Fatal Identity

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_b2f2ae0a-e6ea-571f-a540-aee9106f4bc4)

STANDING BEFORE THE Internal Affairs Board that would determine her fate, Detective Lieutenant Samantha “Sam” Holland was at peace. If they busted her down a rank or two, so be it. Her life would be a whole lot less complicated with someone else in charge of the Homicide unit. Sure, she’d rather be the boss, but having been the boss for more than a year now, she wouldn’t cry over letting someone else do it.

Of course, knowing there was no one else who could do it at the moment added to her peaceful, easy feeling. Her number two in command, Detective Sergeant Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales, had understandably been a mess since his partner was gunned down right in front of him, and as he was the only one the brass would even consider for the top spot, Sam wasn’t worried.

Would there be some sort of hell to pay for punching Sergeant Ramsey in the face? Probably. Would she do it again if she had it to do over? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’d had it coming after what he’d said. I would’ve thought Stahl had taken some of the starch out of you... That any member of the department could make light of what their former colleague had done to her was beyond reprehensible. And besides, how was it her fault that Ramsey had fallen down the stairs, broken his wrist and given himself a concussion? The guy needed to learn to take a punch.

Deputy Chief Conklin cleared his throat, and something about the way he wouldn’t look at her made Sam nervous for the first time. “Lieutenant, we’ve reviewed the testimony provided by you and Detective Sergeant Ramsey about the incident in question. While we agree that Sergeant Ramsey’s comments were unfortunate and unnecessary, your actions amount to conduct unbecoming an officer of your rank and stature.”

Sam kept her expression blank even though her insides began to quiver like a bowl of gelatin. Crap. Here it comes, the reduction in rank. It’s okay, she told herself. It’ll be okay. This, right here, was why police officers commonly referred to IAB as “The Bureau of Proctology.”

“The board has agreed that you are to serve a four-day unpaid suspension effective immediately. Your first day back will be next Wednesday at zero seven hundred. Furthermore, you’ll be requested to make a one-thousand-dollar donation to the Widows and Children’s Fund. Finally, you should be aware that U.S. Attorney Forrester is considering criminal assault charges. That concludes this hearing. We’re adjourned.”

Conklin stood to leave the room, while Sam remained riveted in place, at once relieved and filled with dread over the possibility of criminal charges. She’d really stepped into a steaming pile this time, but she still didn’t regret punching that mouthy son of a bitch.

“Lieutenant.”

At the sound of Captain Malone’s deep voice, Sam looked up at her commander.

He took her by the elbow to lead her from the hearing room. “Could’ve been much worse,” he said in a low tone that only she could hear.

“How serious is Forrester about criminal charges?”

“The question is how serious Ramsey is about wanting to see your ass in a sling. He’s the one forcing Forrester’s hand by demanding he press charges.”

“Of course he is. As far as I’m concerned, Ramsey can kiss my ass.”

“You shouldn’t have hit him, Sam.”

“You would’ve hit him too if you’d been there.”

“Possibly.”

“Definitely.”

They walked back to the detectives’ pit where most of her squad was waiting for the results of the hearing.

Detective Freddie Cruz, Sam’s partner and close friend, jumped up when she and Malone entered the pit. “Well, what’d they say?”

“You’ll be glad to know you’re rid of me for the next four days, but like the flu, I’ll be back.”

His relieved expression was almost comical. “Thank goodness.”

“Lieutenant,” Detective Jeannie McBride said, “while you were at the hearing a man was here asking to speak with you. He said it was very important, and he would only talk to you.”

“Who was it?”

“He refused to leave his name,” Jeannie said. “But he was very insistent about speaking only to the vice president’s wife.”

“He asked for me that way?” Sam said. “That almost guarantees I won’t see him.”

“That’s what we told him. I think he’s gone now.”

“Um, Lieutenant,” Malone said, “I believe you were on your way out?”

Sam scowled at him and then went into her office to shut down her computer and grab her coat, purse and gloves. Then she closed and locked her door before addressing her squad. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone, and call me if you need me.”

“Don’t call her about police business, however,” Malone said, “because she can’t help you with that for the next four days.”

“They know that,” she said. “Don’t you?”

Mumbled replies of “yes, ma’am” followed her question.

Speaking only to Cruz, she said, “Where’s Gonzo?”

“No-show,” he said softly.

She gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ll check on him.”