Fatal Series Boxed Set 9-16 (binge-worthy romantic suspense)

Chapter One

“Idon’t want to be here.” Surrounded by familiar buff-colored cinder block walls, Sam felt claustrophobic and panicky. Even the burnt-coffee smell of the place nauseated her. She needed to get out of there. Now.

“Sam.”

She glanced at Dr. Trulo, who gazed intently at her, his gray eyes never wavering. His hair had gotten thinner since the last time she was forced to spend time with him, after young Quentin Johnson died at the hands of her officers in his father’s crack house.

“What?”

“I can’t clear you to go back to work until you talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about? I did a stupid thing, and I paid the price.

Should I have gone in there alone? No. I know that.

I knew it then, but I had no reason to suspect that Marissa Springer was going to turn into a murdering lunatic or that she’d partnered up with Stahl.

As far as I knew she was a grieving mother, a disgruntled wife and a source of information.

” Sam shrugged. “There. I talked about it. Can I go now?”

He continued to stare at her without blinking. How did he do that? Everyone needed to blink once in a while, didn’t they? Perhaps one of the job requirements for being a police department shrink was a freakish staring ability.

She shifted in her seat, crossed her legs and then her arms. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I want to hear about what happened with Stahl. How you coped during the assault. What you’re thinking about now. How you’re sleeping. You could start by telling me what it was like to be wrapped in razor wire by a man you once reported to.”

“It was sharp.”

Trulo finally blinked—and sighed deeply. “Maybe we should reschedule for next week.”

“Next week is kind of busy. The inauguration and all that.”

“Are you aware that your squad is frantically trying to find the person responsible for a series of knife attacks?”

For the first time she felt a twinge of guilt at letting down her closest colleagues.

“I’m aware of that.” The city was on edge after a series of brazen and seemingly random attacks that had left two people dead and two others gravely injured.

Sam was sorry she wasn’t able to help this time, but she couldn’t single-handedly catch every killer who roamed the city’s streets.

“Do you want to come back to work, Sam?”

“Yes! Of course I do. What kind of question is that?” Her heart began to race at how close he’d come to uncovering her recent anxiety about work and safety and the loss of her famous mojo. It would come back. Eventually. It had to come back. Didn’t it? Who was she without it?

“It’s an honest question. You’ve been in this game long enough to know that if you don’t play the game, you remain on the sidelines.

I can’t clear you to come back until I’m certain you’ve dealt with the trauma of what happened and are in the right place mentally, physically and emotionally to resume your duties. ”

Sam was never more mulish than when pushed into a corner, and now was no different. “How am I supposed to prove to you that I’m fine?”

“You have to talk about it.”

“What if I don’t want to talk about it? What if talking about it makes it worse?”

“Have you talked to anyone? Your husband? Your friends, colleagues, your dad, sisters? Anyone?”

“Yeah, I’ve talked to them,” she said, squirming again. She hated the feeling that he saw right through her bullshit the way Nick did, too. He’d been watching her like a hawk recently—to the point that she’d been actively avoiding her overly devoted husband for the first time ever.

Sam knew she wouldn’t get away with that for much longer, and Trulo wasn’t about to buckle either. “I’d like to leave now.”

“No one is forcing you to be here.”

She gave him her best “yeah right” look. Did he think any cop saw him voluntarily? “Hello, Command Referral. Like I have a choice.”

“You know what I mean. This process is on your schedule. When you’re ready, make an appointment. I’m here for you whenever you need me.”

With the lure of freedom in her reach, Sam began to stand.

“Before you go, though…”

Foiled, she sagged back into the uncomfortable hardback chair.

“I want to say one thing.” Trulo cleared his throat and seemed to force himself to look at her.

What was that about? “I read the report on what happened that day at the Springers’ house, and I want to say…

I’ve been doing this for a long time, and what happened to you, well, it was bad, Sam.

Really bad. And there’s no shame in admitting that you’re traumatized by it, that maybe you’ve lost your taste for the job, that—”

“No.” Sam leapt to her feet. “Whatever you’re going to say, save it.

