Double Indemnity (21 page)

“Do you know how to use one of these?”

Sam's mouth almost dropped open. He'd been to the range with his father as a teenager, but he'd never enjoyed shooting like the other boys seemed to. Something about the unyielding metal under his fingers and the harsh kickback of the gun after release unsettled him. Still, he went, and he never told his father he didn't like it.

“I don't want it.”

“Take it, please.”

“I'll wind up shooting myself in the foot.”

“It'll make me feel better if I know you have some means of protection.”

“Yeah, well it won't make me feel better. Hey, I've lived in this neighborhood for years and I haven't gotten shot once yet.” He didn't bother to add he had
nearly
been shot twice—once during a mugging and once when he'd been on the street during a gang drive-by.

“Sam—”

“I'm not taking the gun, Nathan, and that's final. Okay?”

Nathan's frown deepened, and before Sam knew what was happening, he found himself pressed against the front door, caught between it and Nathan's body. Nathan tucked the gun into his own back pocket, and a frisson of fear and desire tingled up Sam's spine. It wasn't the first time Sam had ever seen Nathan act like an FBI agent, but it had been a while.

“You have no idea how much I want to make you obey.”

Sam's cock started to fill. “You couldn't.”

Nathan kissed him hard, tangling his hands in Sam's hair and holding him fast. His tongue slid, hot and lush, into Sam's mouth. The next time they broke apart, Sam gasped for breath. He'd pretty much decided being late for work would be worth it if he could get Nathan to fuck him. Just once. The thought it might never happen hollowed his insides with want.

“Take the damn gun.”

“No.” The word came out as a whimper—maybe a little less effective than he'd intended. But he didn't want a gun or the responsibility that came with it. “You told me yourself I'm not trained for this sort of thing.”

Nathan released Sam, and he sagged back against the door.

“All right. Have it your way.”

Sam couldn't be positive, but he thought he detected
this time
as a barely concealed subtext. Or maybe not. Wishful thinking wouldn't get him anywhere.

“Buy a can of pepper spray, then. And whatever you do, stay the hell away from the police.”

“Okay, okay.
Master
.”

He'd meant it as a joke, but Nathan didn't seem inclined to laugh. His eyes widened into a startled, almost innocent expression. And then they narrowed.

“Watch what you say,” he said. “Or you might get what you ask for.”

 

S
AM
'
S
HANDS
trembled on the steering wheel as he drove, a delayed reaction to everything that had happened at his apartment over the course of the morning.

The gun made everything real. Until then he'd been operating under the assumption that he was untouchable, but Nathan's intent to furnish him with a weapon proved the legitimacy of the danger. He worried his meddling had damaged whatever plan Nathan had in the works. And he finally realized how out of his depth he was. He kept checking his rearview mirror, skeptical of the car following him until it headed in a different direction.

Then there was Nathan's sexually charged threat or promise—Sam didn't know which—and his own reaction, which had been undoubtedly interested. He had no idea how the man had been able to get under his skin in such a short period of time and how he seemed to know the right buttons to push. Sam had purposefully goaded him too, knowing how Nathan might respond. He'd said Nathan couldn't get him to obey, but that had only been a half truth. Sam wasn't a submissive person by nature, but in the last twenty-four hours he'd begun to see a part of himself he'd never known existed.

He turned up the radio to drown out his thoughts, but they got louder too.

He made it to work in time to find the crew standing around drinking coffee to warm up. Sam cut the engine and slid out of the cab. He helped himself to a cup and a donut and half listened while the others shot the shit, belatedly realizing the breakfast was a kind of impromptu celebration. Juan's wife was expecting a baby, and given her age, the guys seemed to think this meant Juan possessed supersperm.

Yuri noticed something was up right away. He didn't ask about it, though, until lunch break. “What's the matter with you today? You're quiet. It's freaking me out a little.”

“It's nothing,” Sam said. “How are things in lovers' land?”

“Pretty awesome, actually. And don't think I didn't notice you trying to change the subject.”

“You know all my tricks.”

“You have a limited repertoire.”

Sam thumped his hand over his heart. “Ouch, that really hurts.”

“So seriously, you're jittery as hell. What's going on with you?”

“Nathan came back last night.” He glanced around to ensure the other guys were out of earshot.

“So please tell me you finally fucked?”

“The guy's wife just died, Yuri.”

“That good, huh?”

“May the fuck be with you.” Sam smiled in spite of himself, remembering.

“I'll take that as a hell yes.” Apparently getting laid regularly was making Yuri into something of a self-satisfied shit. Now Sam understood how his friends had suffered all these years. He sobered instantly, though, when the rest of the morning came flooding back—including Nathan's suggestion they shouldn't see each other again. There wouldn't be a repeat for a long time, if ever.

Yuri took the opportunity to launch into a story about Michael, and Sam tried his best to muster enthusiasm for his friend. At least one of them had a reason to smile.

The next day was more of the same, and the next. Sam slowly started relaxing again, not bothering to look over his shoulder every two seconds, slipping back into the rhythm of his life. November drifted uneventfully into December. Sam started thinking about the inevitable Christmas parties and merrymaking, wondering how he could get out of it again for another year. His grandparents wanted him to visit for a week, but buying a plane ticket to Florida was out of the question, and they didn't have the money to front the expense. And in one month, he'd be out of money for Tim.

In Sam's life, shit liked to pile up all at once. Rachel sent him an enigmatic, yet characteristically emphatic, text message as he was leaving for work.

Dude. Call me right the fuck now.

