Marie Force - Fatal Chaos

As a modern, independent woman, she ought to hate when he showed his alpha side, but she didn’t hate it. She loved that he was so protective of her. “I won’t. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Liam opened the front door for her and nodded to her as she headed for the ramp and the tricked-out black BMW Nick had outfitted for any possible on-the-job emergency she might encounter. The windows and side panels were bulletproof, the technology so sophisticated she’d never understand how it all worked and she had provisions for three days off the grid if it ever came to that.

As she drove the short distance from her Capitol Hill home to the crime scene, she called Freddie.

“Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you. Did you hear some hoodlums in Southeast threw a welcome party for me?”

“I got the call, and I’m on the way. But aren’t you off duty until midnight?”

“They called me, gave me the choice, and I’m on the way too.”

“Oh good. I hate cases involving kids. I’m glad you’ll be there.”

“Do you have anything more about the kid who was killed?”

“I know as much as you do.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a few.” Sam tossed the phone to the passenger seat and pressed down on the accelerator, eager to get back in the game. She couldn’t imagine any other life for herself than one that included chasing down murderers and throwing their guilty asses in jail.

If things went sideways with Nelson and Nick became president, would she be forced to give up her job? When he became vice president, they learned that only the president, vice president, president-elect and vice president-elect were required to have Secret Service protection. That was how she’d managed to hang on to her job, for now, without a detail in tow. But being first lady would be a whole new ballgame, and she was under no illusions about what that would probably mean for her.

“Take your own advice and don’t think about that until you have to.” The very thought of being sidelined in the gilded cage that was the White House made her break out into a cold sweat that had her turning off the AC and opening the window to let in the stifling humidity.

The unusually heavy traffic was indicative of a home game for the DC Federals baseball team, one of several possible explanations for gridlock on the Sunday night of a holiday weekend.

Sam drove into the Penn Branch neighborhood, made up of a mix of middle-class single-family homes and poverty-ridden housing projects. The neighborhood formed a triangle between Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast and Branch Avenue Southeast. Sam pulled onto Hilltop Terrace Southeast. Rows of townhomes lined the street, which was currently filled with emergency vehicles. She parked behind a squad car and took off toward the epicenter of action half a block away.

Patrol had taped off the area where a crowd had formed around the covered body. From the other side of the street, Sam saw Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Lindsey McNamara working her way through the large crowd with her deputy, Dr. Byron Tomlinson.

Sam zeroed in on a wailing black woman being supported by two equally distraught young women. Her gut clenched with empathy for the woman, who had to be the victim’s mother. How anyone survived losing a child to violence was beyond her. She could barely stand to work cases that involved kids.

“What’ve we got?” she asked Officer Beckett, who greeted her at the tapeline.

He held it up for her to go under. “Jamal Jackson, fifteen, picked off in a drive-by as he was walking home with friends.”

“Do we have the friends?”

Beckett nodded toward the stairs of a nearby townhouse where two traumatized teenage boys sat on the stoop under the care of another Patrol officer and two EMTs.

“The mom was all over him when we arrived,” Beckett said, letting her know their crime scene had been compromised.

“Let me see.” She followed Beckett to the covered body and squatted for a closer look as he lifted the fabric to reveal the handsome boy who’d been struck in the right side of the head by the bullet. A tragic waste of a young life.

Sam glanced up at Lindsey, noting her red hair was up its customary ponytail and her hazel eyes brimmed with compassion. “Let me get the mom out of here before you get started, Doc.”

“Good idea. And welcome back. We missed you.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Sam stood. “What do we know about the family?” she asked Beckett.

He consulted his notebook. “Danita Jackson, single mom of three. Jamal was her youngest. Those are her daughters, Misty and Tamara, with her. Misty told me he’s never been in any trouble. Honor roll student, hard worker, plays basketball in a rec league and at school.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered.

“You said it, LT.”

“How’d they hear about it?”

“One of the friends called Tamara.”

She took a deep breath and sought the fortitude she needed to talk to Jamal’s devastated mother and sisters. “Mrs. Jackson.” Sam showed her gold shield. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, MPD.”

“We know who you are,” one of the daughters said.

Sam had become accustomed to that response since Nick became vice president. “May I have a word with you across the street?”

“This way, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales said as he arrived on the scene with Freddie. They cleared a path for Sam to escort the three women to the other side of the street and down the block, away from the fray of first responders, neighbors and reporters who’d begun to arrive.

“I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Sam kept half an eye on the reporters who were being waylaid by Beckett and the other Patrol officers.

“I don’t want your sympathy,” Danita said between sobs. “I want the person who killed my baby!” She began to wail, and her daughters tried to comfort her through their own distress.

“I want that too, and I’ll do everything in my power to find the person who did this.” Sam withdrew the notebook from her back pocket. “Can you tell me where he was coming from?”

“They went to see the new IMAX movie at the Air and Space Museum.” Danita wiped tears from her face. “My baby wanted to be an astronaut. He was obsessed with space and flying. He was going to make something of himself.”

Sam’s heart broke as she took notes. “Did your son have any conflicts with anyone?”

“Not that I knew of. Everyone liked him. He had lots of friends.”

“And no involvement with gangs?”

“Absolutely not! He knew I’d have his ass if he even talked to those people. I stayed on top of him. I always knew where he was and who he was with. I did everything I could to keep him out of trouble. How could this have happened to my son?” She broke down again, and her daughters tried to comfort her as tears ran down their faces. In a softer tone, she said, “He was a good boy, Lieutenant. A son any mother would be proud of.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. We’ll do everything we can to get justice for Jamal.”

“What will it matter?” Tamara asked bitterly. “It won’t bring him back.”

“No, it won’t, but it’ll ensure that whoever did this can’t do it to anyone else. I’ll need contact information for each of you.” She handed her notebook and pen to Misty. She wrote down the information and returned the notebook to Sam.

Sam gave her a business card. “If there’s anything I can do for any of you, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call. My cell number is on there.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Danita said. “I so admire you and your husband. I never dreamed that this is how I might meet you.”

Sam squeezed her arm. “Please call me if I can help.”