I’m fine. I haven’t lost my taste for anything except this meeting.

Some people don’t feel the need to air out all their shit in some touchy-feely room where it’s supposedly safe to spill their guts.

We aren’t safe anywhere. That’s the lesson learned here. ”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said with a small, satisfied grin that infuriated her. “Call me when you’re ready to talk about why you don’t feel safe anywhere.”

Pissed with herself and with him, Sam stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

She was on her way to a clean escape when Captain Malone waylaid her, taking her by the arm and escorting her into his office where she shook him off.

“You need a refresher in sensitivity training if you think you can manhandle your female officers that way.”

“So report me.”

“What do you want?”

“Nice to see you, too, Lieutenant. We’ve missed your charming self around here.”

Sam rolled her eyes. Charming. Whatever. “Is there something you need?”

“Have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Since he so rarely pulled rank on her, she dropped into the chair he pointed to and crossed her arms again, keeping with the mulish theme of the day.

“How’ve you been?”

“Great. You?”

“I’m down one of my best officers, so things have been a little hectic, especially since someone is going around killing people with a hunting knife. But we’re coping.”

She refused to feel guilty about sitting this one out. Her team was highly trained, and they’d figure it out. They always did. “Glad to hear it.”

“How’s it going with Trulo?”

“You’re not allowed to ask me that.”

“Add it to the report you’re going to submit on my bad behavior.”

“I have been attending the appointments as required. Would you like me to tell you what we talk about in there? It would only take a minute. Probably less than a minute.”

Malone sat back in his chair, exhaling loudly. “So you’re not cooperating.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Don’t you want to get back to work?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m kinda enjoying the time off. I like taking my kid to school—even if the Secret Service has to butt into our time together—and taking my dad to his appointments and hanging out with my husband and cleaning my house.”

Malone sat up straight, his eyes wide with alarm. “You’re cleaning your house? What the hell is wrong with you, Holland? You’d rather be cleaning your house than chasing down murderers? Things are worse than we thought.”

“We? We who?”

“All of us! We’re wondering what the hell is going on with you and why you don’t seem to have any desire to come back to work. Every other time something crazy has happened, we’ve had to practically lock you to your sofa. But not this time. This time something’s different.”

Sam made a conscious effort not to squirm as he stared her down, looking for answers she simply didn’t have.

She didn’t know why she had no desire to go back to work.

She didn’t know why she felt dead inside or why she wondered if she would ever again be able to trust her own judgment when it had failed her so dramatically.

She didn’t have the answers they all wanted so badly, and until she did, they weren’t going to let her come back.

So she’d decided to enjoy the unexpected time off. What else could she do?

“Sam, this is me.” He’d been her mentor and friend since the day she made detective. “Talk to me, will you? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

His concern touched off another wave of guilt at knowing she had caused him—and others—such dismay.

When she remained silent, he said, “I want you to know… We, all of us, from the chief on down, we failed you in this situation with Stahl. It never occurred to us that he would take it as far as he did, and that’s on us.”

Sam rose to her feet. “I gotta go, Cap. It was good to see you.”

“Sam, wait.”

Before he could make it around his desk, she was out the door and headed for the morgue and the closest exit.

She burst into the frigid January day and took deep breaths of the cold air.

Her eyes darted around the parking lot, on the lookout for enemies.

After fourteen years on the job, she’d made more than her share of them.

Now she knew they weren’t afraid to come after her, to try to take everything from her.

She’d learned to be wary and more afraid than she’d ever been before.

When Nick accepted the president’s offer to become his new vice president, he’d declined Secret Service protection for her so she could continue to do the job she loved. That she was thinking about requesting a detail was indicative of how screwed up everything had gotten since Stahl attacked her.

She got into her car and drove home, the one place she felt safe these days, surrounded as they were by Nick’s detail and Scotty’s. The house was like a fortress, and she liked it that way. No one could get to her there.

Sam pulled onto Ninth Street and was waved through the checkpoint by a Secret Service officer. She parked in front of the house and was surprised to see Nick’s black BMW parked at the curb. What was that doing there? He’d told her he’d sold it since he could no longer drive himself.