Chapter Eight #2
While Gonzo went to report the homicide, Freddie and Hill moved in for a closer look at Gibson.
His face and upper torso were covered with deep cuts and burns that might’ve been made by the lit end of a cigar.
The ends of his fingers were bloody from the removal of fingernails, and it looked as if he’d been thoroughly whipped with a cord of some sort. A puddle of blood surrounded the chair.
“Jesus,” Hill muttered. “Someone worked him over good.”
“And whoever did it left the door unlocked so we’d be sure to find him.”
“What do you think killed him?”
“I’d have to guess the blood loss, but Dr. McNamara will figure that out and give us an approximate time of death.”
“Someone needs to tell Sam.”
“I’d like to do that,” Freddie said.
“I don’t have authorization to bring you to the place where they’re being kept safe.”
“Then maybe it’s time to let her out of there so she can help us figure out why someone tortured her ex-husband to death.”
“That’s not my call.”
“Whose call is it?”
“The vice president’s.”
“Wow, that must be making for a peaceful incarceration.”
“The word I would use to describe them when I saw them last night is tense.”
Freddie shifted his gaze to Peter. Though he intensely disliked the guy and hated what he’d put Sam through, he wouldn’t wish the hell that’d been done to Peter on anyone. “She’ll want in on this.”
“It’s probably a conflict for her to be on this case.”
“Doesn’t mean she won’t want to be part of it.”
Gonzo returned. “Crime Scene and the ME are on the way.”
They waited in uneasy silence until they heard the sirens and went out to greet the others.
“Brace yourself,” Freddie said to Lindsey. “It’s bad.”
She patted his arm. “They’re all bad, Detective.”
“It’s Sam’s ex.”
“Oh dear.” She went down the stairs to Peter’s apartment.
Gonzo approached Freddie. “Let’s do a canvass and see if the neighbors heard anything.”
After dinner on the third day underground, Sam tried to watch a movie with the others, but even though it was an action flick, it didn’t hold her attention.
She was slowly losing her mind. Every minute in this concrete prison was making her feel more unhinged than the last. Until she’d been brought here, she’d never realized how much she took for granted being able to see the sky and the sun and to breathe fresh air.
It was wearing on the others, too, especially Scotty, who was upset about missing the baseball camp he looked forward to all year.
Sam got up from the sofa where she’d been sitting between her sisters and went to find Nick, who was in their bedroom poring over a thick briefing book that had been delivered to him earlier in the day.
“Hey, babe. How’s the movie?”
“I can’t seem to follow the plot.”
He held out a hand to invite her to sit with him.
While she crossed the room to take him up on the invitation, he discreetly closed the book and put it on the beside table.
“What’s in there?”
“Secret stuff.”
“Like what?”
“National security briefings and a report from the Joint Chiefs on a covert mission happening overseas.”
He told her what he could without telling her anything.
Sam wrapped her hand around his and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You have to let us out of here, Nick.” When he began to protest, she laid a finger over his lips.
“We all understand the situation we’re in and armed with that knowledge, we can make careful choices for ourselves and our kids. You have to let us out.”
Judging by his mulish expression, he wasn’t swayed by her argument. She watched his gaze shift to the doorway. “What’s up, Brant?”
“Agent Hill is here to see you both.”
“We’ll be right there,” Nick said.
“Let’s hope he’s here to tell us they’ve figured it out and we’re free to go,” Sam said.
“Let’s hope so.”
He said what she wanted to hear but didn’t sound overly optimistic.
Sam took the hand he extended to her and followed him from their room, through the darkened common area and into the conference room where Avery, Brant and Captain Malone awaited them.
Seeing her captain there, Sam’s stomach dropped. What was this about? Please, not Freddie or any member of her squad… Please.
“What’s going on?” Nick asked.
Sam was grateful he voiced the question, because she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
“Earlier tonight,” Hill said, “following up on the lead you gave us to investigate Peter Gibson, we entered his apartment and found him dead.”
Only Nick’s arm around her kept Sam from stumbling. He helped her into a chair and squatted next to her, providing comfort and support the way only he could.
“How?” Nick asked.
“He’d been tortured,” Hill replied. “We’re waiting for the ME to give us cause of death because it wasn’t immediately apparent to us.”
“T-tortured?” Sam asked, her mouth dry. “Someone tortured Peter?”
