Excerpt of Words Of Conviction by Linda J. White

1 Mackenzie Graham leaned toward the flickering candle, her fork poised above the broiled Chilean sea bass arranged artfully before her on a square, black plate. Her instincts told her that her companion was about to take the bait.

Across the table, Senator Bruce Grable cut lustily into his steak. He looked James Bond handsome, his dark hair perfectly edged in silver at his temples, his blue eyes set wide, his jaw strong. Silk palms and ficus trees separated the white-shrouded tables, giving the illusion of privacy in the trendy new Washington restaurant. “So tell me,” Kenzie said looking intently into Grable’s bright blue eyes, “what made you decide to get into politics?”

“I wanted to help people,” he said, stabbing a piece of steak and thrusting it into his mouth.

“That’s the way I see my job, too, Senator—helping people connect.” Kenzie smiled demurely. She tossed her head and as she did, her blond hair brushed her bare shoulders. She saw his eyes follow the movement. The senator was on his third marriage but he clearly hadn’t stopped looking. “Your daughter must be about to start school.”

He smiled. “Zoe? Yes. She starts kindergarten in the fall.” Grable had been quick to pull out pictures of the little blond five-year-old when they first sat down.

“You’re sending her to private school.”

“Of course.” Grable took a sip of his wine.

“And you told me your older children are in college,” Kenzie shook her head, “I don’t know how you do it on just a senator’s salary!”

“I know. The taxpayers think what we make is a lot, but they don’t know the expenses we have!” Kenzie smiled. “That’s why we’d like to help.”

Grable swallowed. His eyes flickered and she knew he was once again considering her offer.

“When would it be delivered?” he asked.

She reached down, pulled a bulging GQ magazine out of her tote bag, and handed it to him, watching his face carefully. “Twenty-five percent. I can supply the rest as soon as the first contract is signed.”

The senator kept the magazine low, nearly under the table, while he deftly slipped out the envelope hidden inside. Looking down, he peeked at the contents, then tucked it into the breast pocket of his suit coat. It looked like he’d done it before, many, many times. “And all you need is some help with the Department of Defense?”

She nodded. “An inside track on those contracts.”

“I can do that,” he said, lifting his glass.

“Great!” Kenzie raised her glass to meet his.

The couple at the next table stood up, stepped past the palms, and approached them.

“Senator Grable?” the man said. Tall, with salt-and-pepper hair, the man’s sharp gray suit contrasted nicely with his white shirt.

Grable turned to look at him.

“Special Agent James Anderson, FBI,” the man said, opening a leather credentials case and showing it to the senator. “You’re under arrest, sir.”

“What?” Grable pushed his chair back and stood up, his face red, his voice angry.

“Selling influence, sir. That’s illegal.”

“Special Agent Toni Carroll,” Anderson’s partner said, flashing her own creds. “Turn around, and give me your hands. Do you have any weapons?” She looked small next to Grable, but her voice had an unmistakable tone of authority.

“Weapons? Are you . . .”

“You have the right to remain silent.”

Grable looked at Kenzie in disbelief. “Who are you?” the senator demanded, spit flying in Kenzie’s direction.

“Special Agent Mackenzie Graham,” she said briskly. “Oh, and don’t worry about the tab, Senator—the director will pick it up.” She threw her black shawl over her shoulders, reached down for her purse, and headed for the door. “Thanks, Paul,” she said to the maître d’ as she walked past him. “Jim will settle up with you.” * * *

“Great job, Kenzie,” Jim said a few minutes later, standing next to her car in the parking garage. “You got everything we needed.” He smiled.

The night air felt cool, a welcome relief from the hot August day. Kenzie placed the recording device she’d been wearing in an evidence bag labeled with the case number. She signed and dated the bag, noting the time, and handed it to the older agent who signed the bag as well, establishing the legal chain of custody that would prove crucial in a trial.

“You’re not going to come celebrate with us?” he asked.

Kenzie shook her head. “I’ve got to get home to Jack. And I’ve got to stop by the office and pick up some work.”

Jim’s gray eyebrows narrowed. “The boss giving you a hard time?”

“He still thinks psycholinguistics is voodoo science and because I’m short on street experience, he’s convinced I’m not tough enough to be an agent.” Kenzie sighed. “I think it’s his personal mission to break me. So he’s finding loose threads in my old cases and doubling my work.” She frowned. “What am I supposed to do? The Bureau needed me at the Academy, temporarily anyway. I can’t help it if that makes him short one agent at the field office.”

Jim shook his head. “You do great work, Kenzie. Don’t let him bug you.”

Kenzie thanked him. She started to put the key in the lock of her dark red rental car, then froze. A spider was crawling across the door handle.

Jim’s cell phone rang. “Hold on,” he said, touching her arm. She wrenched her eyes off the spider and turned toward him. “Anderson. Yes. What? When?” Cradling the phone with his shoulder, he pulled a pen and a small notebook out of his pocket and began jotting notes. “OK, OK . . . right. She’s right here. I’ll tell her. Fifteen minutes, if not sooner.” He clicked the phone off and looked at Kenzie, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?” she asked.

“D.C. police have responded to a possible kidnapping, 3217 27th St. NW.“Senator Grable’s house?” A jolt of adrenaline ran through Kenzie.

“His five-year-old daughter is missing.”

“Zoe? This happened tonight?” Kenzie’s heart raced.

Jim nodded. “While we were in the restaurant. The Bureau’s been called out. That was the case agent, Scott Hansbrough. You know him?”

She could barely breathe. “He’s why I’m with the Bureau.”

“He wants you there.”

“Got it!” She turned back to the car and jerked the door open.