Got 2 work. Later?

Right. The fuck. Now.

Rolling his eyes, he hit send. She picked up instantly. “Where are you right now?”

“Heading out the door, why?”

“Because you need to turn on the TV. It's all over the news. Nathan has been arrested for murder.”

 

 

S
AM
STARED
at the television, his stomach bottoming out at the scene of Nathan being led up the steps of the station with his head held high. Sam could make out two of the cops—McCormick and Petersen. Each man held one of Nathan's arms, gripping him tightly right above the elbows. Petersen had a particularly smug look on his face, and if Sam could have lunged through the TV and taken him by the flabby throat, he would have. Nearby Chief Sheldon watched the proceedings with a stern expression.

Sam got the surreal feeling he was watching a movie, but there was no off switch on this flick. His knees buckled.

The headline
Husband Of Murdered Cop Charged With Murder
flashed on the screen, and not only on the local news. Sam flipped to CNN and saw Nathan's handsome profile there too. He didn't look indignant or angry, just resigned, and Sam remembered what the chief had told him weeks before.

The man is dangerous.

“What the hell is going on, Nathan?” he whispered as the
remnants of his hastily eaten breakfast threatened to rise.

“Sam? Are you okay?” Rachel's concerned voice broke through his racing thoughts. He'd almost forgotten he was on the phone with her.

“He didn't do it.”

“Do you want me to come over? I'm sure Yuri will understand if you don't go in today.”

“No, Rach. You don't know what I know. And I know Nathan didn't do this.”

“Well, why would they arrest him now, if he didn't do it? They must have new evidence. Sorry, baby. I hate to say it and I don't want it to be true. Okay?” He could hardly hear her over the rage boiling his brain. This was a setup, plain and simple, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

“You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“I'm going down to the station. Call Yuri and tell him for me, will you?”

“Do you think it will do any good? Sam, stay home. I'll come over, and we'll talk it through. If Nathan is innocent, you're not going to help the situation by storming down there with your panties in a bunch—”

“I'll talk to you later.” He flipped the TV off and went to pocket his phone, then thought better of it and silenced it first. If he knew Rachel, she'd be relentless until he agreed to sit tight, and he had no interest in sitting tight, not even after Nathan's warnings. This arrest changed things. All bets were off.

The station swarmed with reporters from all over the state. The pressroom, which wasn't large to begin with, was filled to capacity—claustrophobic with a lack of oxygen and fresh air. There wasn't a vacant seat to spare, so Sam hovered near the back of the room, keeping an eye on the front desk in case someone he knew appeared. It seemed unlikely Sheldon would make a statement so soon. Sam saw a couple colleagues from the
Gazette
, though he didn't suppose he could call them colleagues anymore. He hadn't been asked to write anything for the paper since the fluff piece on the mayor's plan. They gave him cursory nods, and he told himself he had as much right to be there as anyone else. He still had his blog.

His blog. Yeah, maybe it had become a joke, but he made a silent vow to get back into it, once all this blew over. He imagined the sort of exposé he could do if Nathan would allow it. People had a right to know what kind of crap the Stonebridge PD had been selling the past few years. Instead of cleaning up the streets, they were charging innocent people with crimes they didn't commit.

After an hour or so, Chief Sheldon entered the room and approached the podium to disperse the crowd. He used a certain
grandfatherly firmness and promised details would be released as they became available. He couldn't discuss an open investigation. A few tenacious stragglers remained behind, shouting questions at Sheldon as he disappeared through the door at the front of the room. Sam hung back too, and slipped out of the pressroom to approach the officer on duty.

“I'm here to see Nathan Walker.”

“I'm sorry, but if you hadn't heard, Walker is being detained.” If the guy thought sarcasm would deter Sam, he was wrong. And obviously new.

“I'll wait.”

“You're gonna be waiting a long time, pal. No visitors for Walker. I'm under strict orders.”

“Then I'd like to see Chief Sheldon.”

The guy wrinkled his forehead and said in a slow voice, like Sam was simple, “I'm sorry, but the chief is busy, so I'd suggest you move along.” He punctuated it with a long-suffering look.

“That's all right, Phelps, I'll take care of Sam.”

Sam turned to find Sheldon behind him. “I want to see Nathan,” Sam said.

Sheldon shook his head. “I'm afraid that's impossible.”

“What is he, in solitary confinement? I'm not gonna try and bust him out, but I have a few things I need to tell him.”

“Maybe we can arrange something tomorrow, once he gets transferred to county. But if I were you, son, I'd walk out the door and never look back.” He raised one of his remarkable eyebrows. “Remember when I told you Walker was dangerous? I was hoping the message might have sunk in, but apparently not.”

Sam shook his head. As close as Sheldon had been with his father, it didn't make him infallible. This was a mistake, a huge one, and Sam refused to leave until he saw reason. “You're wrong about Nathan. He didn't kill Emma, and I have the evidence to prove it.”

He was bluffing, but the chief didn't know that. He didn't seem very convinced, though. “Sam, with the kind of evidence we have against Walker, no jury in their right mind is going to let him off the hook.” He crossed his arms. “Come to my office, though, and let me hear what you have to say. Strictly off the record.”

Sam followed Sheldon with a lump in his throat. He wanted to hear the evidence against Nathan, but at the same time, he didn't know what he'd do if there really
was
evidence. No, he told himself, slowing his pulse through deep breathing. All of this was part of Nathan's plan, the one he'd been working on and couldn't tell Sam about. He'd obviously intended to get arrested. Sam just had to find out why.