“What’s this I hear?” Skip Holland asked as he manipulated his electric wheelchair through the big living room to greet them. Sam’s dad and his wife, Celia, had come out to the beach for a day but had chosen not to stay for the whole time. Sam suspected that he hadn’t wanted to disrupt their good time with his medical needs, but he’d never say so. “Is someone unhappy to be heading back to school?”
“Unhappy is putting it mildly,” Sam said.
“School is a necessary evil,” Skip said bluntly.
“I’m surrounded by educational rebels,” Nick said, throwing up his hands.
Scotty laughed. “I definitely landed in the right family.”
His statement hit Sam square in the heart. She loved hearing him say things like that, especially when they had reason to wonder if he would someday resent the limitations he would experience as he grew older surrounded by Secret Service agents watching his every move. For now, he was as happy and well-adjusted as could be—except when the first day of school loomed.
Sam bent to kiss her dad’s forehead, one of the few places he still had sensation after being shot on the job three and a half years ago. “How you doing, Skippy?”
“Hanging in, baby girl. How was the rest of the vacation?”
“Fantastic, delightful and amazing,” Sam said. “I can’t wait to go back next year.”
“A whole year.” Scotty moaned as he flopped on the couch. “I’ll never make it.”
“Go get unpacked, Drama Queen,” Sam said to her son.
“Do I hafta?”
“Yes, you hafta. And take a shower too.”
“And so it begins,” Scotty said to Skip, dismay radiating from him.
Skip laughed at his theatrics. “Part of being a man is doing things you don’t want to do because it’s the right thing. Just ask your dad. He knows all about it.”
“He knows all too well,” Sam said.
“Now you guys are making me feel bad for whining,” Scotty said. “Compared to Dad, I ain’t got no problems. And don’t tell me ain’t ain’t a word. It was used for effect.”
Sam cracked up along with her husband and father. What had they ever done for entertainment before Scotty came into their lives? She went to her son and hugged him. “I promise we’ll do everything we can to make the reentry as painless as possible, beginning with a bowl of ice cream as big as your head after you unpack and shower. Deal?”
He flashed that irrepressible grin that reminded her so much of Nick’s. Even though they didn’t share DNA, father and son were alike in many ways—except in their attitudes toward education. In that way, he was entirely Sam’s son. “Deal.” Dragging his suitcase behind him, he scampered up the stairs, the suitcase banging on every step as he went.
“That kid,” Nick said, shaking his head.
“Is the best,” Skip added. “I get such a kick out of him.”
“Don’t we all?” Sam said. “He has us firmly wrapped around all ten of his fingers, but we can’t let him know that or we’ll lose complete control of the asylum.”
“I know a little something about being wrapped around a certain someone’s little finger,” Skip said with a meaningful smile for Sam. “And if you don’t want him to turn out like you, proceed with caution.”
“Hey!” Sam laughed at the impish expression on the one side of her father’s face that hadn’t been left frozen by the stroke he’d suffered after being shot.
Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID, groaning loudly when she saw the number for Dispatch. “Not yet! I’m still on vacation until midnight!”
“You don’t have to take the call,” Nick reminded her.
“If they’re calling me before I’m officially back, whatever it is must be bad.” She flipped open her phone. “Holland.”
“Lieutenant, I was asked to inform you of a fatal drive-by shooting of a teenager in Southeast.” The dispatcher rattled off an address in the Penn Branch neighborhood, southeast of the Anacostia River. “Are you able to report to the scene?”
Sam’s stomach ached at the thought of a child roughly the same age as her own son being gunned down in her city. “I’ll be there.” She closed the phone and told her dad and Nick what’d happened.
“Ah crap,” Skip said. “The kids are the worst.”
“Sorry to hear it, babe,” Nick said, putting his arm around her and kissing her temple.
She looked up at him. “I have to go, even though I’m not officially back on duty yet. Hope you understand.”
“Of course I do. Just be careful out there.”
“I always am.” She kissed him, and then kissed her dad’s forehead again. “I’m going to change my clothes.” A crime scene was no place for another of the maxi dresses she’d bought for the beach.
“Let me know about the case when you get a chance,” Skip said.
“You know I will.” Sam dashed upstairs to the closet that Nick had made for her in the smallest bedroom and changed out of the dress and into jeans, a T-shirt and running shoes. She grabbed an MPD sweatshirt since HQ was like a meat locker this time of year with the AC set to frost.
Crossing the hall to her bedroom, she went to the locked drawer in her bedside table to retrieve her service weapon, badge and the notebook that she jammed into a back pocket of her jeans as she ran for the stairs. Adrenaline pumped through her as it always did when a new case required her focus.
In the living room, Nick waited to see her off.
“Did Dad leave?”
“Yeah, he said he’ll talk to you later.”
“And you’ll see to the bowl of ice cream as big as his head for the boy when he gets out of the shower?”
“I will,” he said with a smile.
“Tell him I’m sorry I had to leave.”
“I’ll do that too.” He kissed her. “Thanks for a great vacation. You have no idea how badly I needed it.”
“I think I have a small idea. Whatever happens in the next few weeks, we’ll handle it the way we always do. Try not to worry.”
“That’s like telling me not to breathe, but I can do it for you.” He kissed her again. “The whole world wants a piece of us right now, so be extra vigilant. Don’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”
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