Fatal Reckoning (Fatal #14)(3)

“Nothing.” Sam gazed down at her dad. “We have to let him go because he wouldn’t want heroic measures.” Later, she’d probably wonder where the composure had come from. All she knew for certain was that her dad had demonstrated amazing grace since his devastating injury, and it was up to them now to let him go with the same grace in which he’d lived his remarkable life.

Angela went around the bed to try to comfort Celia, who was inconsolable.

Tracy wrapped her arms around Sam. Only with her sister’s warmth pressed up against her did Sam realize how cold she was.

As she wondered if he could still hear them, Sam thought about what she should say to him while she still could. But there was no need for last-minute platitudes. Nothing had been left unsaid between her and her father. He would leave this world knowing exactly where he stood with her and the rest of his family. Skip Holland had been loved and respected and adored by his wife and daughters, and had returned those sentiments tenfold.

They were all there, the four people he loved the most, when Skip took his last breath at 8:37.

Sam noted the time, because she knew it would matter. For a long time after his chest stopped moving, she continued to stare down at him. Through the fog of disbelief, she understood what had happened, and in one tiny remote part of her, she felt relieved for him. She’d never been a particularly religious person. However, the thought of Skip walking tall and proud, freed from the difficulties of his egregious injury, into the kingdom of heaven, brought badly needed comfort.

But when she thought about Celia, herself and her sisters, Skip’s beloved grandchildren, devoted sons-in-law, colleagues and friends—the many people who had loved him—she ached for everyone who would be left to go on without him. And in the corner of her soul that belonged to her family in blue, she seethed with rage, directed at the nameless, faceless criminal who’d taken Skip from them far too soon.



* * *



ON THE WAY home at last, Nick thought, watching the Paris skyline get smaller as Air Force Two climbed to altitude. He had a million things to do, emails that had given birth to more emails while he’d been away, briefing documents to review before he returned to the White House on Monday and a press corps on board hungry for interviews.

But all he could think about was eight more hours until he could see Samantha. That felt like an eternity after missing her terribly for an endless week apart.

They were absurd. He knew it. She knew it. They didn’t care who knew it. What had started as a crazy wildfire of attraction the night they met had been denied for six long years until they were reunited at a crime scene, of all places. Sometimes Nick thought they were still making up for lost time almost two years after finding each other again.

That was the best explanation he had for the absolutely ridiculous love they had for each other, the kind of love that made a life worth living. He was eager to get home to spend time with Scotty and the littles, who had recently joined their family. But he was absolutely desperate to see his wife, to hold her, kiss her, make love to her, breathe her in and stare at her gorgeous face. He could do that for hours and never get tired of the view. Her face was his favorite view in the world.

A knock on the door that separated his cabin from the rest of the plane drew Nick out of his thoughts. “Come in.”

His lead Secret Service agent, John Brantley, Jr., stepped into the room, his expression serious and professional as always. Brant rarely cracked a grin or removed the all-business facade that made him such an effective agent.

“What’s up?”

“We received a call from Agent Nixon.”

As Debra Nixon was his son’s lead agent, Nick’s first thought was for Scotty. “What?” He fought back a burst of panic.

“Your father-in-law.”

“What about him?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you that he passed away a short time ago. Mrs. Cappuano, her sisters and stepmother were with Deputy Chief Holland when he passed.”

Sam. Oh no, no, no. “I need to speak to my wife.”

“We’re attempting to reach her now. She’s not answering her phone.”

“Call one of the other agents and have them find her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nick’s entire body felt cold with shock and despair as he imagined Sam dealing with such an awful loss, and while he was hours away from her. He’d never felt more useless or despondent as he thought about what she must be going through.

Brant returned a short time later, speaking on a secure satellite phone. “Hold on just a moment. Here he is.” He handed the phone to Nick.

“Sam?”

“I’m here.” Her dull, flat tone told him so much but nowhere near enough.

“Babe… I’m so, so sorry.”

“Thank you. I know you loved him too.”

“I did. So much. I would give anything to be there with you right now.”

“I wish you were here too.”

“What happened?”

“Celia called when she couldn’t wake him. The paramedics came, but I told them he wouldn’t want to be resuscitated.”

Oh God, she had been the one to make that call? Nick closed his eyes, put his head back against the seat and released a deep breath, thinking about what it must’ve cost her to make that decision on her father’s behalf. “What can I do for you?”