Fatal Series 01 - Fatal Affair

chocolate brown hair that curled at the ends, hazel eyes that missed nothing, olive-toned skin, strong, efficient hands that changed forever what she expected from a lover, crackling intelligence, and the cool aura of reserved control she’d found so fascinating the first time she met him.
    Cracking that control had been one of the best memories from her night with him. When he didn’t call, she’d wondered if their intense connection had scared him off. But now that she knew he had called, that he had wanted to see her again…that changed everything.
    “Can I ask you something that has nothing to do with the case?” she said as they cut across the District on the way to the Watergate where he’d left his car. Along the way, they noticed a few American flags already lowered to half-mast in John’s honor. The word was out, and the official mourning had begun.
    “Sure.”
    Her heart raced as she picked at a scab she’d mistakenly thought healed long ago. “When you called me…after…that night…do you remember who you talked to at my house?”
    He shrugged. “Some guy. One of your roommates maybe.”
    Knowing the answer before she even asked, she said, “You didn’t get his name? I lived with three guys.”
    “Shit, I don’t know. Paul maybe.”
    “Peter?”
    “Yes. Peter. That was it. I talked to him a couple of times.”
    Gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, Sam wanted to scream.
    “Was he your boyfriend?”
    “Not then,” she said through gritted teeth.
    “Later?”
    “He’s my ex-husband.”
    “Ah! Well, now it all makes sense,” he said but there was a bitter edge to his voice that she understood all too well. She was feeling rather bitter herself at the moment.
    “Too bad you didn’t give me your cell number instead of your home number.”
    “I only had a department cell then, and I never used it for personal business.” They were quiet until she pulled into the Watergate. “I’d like to interview your staff in the morning,” she said as the car idled.
    “I’ll make sure they’re available.” He rattled off the Hart Senate Office Building address where she could find them.
    “In the meantime, here’s my card in case you think of anything that might be relevant. No matter how big or how small, you never know what’ll crack a case wide open.”
    He took the card and reached for the door handle.
    “Nick,” she said, her hand on his arm to stop him from getting out.
    Looking down at her hand and then up to meet her eyes, he raised an eyebrow.
    “I would’ve liked to have gotten those messages,” she said, her heart racing. “I would’ve liked that very much.”
    He sighed. “I can’t process this on top of everything else that’s happened today. It’s just too much.”
    “I know.” She raised her hand to let him go. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”
    He surprised her when he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Don’t be sorry. I really want to talk about it. Later, though, okay?”
    Sam swallowed hard at the intense expression on his handsome face. “Okay.”
    He released her hand and opened the car door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
    “Yes,” she said softly to herself when he was gone. “See you then.”

    Frederico Cruz was a junk food addict. However, despite his passion for donuts, his ongoing love affair with the golden arches, and his obsession with soda of all kinds except diet, he managed to maintain a wiry, one-hundred-seventy-pound frame that was usually draped by one of the many trench coats he claimed were necessary to staying in character.
    In some sort of cosmic joke, Sam had drawn the dietary disaster area known as Freddie for a partner. In the midst of the HQ detective pit chaos, Sam watched fascinated and envious as he chased a cream-filled donut with a cola. She swore that spending most of every day with him for the last year had put ten unneeded pounds on her. “Where are we?” she asked when he put down the soda can and wiped his mouth.
    “Still at square one. The neighbors didn’t hear anything or see anyone in the elevator or hallways. I sent a couple of uniforms to pick up the security tape—not an easy task, I might add. You’d think we were planning to send G. Gordon Liddy back in there or something. I had to threaten them with warrants.”
    “What was the hang up?” Sam asked, eyeing his second donut with lust in her heart.
    “Resident privacy, the usual bull. I had to