Fatal Series 00 - Fatal Destiny

drifted to her detective and friend, Jeannie McBride, who’d recently survived an equally horrific attack.
    As an officer charged with keeping people safe in the District of Columbia, Sam was infuriated on behalf of Gardner’s victim and Jeannie. At least they’d gotten the bastard who attacked Jeannie.
    Remembering the elbow that had connected with her abdomen during his arrest had Sam resting a hand on her belly. Because of him, she’d lost the baby she and Nick had wanted so badly. She’d never forgive that son of a bitch for what he’d taken from them—and from Jeannie and his other victims. But he was locked up where he belonged, and after hearing the report from Gardner’s victim, she was determined to lock him up too.
    Nick’s hands landed on her shoulders, startling her. “What’re you doing up?” he asked. “And why must you mess with my desk every time?”
    “So you’ll know I was here.” Smiling, she looked up at him, noting the fatigue that clung to him during particularly intense bouts of insomnia.
    “As if I could ever forget you’re here.” He scowled when he saw the glass on the desk. “I thought you gave that up.”
    “Just one. I needed a boost. What’re you doing up?”
    “Couldn’t sleep without you.”
    “I’m sorry.” Sam gathered up the papers on the desk. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.” The pile slipped from her fingers and scattered on the floor.
    Nick bent to retrieve the photos, wincing at the images of Gardner’s victim. “What happened to her?”
    “Beaten and raped.”
    “Is she related to a new case of yours?”
    Sam shook her head. “Possible new lead in my dad’s case. But it’ll keep until tomorrow. You need sleep.”
    “And you don’t?”
    “It wasn’t happening, so I figured I’d get some work done.”
    He pulled up the other chair and dropped into it. Sam let her eyes take a lazy journey over broad shoulders, well-defined pectorals and washboard abs. He had just the right amount of dark chest hair trailing into the sweatpants he’d put on.
    He waved a hand to get her attention. “Hello?”
    Sam realized she was staring at him. “Sorry, just enjoying the view.”
    Grinning, he said, “You can enjoy it all you want next week.”
    “Can’t wait. That’s the part I’m most looking forward to.”
    “Me, too.” Gesturing to the pictures, he raised an eyebrow.
    Sam filled him in on what Gonzo and Freddie had uncovered about the former tenants at the house where Clarence Reece murdered his family.
    “How does she fit in?” Nick asked, gesturing to the photo of the battered woman.
    “Gardner was accused of raping her in the house shortly before my father was shot.”
    “So he’s locked up?”
    “I wish. The case got tossed.”
    “How come?”
    “Procedural stuff. Anyway, it’s probably another dead end on my dad’s shooting.”
    “What aren’t you telling me?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Don’t play coy with me, Samantha. Spill it.”
    Unnerved by the way he read her so easily, she studied his handsome face for a long moment. “You can’t tell anyone. Ever.”
    “Understood.”
    “Faith Miller could lose her job.”
    “The AUSA?”
    Sam nodded. “Gardner threatened her. One of his minions told her he’d chop up her baby niece and return her to her parents in pieces.”
    Nick blanched. “And she believed him?”
    “She had a face-to-face with him the next day in court. The way he looked at her, she had no doubt he’d do it.”
    Nick picked up a picture of the victim and studied it intently. “Now you’ve made her yours, and you’re going after him.”
    “I can’t let him get away with that! He threatened a federal prosecutor.”
    “Who chose to back off. That was her call.”
    “So I should sit back and allow a violent criminal to walk the streets? Maybe if Faith hadn’t backed down, my dad never would’ve been shot.”
    “You have no way to know that.”
    “I can find out.”
    He put down the photo, leaned his arms on his knees and looked at her. “I want you to do something for me.”
    She’d never seen that particular expression on his face before and was taken aback by it. “What?”
    “Let this one go. It’s not your fight.”
    “How can you say that? He might’ve shot my father!”
    Pointing to the woman in the photo, he said, “Her fight is not yours. Not this week. Not this week.”
    “Because of the wedding.”
    He took her hands and linked their fingers. “We’re so close to