xxxxx

chapter three

xxxxx

we are bedrock, we're underground, we are sharp as the rain
we are gathering pace, we are thunder wrapped in cellophane
we are running from the storms of our youth into more of the same
-Thea Gilmore, "Inverigo"

xx

Washington, DC
April 4, 2003
6:40 pm

Two weeks later, Martin found himself once again in his office late at night reading a New York Times headline. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the story on the bottom right-hand corner of the front page: FBI CATCHES SERIAL RAPIST AT LAW SCHOOL.

Once again, he turned to the inside pages of the newspaper and gazed earnestly at the photograph of the two FBI agents who had risked their lives by going in on a sting operation to draw out the rapist and kidnapper. Martin recognized both women, of course, from the memorial service just two weekends prior: the petite dark-haired woman whom the caption identified as Special Agent Naomi Russell, and the slightly taller blonde woman who had been haunting his dreams every night. Samantha.

He hadn't even spent ten minutes with her, but he was certainly taken. He found it refreshing that she acknowledged who he was but didn't fall all over herself because of it. It had been so long since anyone had given him that courtesy; he hadn't even bothered going on dates with anyone since he'd announced his candidacy for the open Senate seat the previous year. After watching his two sisters both happily married, it seemed pointless to go out with women who were only interested in his rising status in society.

Societal status was not why he had finally decided to go into politics. It was more an unfortunate side effect that he was slowly learning to deal with.

Martin had her number written on a post-it note in the top drawer of his desk, it hadn't been hard to track down once he put his connections to use, but he hadn't yet gathered up the courage to call her. Someone that beautiful, he told himself sternly, definitely has a significant other of some sort. Although at times he would remind himself that he hadn't noticed a ring.

But still, he couldn't bring himself to call her. He wanted to, but what would the use be, even if she happened to be single by some stroke of luck?

"Senator Fitzgerald?" His secretary, Beverly, knocked on his door before entering. "Your aunt is holding for you on line B."

"Thanks," he smiled, glad for the interruption. "And Beverly?"

"Yes?"

"It's time to call it a night. Go home, I'll be fine finishing up here on my own."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Of course. Go pick up your daughter from the airport, it'll be a nice surprise for her."

Beverly was an older woman of almost 60, and she had been talking non-stop all week about her only daughter coming home from college for the weekend. The flight was due to get in at Dulles at 8:00, according to the memo he had seen lying on her desk.

"Thank you, sir. Have a good weekend!"

He nodded at her as she left, then hit the 'talk' button on his office phone.

"Hey, Aunt Bonnie!"

"Hey, Marty. How are things down there in Washington?"

"Same old, same old. If you think CSPAN is interesting, the live show is about twenty times better."

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, let's not talk about that."

"You seem kind of down, sweetheart. Are you doing okay?" Martin could fool thousands of people every day, but never his aunt.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just wish I were doing something more to help people instead of spending time here just talking about it." He signed audibly, and Bonnie took her time before responding.

"Are you regretting it?"

"I don't know. I mean, I know I can do more for people here than I could when I was working out of the Dalton Corporation." He was referring to the business he had done independent financial consulting for before he had started into politics as was always the plan.

"Things will get easier, Marty. After all, it hasn't even been three months. You can't save the world in three months, sweetheart, no matter how much you want to."

Trust Aunt Bonnie to put things in perspective, even if only a little.

The summer Martin was four years old, he decided he would learn how to swim. He had spent most of June and July at his aunt and uncle's, and he had felt so jealous of his sisters and older cousin Jamie when they went to the neighborhood pool.

Uncle Roger had been skeptical, not sure if he was quite ready yet. But Aunt Bonnie made it her own personal project. Every morning, she took him to the pool right as it opened so that they would be the only people there. It took him three weeks of nearly constant trying, but he finally managed to take a few strokes on his own.

By the time he and his sisters went to join their parents at their summer home in Martha's Vineyard, he was very proficient at a four year old's version of the dog paddle, and to him, he might as well have been trained and ready for the Olympics. Bonnie and Roger had driven them up to meet their parents, and would be spending the weekend with the Fitzgeralds before returning home, as Bonnie and Roger both had to work on Monday.

That Friday evening, while the three girls built a castle with Roger's architectural advice, Martin and Aunt Bonnie headed straight for the ocean.

Four year old Martin, so excited to surprise his parents with what he'd learned, ran into the water until it came up to his shoulders and then immediately fell over. Bonnie, following close at his heels, immediately scooped him up, and he spit the salty water out of his mouth in disgust and embarrassment.

"Hey there, buddy? Why so fast?"

Martin coughed again and wrapped his arms around Aunt Bonnie's neck. "What was that?"

"That was the undertow, Martin. It's really strong, and you have to be careful or else it will sweep you out to sea. You can be careful, right?"

