Page 92 of State of the Union (First Family 3)

“Thank you for that.”

She handed her card to Nick. “Call me if you need me. My cell number is on there.”

“Thank you for everything, Doc.”

“My pleasure.”

“Her pleasure…” After the doctor left the room, Sam crossed her arms. “What about my pleasure or lack thereof for four to six weeks?”

“I’d never let my baby go that long without pleasure.”

“This sucks, Nick. Like, sucks-the-biggest-of-gigantic-donkey-balls sucks.”

“I know, but we’ll make the best of it, like we always do. Don’t worry about anything. Four to six weeks is a blip in the grand scheme of things.”

Sam knew that was true, but the weeks stretched before her like an eternity, keeping her from her favorite things, such as chasing murdering scumbags, playing with her kids and having as much sex as possible with her gorgeous husband.

It sucked. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

Chapter Seventeen

After a restful night blissfully provided by the good drugs, Sam found out the next morning when the physical therapists arrived that the suck had only just begun. They wanted her up, out of bed and moving when that seemed all but impossible. And the good drugs had worn off by then.

She’d sent Nick home last night to be with the kids, and he’d promised to be in as soon as he could to spend the day with her. Thankfully, he was mostly on vacation this week and had the time to hang with her. Scotty had texted earlier to say they’d be in to see her after lunch.

Sam hoped she lived that long as the therapists put her through the paces of gently moving her surgically repaired hip. They had her holding on to a chair and moving her leg in a variety of directions that hurt like a mother-effer.

By the time they settled her back in bed with promises to be back later for another round—oh joy—Sam was weak and sweaty and more pissed off than she’d been in longer than she could remember. That she couldn’t even blame this on a murdering scumbag was the worst part.

Her spirits were raised considerably when her entire squad arrived, bearing a dry-erase board that immediately improved her mood.

“You guys know what I need,” she said.

“Yes, we do,” Gonzo replied. “We figured we’d rescue the nurses by letting you do some work.”

“Wise move. I think they’ve already had enough of me.”

“I can’t imagine how that can be with your sunny disposition and love of all things medical,” Freddie said as he placed a coffee and a bag of doughnuts on her tray.

Her mouth watered when she caught a whiff of sugary goodness. “Excellent sucking up.” She took a bite of a jelly doughnut and sipped her coffee. “Now tell me everything I’ve missed. Leave nothing out.”

They went through everything they had so far, which was basically nothing.

“We’re doing the canvass in the park later today at Audrey’s usual running time, but we’re not sure what that’ll yield, as most of the paths are still unpassable from the snow, so the regulars might not be out.”

“Work the perimeter of the park, too,” Sam said. “If they can’t run on the paths, they might run nearby.”

“Good idea.” Gonzo made a note. “I’ll ask Patrol for help. What else you got?”

“How hard have we looked at the boyfriend?” she asked.

“Not that hard,” Freddie said. “He seems legit from all appearances.”

“I’ve learned not to trust appearances. Let’s take a go at him and make sure his story holds up. Nothing confrontational. Just checking the boxes. That kind of thing. Ask for permission to dump his phone.”

Gonzo added it to his list.

“Look at his brother, too.” Her gut was telling her they were both clear, but women were often murdered by their domestic partners, so it was worth considering. “What else is going on? How was Gigi’s first night back?”

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