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.