Fatal Series 01 - Fatal Affair

about?”
    “Well, gee, let’s see.” Counting on his fingers, he said, “Pregnant pauses, simmering gazes, and of course the entertaining innuendo. Need I continue?”
    Unnerved that Freddie had noticed the sparks flying between her and Nick, she realized she should have known her savvy partner would have tuned in to what she had tried so hard not to encourage during their hour-long interview with Nick. The effort to keep things professional and focused had left her drained. “You’re imagining things.”
    “No, I’m not. What gives, Sam?”
    “Nothing. I barely know the man.” That much was true—sort of. “Whatever you think you saw was the result of your overactive and undersexed imagination.”
    “Wow,” Freddie said on a long exhale. “Who said anything about sex?”
    Simmering with retorts she didn’t dare pursue, Sam pulled into the parking lot at the public safety complex.
    Before she could get out, Freddie stopped her. “What happened on that trip to Loudoun County yesterday?”
    “Nothing.” Now, that was true.
    “I’m your partner, Sam.” He gripped her jacket to keep her from escaping. “Talk to me.”
    She tugged her arm free of him. “There’s nothing to say! We’ve got a million things to do, and you’ve got time to grill me about something you’re imagining? ”
    “I’m a trained observer—trained in large part by you. I don’t care what you say, there was enough heat in that room to burn down the capitol.”
    Sam fumed in silence. This was exactly why she told Nick that what happened the night before couldn’t happen again. She didn’t need any more aggravation right now.
    In a softer tone Freddie said, “Whatever’s going on, I hope you’re being careful. You’ve got a lot at stake right now.”
    “Thanks, Freddie. I’m glad you reminded me of that. Otherwise I might’ve forgotten about the child who died on my watch.”
    “Sam—”
    “We have work to do.”
    “I’m on your side. I hope you know that. If you want to talk—”
    “Thank you. Can we get to work now?”
    With a deep sigh, he reached for the door handle.
    Sam stalked inside, again pushing her way through the gaggle of reporters gathered in the foyer. Leaving them wanting and frustrated gave her tremendous joy.
    She felt bad about being so testy to Freddie who’d been a pillar of support in the wake of the Johnson case, but she didn’t want to hear what he’d have to say about her past relationship with a witness—a relationship she hadn’t disclosed, knowing that if she did, she’d be taken off the case. That couldn’t happen. She desperately needed a big win on a high-profile case like this one to get her career back on track.
    That was why she planned to work around the clock, if that’s what it took, to break this case as fast as she could—long before anyone found out that she had once spent a night with the man who’d found the senator dead. If she was unsuccessful and her superiors discovered that she’d had yet another lapse in judgment, she could kiss her hard-won career goodbye. And then what would she do? What was she without this job? Who was she? No one.
    Shaking off that unpleasant thought, Sam told Freddie she’d be back after the press conference and headed for Chief Farnsworth’s office. On the way, she stopped in the restroom to splash cold water on her face. Looking up at her reflection, she was startled by the bruised-looking circles under her eyes, the pale, almost translucent skin made more so by weeks of sleepless nights, and eyes that couldn’t hide the torment.
    She had told them she was ready to come back, had assured the department psychologist she could handle anything the job threw her way. But could she handle seeing Nick Cappuano again? Could she handle how it had felt—even six years later—to be engulfed once again by those strong arms, to be kissed by those soft lips, to be on the receiving end of those heated eyes? God! Those eyes of his were flat-out amazing.
    “Stop, Sam,” she whispered to the face in the mirror, a face she barely recognized. “Please stop. Do your job and stop thinking about him. Think about the senator.”
    Reaching for a paper towel, she blotted the excess water from her face and took a deep breath. “The senator,” she said once more as she prepared to stand next to the chief at the press conference.

    The questions were brutal.
    “How can you trust someone with Sergeant Holland’s poor judgment to oversee