Fatal Series 01 - Fatal Affair

damp chill to bargain with bundled-up vendors.
    “You aren’t going to believe this, but I’ve never been here,” he confessed as they passed a row of fragrant Christmas trees.
    She stared up at him. “Are you serious? You’ve worked a few blocks from here for how long?”
    “Well, I worked for a congressman before John, so I guess almost fourteen years.”
    “That’s sad, Nick. Truly pathetic. The flea market is open every weekend, year round.”
    “So I’ve heard,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I figured, you know, flea market—junk. I never expected all this hand-crafted stuff.”
    “You can get anything here, and it’s usually better than what you can buy in a store.”
    “I can see that.”
    “Hey, Sam,” one of the vendors called.
    “How’s business, Rico?”
    “Booming, thank God. Heard about you on the news last night. You okay?”
    “Just fine. No worries.”
    “Glad to hear it. Bring your dad down one of these weekends.”
    “I will.”
    After several similar exchanges, Nick said, “Do you know all these people or does it just seem that way?”
    She shrugged as she sorted through a table of fluffy knitted scarves. “This is my hood. I’m a regular.” Twisting a hot pink scarf around her neck, she pirouetted in front of him. “What do you think?”
    He turned up his nose. “Not your color, babe.”
    “My niece Brooke firmly believes that no one over the age of four should wear pink.”
    “That’s funny. How old is she?”
    “Fifteen going on thirty. You’ll meet her later.” Returning the scarf to the table, she glanced over at the next kiosk and spotted a beautifully framed painting of the Capitol that she had to have for him. Dying to get a closer look at it, she rubbed her hands together and blew into them. “Do you feel like some hot chocolate?”
    “Sure.”
    “They’re selling it right over there.”
    Eyeing her suspiciously, he looked over to where she pointed. “All right.”
    Flashing a brilliant smile, she went up on tiptoes to kiss him. “Thank you, honey.”
    “What’re you up to?”
    “Nothing.” She gave him a little push. “Go.”
    The moment he crossed the street, she spun around and pounced on the unsuspecting artist in the neighboring booth. “That one. Right there. How much?”
    “Three-fifty.”
    “Sold. Will you take a check?”
    “With a license.”
    “Be quick.”
    They completed the transaction in record time, and Sam accepted the package wrapped in brown paper moments before Nick returned with two steaming cups of hot chocolate.
    “What did you buy?”
    “Something for my dad.”
    “You’re a terrible liar, Samantha. Does this mean I have to buy something for you, too?”
    “Only if you plan to get lucky in the New Year,” she said with a saucy smile.
    “In that case, what looks good to you? Sky’s the limit.”
    Laughing and teasing, they were navigating the crowd on their way to the indoor food market when a flash of metal caught Sam’s eye. Everything shifted into slow motion as she realized it was a gun. In the span of a second, she shoved Nick out of the way, dropped the painting and her hot chocolate, drew her own weapon and lunged at the shooter.
    “Baby killer!” the woman shrieked as she fired an erratic shot.
    People screamed and dove for cover as Sam wrestled the heavy-set woman to the ground and struggled to disarm her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nick’s black shoe.
    “Get back!” she cried as the woman’s elbow connected with her cheekbone.
    Nick stomped on the woman’s hand, and the gun clanked to the cobblestone street.
    “Don’t touch it!” Sam said to him as she cuffed the crying woman.
    “You killed Quentin! You killed our baby! ”
    Something about the voice was familiar. “Marquis killed Quentin,” Sam growled into the woman’s ear as she tightened the cuffs. Flipping her over, she wasn’t surprised to find Destiny Johnson’s sister Dawn under her. “Was anyone hit?” Sam asked Nick.
    “I don’t think so.” He looked down at her with a pale face and big, shocked eyes. “I heard someone call 911.”
    “Thanks for the assist.”
    “No problem.”
    As the market slowly returned to normal around them, Sam sat on a curb with Dawn until a couple of uniforms arrived to take statements and cart her off. Sam promised to write up her portion of the report and get it to them later.
    “Nice job, Sam,” one of the vendors called to her.
    “Thanks,” she said as Nick helped