Fatal Destiny
“Sam decided.
“Been a while,” Freddie replied.
Sam didn’t like to think about the six months she’d spent undercover with the Johnson family. The investigation into a far-reaching drug ring in the city, a special assignment she’d been handpicked for, ended so badly she still had nightmares about the hail of gunfire that took young Quentin Johnson’s life.
Intellectually, Sam knew it hadn’t been her fault. Yes, she’d ordered her officers to return fire, but how could she have known that Marquis Johnson would be stupid enough to bring his young son to a crack house? In all the months she’d been undercover with the Johnsons, she had never once seen Quentin in that house. She was still struggling with the outcome more than nine months later.
“Don’t go there, Sam,” Freddie said, knowing how she’d suffered in the aftermath of that calamitous night.
“Hard not to.” For months after the incident, she had repeatedly woken in a sweat, after hearing Marquis’s tortured screams in her sleep.
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