Martin nodded.

"Okay, then. Let's go!"

She took his arms from around her neck and pushed him back into the water. He took a few strokes, and then looked back at her for reassurance. She smiled and stepped along with him, guiding him until he felt comfortable to paddle around on his own.

He couldn't see his parents back on the shore and didn't know to look, but from their chairs perched on the beach, Victor and Lydia Fitzgerald were beaming.

"So, enough about me," Martin said finally. "How's Ava?"

Bonnie Toland was all smiles and laughs about her only granddaughter, Jamie's little girl who was just five months old.

Twenty minutes later, aunt and nephew said their goodbyes before hanging up the phone. It was only then that Martin noticed his cell phone had managed to vibrate itself off of his desk.

He bent down to pick it up, flipping it open only to discover that in half an hour, he had missed 12 calls from his sister and his mother.

This cannot possibly be good, he thought to himself as he pressed the preset speed dial to his sister's cell.

xx

New York City
7:30 pm

Samantha sat in the corner booth at Starbuck's, nursing her second vanilla latte as Naomi sat across from her, looking at her own mug as though it were the most interesting thing in the entire world.

The two had been graciously given the day off after six straight days of undercover work in a sting operation to catch the serial kidnapper and rapist who had taken three different young law students in the course of five weeks. After sleeping in until noon, Samantha had answered her messages and made plans to meet Naomi later. It had been a long time since she had a girlfriend her own age, maybe since college, and she had to admit that it felt good.

"So," Naomi finally started, staring up from her mocha, "When, exactly, were you planning on telling me about what happened with that Senator two weeks ago?"

"I keep telling you: nothing happened!"

"Nothing? So you didn't get harassed by his security detail and I'm blind and Danny made it all up?"

Samantha groaned. "Please, don't remind me. That was humiliating."

"Okay, then why don't you tell me the whole story?"

"There's nothing to tell! I went wandering because I needed to clear my head, and the next thing I knew, there he was. We talked for a few minutes, and then I got Jack's call. That was it."

"That's it?" Naomi raised her eyebrow expectantly, "He's also in politics, which means he's probably just your type. You know? Selfish, self-absorbed, insensitive..."

"Enough, enough!" Sam groaned. "That is not my type!"

"No need to get so defensive, Sam. But you can't prove me wrong, I've met Kellar, remember?"

"If you're so ready to give out dating advice, how come I haven't heard about any dates in the entire seven months I've known you, then?"

"That's my prerogative." She obviously either did not want to answer or would not be deterred from her original purpose. "What's your excuse?"

"Does it really matter? I mean, chances are I'll never actually see him again unless it's on CSPAN." She paused, considering her words carefully before she added, "And besides, he didn't seem like 'my type' at all. I'd bet that he's going to want the 2.2, white picket fence, golden retriever deal, and you know that's not me."

"2.2, white picket fence, golden retriever? Wait, so he was actually - dare I say it - nice?" Naomi was definitely enjoying herself.

"Yeah, yeah he was," Sam stuttered, thinking to herself that 'nice' didn't quite seem adequate. She figured it was nothing, that her mind was playing tricks on her, but she couldn't get their short meeting out of her head. She kept telling herself that it was all in her imagination and that she should stop, she was never going to see him in person again. But she couldn't seem to shake the memory of his smile ...

"And there isn't a guy out there who could change your mind about that?"

About what?, she silently cursed herself for getting distracted. Oh, the 'marriage' thing. Of course...

"Not for me, not in this world," she finally answered. "What about you?"

She watched as her friend visibly tensed, and regretted making her feel so obviously uncomfortable that she lost her normal G-woman cool.

"I was, uh, I was married once. It, it ended... badly."

That was obviously all that she wanted to share, and Samantha couldn't blame her. She, too, understood what that felt like. She nodded and reached across the table to pat Naomi's arm reassuringly. The two women sat in silence for several minutes before a familiar ring echoed above the din of the coffee shop.

"Russell -"

But Samantha didn't get a chance to overhear the conversation as her own phone rang almost immediately after.

"Spade"

"Sam?"

"Oh. Hey, Viv"

"I hate to do this to you, I know Jack told you to take this weekend, but we're... we're going to need you."

"Another case come in?"

"Yeah, two young girls were snatched from St. Michael's Emergency Room earlier this afternoon." Vivian paused, and Sam felt a sinking feeling lodge itself in the pit of her stomach that should couldn't quite place.

"What is it, Viv?"

"Sam, the girls who were taken... it's Kelsey and Bridget Byrne."

"You don't mean --?" Samantha felt herself gasp and couldn't finish her own question.

"Unfortunately yes, I do. The Deputy Director's granddaughters."

xxxxx