Chapter 3

Not even lunch at Carlito's could seem to get Sam's mood out of the dumps. He ordered iced tea, which told Fiona that he was disturbed, but she didn't need to hear his order to know. It sometimes scared her how well she knew Sam, almost as well as Michael, but that day she was seeing him in a state of depression like she'd never seen in him before. He was tired of the spy games and how unsettled life had become. So was she. But the concept of someone having the power to wipe out your existence on paper was a new, demoralizing twist. Other than finding a solution, there was nothing she could do. If only Jesse would get there. He might have some ideas or connections to help right Sam's world again. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Jesse walking up the sidewalk and heading their way, and she put on a smile of hope.

"Hey, people, what's shakin'," Jesse greeted them with a cheerful smile. One look at Sam slumped in his chair and staring at the papers on the table before him was enough to give him an answer. "Okay, whatever the problem is, it can't be that bad, can it?"

Fiona glanced at Sam and watched Jesse sit across from him. "Sam's dead."

"Well, he looks like he's kind of depressed, but..." Jesse studied Sam, who gave Fiona a critical eye.

"He's not actually dead," Fiona huffed. She explained the situation, and as she showed him the death certificate and related the morning's activities, Jesse's eyes widened as he took in the seriousness of the course of events.

"Wow. So who would want you dead, Sammy?"

"I don't know. Right now I just wanna get this fixed. Before you got here, I called my bank. All my assets are frozen until I can prove I'm alive," Sam replied and moped even more, supporting his head with a propped up fist.

"I don't know what you're worried about, Sam. I'm sure Elsa will spot you a twenty or so," Fiona said with a smirk. She was trying to poke him out of his doldrums, but her remark rewarded her with an icy glare. Chastised, Fiona switched gears and leaned forward, smiling and patting his hand on the table. "It's okay, we will get this worked out, you know, without Michael's help." The chilly tone of her voice was a sign of some festering emotions. Sam and Jesse knew how devastated Fiona was when Michael took off with the CIA, and as time passed, her anger manifested itself at the most inopportune times, like when someone else suffered an injustice.

"You know, I could do some checking on this accident that claimed our John Doe," Jesse volunteered. "I can look into your past, Sam, and see if there's anyone there who might have a reason to do this to you."

"I appreciate that, Jesse. Right now all I can think about is trying to get my life back." Sam took a sip of his tea.

"Jim is working on that," Fiona assured him. To Jesse, she said, "The city coroner, Jim Mancuso, is working on his end to have the death certificate nullified. After that, it should be pretty simple getting Sam back in the system as alive."

"Great. So we just have to figure out the who and the why," Jesse exclaimed with a smile.

"If someone did this to go after Sam, it could get dangerous," Fiona warned.

Jesse scoffed. "Like I'm not used to that? Hanging with you guys on a good day is hazardous enough." He chuckled as the server brought a plate of nachos to the table, the cheese dribbling off the edge of the platter. Pointing to it, he said, "See what I mean? That's a heart attack waiting to happen."

"And you're going to help us eat it, aren't you," Fiona retorted with a smirk.

"Damn right," Jesse replied and grabbed a chip laden with meat, cheese, and peppers. "Oh yeah, this'll clear the sinuses."

Sam picked at the appetizer and ate only part of his Cuban sandwich while Jesse interrogated him about his past and forced him to dig deep to see if there was someone who might have something against him. A lot of memories came flooding back, but nothing that he thought was useful. Still, he told Jesse what he could.

"Don't worry about it," Jesse said as he pulled out his wallet. "I'll go back to the office and see what I can find. Sam, you and Elsa should just get away for a few days, let me and Fi take care of this. There's not much you can do until the coroner does his part, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose." The more he thought about it, the more downtrodden he became. "Trouble is, Elsa is leaving for a four day trip to Vancouver, and I was planning on going along. Now, without a valid passport, I'm stuck here."

"Well, maybe you can give Virgil a call and see if he'll come from the Bahamas and hang out," Jesse suggested with a hopeful raise of his eyebrows. "Just keep him away from Maddie and you won't have to worry about Mike wanting to kill you."

"Oh, thanks, pal. That's a nice thought there," Sam protested, but the joke did its work. A crack of a smile appeared on his lips. "You guys, just don't worry about me. Somehow, I'll get used to the idea of being the client for once."

Sam took his leftovers, said goodbye to Jesse and Fiona, and walked to the hotel by himself. Fiona gave him a hug, which he wasn't expecting, and he felt the love and concern in it. He gave her a quick squeeze of silent assurance that he would be okay. Jesse promised they would get to the bottom of it. He trusted them both with his life, literally, so he should have felt better about walking away and leaving his problem at their feet.

