Fatal Series 01 - Fatal Affair

until she’d been haunted by her own demons.
    “Not so much. It’s all a blur.”
    Her cell phone rang. Sam reached for it on her belt and checked the caller ID. She didn’t recognize the 703 number. “I need to take this.”
    “Go on.”
    She kissed her father’s forehead and left the room. “Holland.”
    “Sam, it’s Nick. Someone’s been in my house.”
    Her heart fluttered at the sound of his deep voice. This was not good. “Has it been ransacked?” she asked, making an effort to sound cool and professional.
    “No.”
    “Then how do you know someone’s been there?”
    “I know . Stuff’s been moved.”
    “Where do you live?”
    He rattled off an address in Arlington, Virginia.
    Even though it was out of her jurisdiction, she grabbed her coat. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter 7
    Thirty minutes later, Sam stormed up the stairs to Nick’s brick-front townhouse.
    He waited just inside the door and held it open for her. “Thanks for coming.”
    “Sure.” She stole a quick glance around a combined living room/dining room where it appeared nothing was out of place. In fact, the space seemed better suited to a furniture showroom rather than someone’s home. “How can you—”
    He grabbed her hand. “Come.”
    Startled, she let him lead her into his office, which was as neat as the other rooms but more lived in than what she had seen so far.
    “See that?”
    Following the direction of his pointed finger, she studied a small stack of books on the desk. “What about it?”
    “It’s at an angle.”
    “So?”
    “It’s not supposed to be.”
    “ Seriously? You called me over here at eleven o’clock at night because your stack of books isn’t anally aligned?”
    With a furious scowl, he grabbed her hand again and all but dragged her upstairs to his bedroom. Now we’re talking! Relax, Sam, he’s not dragging you off to bed as much as you wish he were. Reminding herself that she was investigating a break-in at the home of a player in a homicide investigation, she pushed aside her salacious thoughts and tuned in to what he was showing her.
    Pointing to the dresser, he said, “I didn’t leave it like that.”
    A tiny scrap of white fabric poked out through the closed drawers. Deciding to humor him, Sam leaned in to inspect the cloth. “It’s not possible your tighty whities got caught in the drawer and you didn’t notice?”
    “No, it’s not possible,” he said through gritted teeth.
    She stood up and studied him like she had never seen him before, as if she hadn’t once seen him naked. “Have you always been so anal?”
    “Yes.”
    “Hmm.”
    “What does that mean? Hmm? Aren’t you going to call someone?”
    “To do what?”
    “To figure out who’s been in my house!”
    “Nick, come on.”
    “Forget it. Go home. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
    His eyes, she noticed, were rimmed with red. She ached at the thought of him alone and heartbroken over his murdered friend. “Fine. If you really think someone’s been in here—”
    “I do.”
    “I left my phone in the car. May I use yours?”
    He handed her his cell phone.
    “This is Detective Sergeant Sam Holland, MPD. I need a crime scene unit,” she said, giving the address.
    When she hung up, she turned to find him watching her intently.
    “Thank you.”
    She nodded, unsettled by the heat coming from his hazel eyes. Had she caused that or was it the fault of the person who had supposedly invaded his private space?

    An hour later, Sam sat with Nick on the sofa, out of the way of the Arlington cops who were dusting for prints.
    “How do you think they got in?” Desperate to maintain some semblance of distance from him, she spoke in the clipped, professional tone she used to interview witnesses.
    “I have no idea.”
    “Does anyone have a key?”
    “John had the only other one.”
    “Where did he keep it?”
    “I’m not sure. I gave it to him in case I ever locked myself out.”
    “Which probably never happens.”
    “It hasn’t yet.”
    “You don’t use the security system?” she asked.
    “It came with the place. I’ve never had it turned on.”
    “You might want to think about that.”
    “Really? Gee, thanks for that advice, Sergeant.”
    She shot him a warning look.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his head to run his fingers through thick dark hair.
    Sam licked her lips, wishing she could do that for him.
    “I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s just the idea of someone in my home , going through