused more pain to radiate through her injured face. “
Everything
has changed since then. The day you told me to leave it alone the first time was the same day you were shot. We thought you were going to
die
when you had pneumonia. I wanted to get closure for you. I did it for you.”

“Is that right? So when I didn’t have the decency to die, why didn’t you tell me you’d reopened my case without my permission?”

“I hate to tell you,” Sam said, unnerved by his unusual hostility, “that it’s not your case anymore. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m in charge of the homicide division now, and all cases—hot and cold—are actually
my
cases.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, Sam realized she’d said exactly the wrong thing.

The side of his face that wasn’t paralyzed became stormy as he went from pissed to furious. “It’s good to know you’re not above pulling rank on your paralyzed old man.”

“Oh, Jesus, Dad, you’re going to play the paralyzed card on me?”

“I don’t have many other cards in my deck these days. I can’t believe you let me hear about this from Joe. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to hear from him what my own kid should’ve told me months ago? And then to see his surprise when he realized I didn’t know? You promised you wouldn’t keep shit from me anymore. I’m disappointed you broke your promise.”

His words hit like arrows to her heart. She’d embarrassed and hurt him, which in turn hurt her. Sam couldn’t find the words to respond. To hear him say he was disappointed in her was far worse than anything else he could’ve said, and he knew it.

“Here’s how this is going to go. I understand you’ve caught a new case. So at your earliest possible convenience, I want a meeting with you, McBride and Tyrone. I want to know what they did, who they talked to and what came of it. Do I make myself clear?”

If he were any other past member of the MPD barking orders at her, she’d tell him to fuck off. But because he was her dad and one of the most important people in her life, she said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“I used the cold case as a way to get McBride back to work after she was attacked,” Sam said sullenly. “And they didn’t uncover anything new.”

“I still want a full report—from them—and I want it very soon.”

“Fine.”

Sam was certain her expression was every bit as mulish as his. In their case, the apple and the tree were often one and the same. They sat in uncomfortable and unusual silence until Celia returned.

Her gaze moved between them, settling on her husband. “What happened?”