Maybe it was the idea of being powerless that rubbed him the wrong way. The dead don't care, but Sam was alive and breathing for real, and as he walked through the sea of humanity lounging in the open cafes, sipping drinks, eating, enjoying life, Sam was in a frame of mind that made it easy to feel sorry for himself. As he walked to the hotel and watched the people around him living life and enjoying the day, he felt invisible. What if he really did die? Would anyone really care? Outside of Elsa, Fi, Jesse, Maddie, and maybe Mike if he found out, really, who would do more than blink at his obituary in the paper? His ex-wife wouldn't, that was for sure. She might even be happy, although he hadn't contacted her in years until he finally went through the process of getting a divorce from her. That alone was an operation worthy of calling in favors to some of his contacts in the government. Those same resources for intel would probably be relieved that he wouldn't be calling them anymore. Dixon came to mind and he smirked, but the gloom of not being remembered by more than a handful of people came down on his shoulders heavier than the humidity in the air.

Before he could drag himself down into a real pity party, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and didn't recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. Maybe someone was calling with a job. "It's Sam."

"Mr. Axe, it's Jim Mancuso." He hesitated. "I'm sorry. When you were in here with your friend and I showed you the file, I'm afraid you didn't see everything."

"What do you mean?" Sam halted in front of a shop window. "What weren't you telling us?"

"It's not that I didn't tell you everything. I did. I discovered that a bag of evidence wasn't placed in the file." He let out a breath of annoyance. "My assistant left it in a bin to be filed later. It was properly bagged and tagged, but never put away."

"Well, what is it? What's in the bag?"

"The remnants of clothing, the watch I told you about, and a set of dog tags."

"Dog tags? I never wear mine, not since I left the Navy."

Mancuso let out a breath. "The tags have your name on them, your Social... um, what's your blood type?"

"O negative. And it should read that I'm Catholic, or at least I used to be. Crap, those tags are the same, aren't they." Sam picked up his pace toward the hotel. "I'm on my way to where I live right now..." A dreadful sinking feeling took over in his stomach. What if someone broke into the penthouse and stole them? A thought came to mind, and he asked, "Hey, is there by any chance a dent in one of those tags?"

"No." Mancuso paused a moment while he studied the dog tags. "Come to think of it, they look like they're in mint condition. Why?"

"Well then," Sam breathed. "They aren't mine. One of my tags had a ding in it from when I was almost shot with a twenty-two."

"A twenty-two?" Mancuso sounded doubtful.

"It was on shore leave. Don't ask." Sam let out a sigh and released some tension. Finally they had something that his enemy didn't have.

"Okay. Well, like I said, there's nothing wrong with these other than being a little soot covered. So it seems to me that someone was trying to fake your death and use these as proof. Only thing is, when I do my investigation, I don't take something like this as evidence that this is the same guy lying on my table. Whoever did this was sloppy."

"Sloppy or desperate. My friends are working on this with me, but I might need to get back to you on this, so..."

Mancuso interrupted him, his voice tense but eager. "Oh, by all means give me a call! Not very often that I get a real mystery surrounding one of the corpses that comes through my office. If you need any assistance, just let me know."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Sam neared the entrance to the hotel, said goodbye to Mancuso, and made a straight line for the elevators.

"Sam. Sam!"

He was so focused on his task that he didn't hear Elsa calling after him until he reached the elevator and punched the button to call the car. She touched his shoulder and he whirled, his hand going for the sidearm he had hidden under his shirt. Elsa's eyes grew wide and she backed off, but she didn't hold the action against him. She would be just as upset if someone had been doing this to her. The hard look in his eyes softened and he reached out a hand for hers.

Putting on a false smile of reassurance, he asked, "What's up, Baby?"

"I was hoping you'd have good news," she said. "We were supposed to go sailing this afternoon, remember?"

"Yeah." The word came out on an exhale. "I don't think that's gonna happen today, sweetheart. I have to go upstairs and find my dog tags."

"Your dog tags?" She tilted her head, puzzled. "That's easy, they're in your jewelry box."

He knew her too well to ask. Instead, he smiled and squeezed her hand. The elevator arrived, dinging, and the door opened. He let the people inside get out while he tugged Elsa's hand in a subtle gesture of invitation. She smiled and stepped forward with him into the elevator. He would find the tags, reassure himself that no one had taken them, and then Elsa could do her magic and make him feel more alive than he had since he woke up that morning and discovered that he was dead.

Sam led the way to the bedroom, but at the moment the last thought on his mind was Sammy time. He and Elsa closed in on the teakwood box whose top was covered with intricate carvings. He picked it up years ago in a port in Southeast Asia, and after all these years it still looked like it did the day he bought it. He snapped open the cover and the drawer inside swung open with the cover. Beneath it, a removable tray slid out to reveal the only piece of jewelry he kept there. The dog tags. Sam set aside the tray and pulled out the dog tags. Beside him, Elsa let out a soft breath.

"There they are, just like I said."

"Yes, and they're definitely mine," he added as he held up the chain so the tags twisted in the light. The dent in the one tag was clearly visible. Satisfied, he nodded and let the tags down to the red velvet, barely making a sound, and the chain dribbled around them.

"I don't understand what was so important about the tags," Elsa said.

