Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“Got myself hit by a car while chasing a bad guy and hurt my hip.”
“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
“I got the guy. Isn’t that all that matters?”
“I suppose so.” He typed on the computer monitor and called up her X-rays, taking a close and careful look at them. “I don’t see any sign of a fracture, which is the good news.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“You have a bone bruise, which means it’s going to hurt for quite a while before it fully heals.”
“No break means I’m outta here.” She hopped down from the table and instantly regretted it, sucking in a sharp deep breath. The pain made her see stars.
“Take it easy, will ya?” Freddie said as he took hold of her arm.
“I can get you some crutches if you think they’d help,” Anderson said.
“No thanks. Appreciate your time, Doc.”
“Always a pleasure to see you, Lieutenant. You can get your frequent-flier card punched on the way out. You must be due for a free visit soon.”
“Everyone around me is a comedian,” Sam muttered.
“You inspire us,” Freddie said, making the doctor laugh. He escorted her through the waiting room, where every head swiveled toward them when people realized who she was. They were out of there before phones could be used to take pictures.
“I’d better tell Nick about this before he hears about it on TMZ.”
“Might not be a bad idea.” He held the passenger door to her car and waited for her to get settled before he closed the door and went around to the driver’s side.
She’d insisted on taking her car because the ride was smoother and the seat higher. Thinking about that now made her feel like a decrepit old lady. Sam flipped open her phone and put through the call to Nick. His voice mail picked up.
“Um, babe, it’s me. I had a little run-in with a car this morning. I’m fine. Nothing broken or anything, but I might not be able to spread my legs for a while. Thought you’d want to know. Call me.”
“Seriously?” Freddie asked, incredulous. “Did I need to hear that?”
“What? That’s the part of the story that’ll matter the most to him.”
“No, it isn’t. The part that’ll matter most to him is that you’re okay. You did that to pay me back for dragging your sorry ass to the ER.”
“Now, that would be vindictive on my part, and I am anything but.”
“Right.”
“Take me to Hill’s office.”
“He said he’d call.”
“I tell him that all the time and ‘forget’ to make the call. Take me there.”
Freddie drove to the J. Edgar Hoover Building, headquarters to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, located at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue.
“That is one ugly-ass motherfucking building,” Sam said. “No wonder Hill spends so much time at our place.”
“You should’ve had your mouth washed out with soap more often as a kid.”
“Didn’t work on me. I love the taste of soap.”
“You are so weird.”
“Sticks and stones, my friend. Sticks. And. Stones.”
“Do I need to drop you at the front door, Doris?”
“What’s with you today? You’re Mr. One-Liner.”
“I’m on a roll. Don’t mess with me. Door or walk?”
“I’ll walk.”
“Because we’ve got all day for you to hoof it. Let me drop you off so we can salvage what’s left of this shift.”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
He dropped her at the door and went to park.
Since he was being a pain in the ass today, she didn’t wait for him. Inside, she was forced to surrender her firearm—she fucking hated that—and was ushered through security. At the reception desk, she showed her badge and asked to be let in to see Agent Hill.
“Of course, Mrs. Cappuano,” the chipper receptionist said. Sam hated receptionists almost as much as she hated surrendering her firearm.
“I’m Lieutenant Holland when I’m on the job,” she half growled at the woman.
“My apologies. Let me call Special Agent in Charge Hill’s office for authorization.”
“He’s expecting me.”
“Oh, okay, then.” She gave Sam directions to the elevator and told her how to find Avery’s office on the third floor.
“My partner, Detective Cruz, will be here in a few minutes. Send him up, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sam took the elevator, pushed the button and hoped the rattling was due to the age of the building and not the maintenance of the elevator.
Wouldn’t that be something, if, after all the crazy crap that’d happened to her, she was killed by a malfunctioning elevator?
She’d survived getting hit by a car today. Her number probably wasn’t up yet.
She was deposited on the floor that housed the Criminal Investigations Division and had to get past yet another receptionist.
“Oh, Lieutenant, what an honor to have you here,” she said, her eyes wide with recognition and excitement. “Would it be too much to ask for your autograph?”
“Yes, it would since I’m here on official business. I need to see Agent Hill right away.”
The woman’s face fell with disappointment. “My apologies. Let me get him for you.”
Sam immediately regretted denying her and possibly costing Nick a vote he might need someday.
She took a piece of scrap paper from the lady’s desk, copied the name Leslie from the placard and wrote “Nice to meet you, Leslie! Samantha Cappuano” and left it where she would see it when she returned to her post. There. Good deed for the day done.