“I’m afraid so, Sam,” Malone said, his expression grim. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but someone put him through hell before they killed him.”
“I—I think… Going to be sick.” Nick lunged for the trash can in the corner and brought it to her in time for her to heave the contents of her stomach into the bin.
He held back her hair. “Can you give us a minute, please?”
“Of course,” Malone said, answering for the others.
They filed out of the room and closed the door behind them.
“Babe, take a deep breath.” Nick grabbed a bottle of water from the middle of the table and cracked it open. Holding it up to her lips, he said, “Have some.”
Sam forced herself to take one sip and then another.
“Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I…I don’t know what to think. Who would’ve done such a thing to him?”
“It’s hard to say. He’d made his share of enemies, and who knows what he’s been up to recently.”
“You don’t think it’s related to the threat?”
“Anything is possible.”
“I have to be part of this investigation, Nick. You have to let me out of here. I can’t sit on the sidelines when someone has tortured a man who I was once married to.
” Her stomach turned again when scenes from her checkered past with Peter flew through her mind—from living as platonic roommates to him “comforting” her when Nick didn’t call, to friendship evolving into romance and marriage to suffering numerous miscarriages to him trying to control her every move and every thought and objecting to the time she was spending caring for her injured father.
And now he was dead. Tortured to death. Dear God. Her hands were shaking, and the sick feeling in her stomach continued, unabated by the vomiting.
“Please,” she whispered, her throat raw from being sick, “please let me out of here, Nick.”
“Only if I go with you.”
“Can you do that?”
“Give me a few minutes to figure it out with Brant, but you’re not going to face this by yourself. No fucking way, Samantha.”
Under normal circumstances, Sam might object to him telling her what she was and wasn’t going to do, but she wanted him with her right now too badly to object.
She nodded in agreement. “Will you… Angela and Tracy…”
“I’ll get them, baby.” He kissed her forehead. “Whatever you need. You tell me, and I’ll get it for you.”
Sam reached for him and he drew her up from her chair and into his fierce embrace. “After everything he put me through, why do I feel so shattered?”
“Because you’re a compassionate person, and at one time you loved the guy. As much as you wanted him to go away and leave you alone, you’d never have wanted this for him.”
“No. Never.” She shuddered imagining what he’d endured and immediately felt sick again.
Nick anticipated that and had the bucket ready when a second wave of vomiting hit her, leaving her feeling weak and shaky. He kept his arm around her and whispered soft words of comfort.
Sam allowed herself to lean on him as she absorbed this latest blow. Her emotions were all over the place—sadness and anger and grief mixed in with a tiny bit of relief that she’d never have to deal with him again. Of course, that made her feel even worse after hearing how he’d died.
“Let me get your sisters,” Nick said after waiting for her to catch her breath. “I’ll be right back.” He took the trash can with him. Sam hoped she wouldn’t need it again while he was gone.
Sitting alone in the brightly lit conference room, Sam forced herself to breathe through the nausea that burned her throat.
She wiped her mouth and discovered her cheeks were wet with tears.
She had to get it together so she could help her team figure out what’d happened to Peter and who was threatening her family.
They also had a floater to identify. There were things to be done, and focusing on them would keep her from totally losing it.
Angela came rushing in, wearing pajamas, her hair standing on end and her eyes red from exhaustion. Tracy was right behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Angela asked. “Nick said something happened to Peter.”
Tracy took the seat on the other side of Sam.
“He was found dead in his apartment.”
“Oh my God,” Angela whispered.
“They said…” Sam took a deep breath. “They said he’d been tortured.”
Tracy gasped. “Oh no. Oh, Sam.”
“After everything he put me through, I should probably be glad he’s dead, but I can’t… Not like this…”
“Of course you wouldn’t want that,” Tracy said.
“What if…”
“What, honey?” Angela asked.
“What if they tortured him because of me?”
“Is that what the FBI thinks?” Tracy asked.
“They didn’t say that, but what if that’s why he was killed?”
“Take it one step at a time, Sam,” Tracy said, stroking Sam’s hair. “Anyone who went after him would know you haven’t had anything to do with him in ages. Who knows what else he was into lately? It could’ve been for a hundred different reasons.”
Sam clung to Tracy’s reassurances, but she had a sick feeling that his homicide would lead directly back to her. And if it did, how would she live with that information?