"Someone replicated them, and whoever did it would have had access to my military records. Or they knew me well enough back in the day to remember what my tags read." Sam chewed on his bottom lip in concentration. "I've gotta call Jesse and let him know what I found." He turned toward Elsa, and he looked into her eyes and saw the deep worry in them. He smiled, pulled her into an embrace, and ran his hands over her back as he held her tight in his arms. When he pulled away, he said, "Don't worry, Baby. Just a quick phone call, and then you and I are going to have a fantastic afternoon together. I promise." He kissed her lips as a quick guarantee before leaving the room to call Jesse.

Elsa stayed behind and placed the tray back into the jewelry box. Something caught her eye. Over the past few years she'd given Sam a lot of gifts, many of them jewelry. Still, he seemed inclined to wear the chain, bracelet and pinky ring almost all the time. When she asked why, he was evasive and continued to wear them. On occasion, when they dressed up to go somewhere, he would break out the really nice things she'd given him.

She had a head for remembering everything she bought him, and now, as she made a mental inventory of what the tray held, it hit her like a two-by-four to the head that something was wrong. The ring, similar to the one he wore every day, was missing. Her eyes pored over every partitioned space, and the fancier bracelet and a matching chain were also gone. Chills ran up her spine. Someone besides the cleaning crew had been in their place and taken them. Elsa gasped, realizing that the culprit's fingerprints were probably all over the jewelry box and now she'd ruined them.

"Hey, are you okay," Sam asked, poking his head in the room.

Elsa blinked and turned to him, her face frozen into a horrified expression. "They're gone. The ring with the onyx stone, and the laser-cut bracelet and chain I gave you for Christmas last year. They're not here. Someone's taken them and I just ruined any fingerprint evidence that might have been left behind!"

"Oh, hey, it's okay." Sam's soft tone worked to soothe her agitation, and his arms did the rest. "There might still be some partial prints, but my guess is that this person is a pro, and they didn't leave anything behind."

"We should call the police..."

"No, we don't need the cops involved just yet." Sam pulled away and asked, "Can you get me your face powder?"

"My face powder? What do you want with that?"

"And one of those fluffy brushes you use to put it on. Trust me." He kissed her, turned and hurried out of the room. By the time Elsa produced her face powder and brush, Sam was back with some clear tape. "Thanks, hon."

Sam took the items from her, lay everything on the dressing table, and went to work applying the face powder to the jewelry box. He used quite a bit on the interior and exterior, enough for Elsa to stand with hands folded and her teeth working at her bottom lip.

"That powder is expensive, Sam."

He turned his head and glanced up at her. "Doesn't it matter to you that my life could be at stake here?"

"Of course it matters!" She gaped, surprised that he could even ask such a thing. "Sammy, you know that I love you, and I would do anything to help catch whoever is doing this."

"I thought so." The corner of his mouth tipped up into a smile. Then he went back to his work. After a few minutes he let out a deep breath and straightened, arching his back after being bent over for so long.

"What is it? Did you find something?" Elsa stood at his elbow, staring at the dusty box and wishing it would give up its secret.

"There are tons of prints on this thing, and I've taken a nice sample of them," Sam answered as he held up several examples. He captured the prints by picking up the powder on the tape and sealing them in with tape on the other side. They could easily examine them in the light coming from the floor to ceiling windows. "Now we'll need our prints to rule them out from this sampling."

He still had two sets of prints that he couldn't identify after he and Elsa made a set of their own. "Those must be the criminal's prints," Elsa exclaimed, fighting back the giddiness she felt helping Sam with his case.

"Maybe, maybe not. This set came from inside, and unless the ladies in housekeeping are pilfering our jewelry, these most likely belong to the person we're looking for."

Elsa learned that crime investigation wasn't as easy as they made it look on television. It took Sam the better part of an afternoon to determine that the prints inside did in fact come from one of the cleaning staff. He interviewed her and she admitted that she only put back a few items that Sam had left on the bathroom vanity one time. Knowing little more than when he started, Sam returned to the penthouse to tell Elsa the news. He wasn't planning on walking in and finding her neck deep in the private hot tub on the balcony. She smiled up at him, but as soon as she saw the grave look on his face, the expression faded.

"No luck, I take it."

Sam shook his head and exhaled as he replied, "None."

"Well then, I think you need this even more now," Elsa purred as she slipped to the edge of the hot tub that was closest to him, reached out, and tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Come on in, the water's really nice." He hesitated, and Elsa ran her hand up his inseam, a saucy smirk on her face.

Elsa knew how to push his buttons. Unlike his friend Mike, he didn't have the ability to turn off the attraction when Elsa turned on the charm when he was in the middle of something. He smiled, slow and lazy, as he stripped off his shirt. Piece by piece the clothing dropped to the decking. He had nothing to fear about being seen, because a privacy screen kept out prying eyes. He stepped over the short wall and the swirling, bubbling water kneaded his calf.

"Oh yeah, that's just what I needed." He laughed and immersed himself. He took the mojito glass Elsa handed him, sipped, and slid into place beside her on the seat. His free arm went around her and he was pleased to discover that she wasn't wearing anything either. After reporting to Fi and Jesse what he discovered, and coming back to Elsa in the hot tub, he sensed all his anxiety slipping from his shoulders the moment Elsa kissed him. He had a feeling he was in for a great ending to his afternoon.