“It’s not going to come to that. Barlow and Church won’t let that happen.”

“Katherine Hedlund sits in the Senate, too, and she’s none too pleased with how our case in Atlanta turned out. I mean, she told me to back off, but we neutered one of her biggest donors. There’s a possibility that Barlow and Church won’t be able to stop that train that’s barreling down on me,” I tell her, then pause for a moment and shake my head. “I’ve spent my whole career doing the work and doing my best to keep the stink of politics off me, but… here I am anyway.”

“I don’t think it’s possible to keep that stink off you. It’s just the nature of the beast in the Bureau these days. It’s an inherently political arena, and I think it’s always been that way. But I really don’t think Church is going to let them can you. After all, we make her look too good for her to allow that,” Astra says with a grin.

“I hope you’re right. But it’s still possible my career is going to get tanked because of other people’s political agendas,” I say, my voice thick with derision. “All the good we’ve done and all the lives we’ve saved don’t mean a damn thing because somebody decides we’re roadblocks to them moving up the ladder. It’s disgusting. It’s disheartening.”

“I hear you. But all we can do is our job. Everything else is going to work out how it’s going to work out. We’re just cogs in the machine, and there’s nothing we can do except keep moving forward and doing our jobs the best we can.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s just tough to swallow.”

“I know it is. And I wish I could say or do something that would change that fact. But I can’t. And neither can you. So, get your head on straight, let’s get into that building, and let’s see if we can find a missing girl, because that’s all we can control right now.”

The dark cloud that has been following me around since I arrived in DC doesn’t dissipate, but I know she’s right. My sour mood after my first hearing hasn’t improved one bit. It’s coloring my attitude and making me feel a lot more nihilistic than usual. It’s made me feel more pessimistic and has me asking, if only to myself, what the point of everything is if the good we’re doing can be undone by somebody’s political whim and agenda.

I’m forced to remind myself that Astra is right, though, and to get my head on straight. The job is all that matters. We’re saving lives. That’s what’s most important. It’s the point of what we’re doing, and next to that, the Machiavellian agendas of ambitious and greedy people don’t matter. All we can do is keep doing what we’re doing until we’re not allowed to do it anymore. All we can do is try to find Ashley Barlow, then let the chips fall as they may after that.

“Thanks, Astra,” I say.

“Anytime.”

We climb out of the SUV and cross the parking lot; I pull open the smoked glass door emblazoned with the Executive Solutions logo, letting Astra go in ahead of me. We step into a lobby that’s so blindingly white I feel like I need to put on a pair of shades. Everything around us is sleek and modern, and the amount of chrome everywhere makes me feel like we just stepped onto the bridge of a starship.

A giant monitor dominates the wall to our left playing a video of Lieb Tal outlining his company’s mission statement on one half of the screen while a slideshow showing Executive Solutions employees training, some of them from their service days, all smiling and hanging out together, plays on the other half. It’s like they’re trying to give what is inherently a violent business where death is an all-too-real possibility every single day a sleek, futuristic vibe that wouldn’t be out of place in Silicon Valley. It’s a really odd juxtaposition, but whatever, I guess.

The wall to our right is filled with photos of the company’s executives. The photo array is flanked by an American flag on one side and DC’s flag on the other. Half a dozen chairs are arranged around a pair of low coffee tables, and tucked away in the corner is a coffee service station. A twenty-something woman with copper-colored hair and dark eyes sits behind a chest-high desk across the room from us, watching.

“Good afternoon and welcome to Executive Solutions,” she says with a wide, bright smile. “What can we do to help you today?”

We walk over to the counter and quickly badge her. “Unit Chief Wilder and SSA Russo. We need to speak with Lieb Tal.”

“Is he expecting you?” she asks.

“I’m sure he is.”

“May I ask what this is in regard to?”

“It’s a personal matter,” I say. “He’ll understand.”

She looks uncertain, but quickly taps out a message on her keyboard. A moment later, we hear a chime as a response comes in from what I assume is the company’s internal messaging system. The woman reads Tal’s reply on her computer screen, then turns to us.

“He’s right in the middle of firearms qualifications,” she says. “But he said you can join him in the observation room.”

“Terrific.”

She pushes a button, and a door behind and to the right of her desk opens. We follow the woman’s directions through the labyrinthine corridors, passing offices as well as what look like classrooms. An observation window set into a wall to our left shows off an impressive training facility in the belly of the building, and we witness groups of men and women engaged in military-style workouts and self-defense training.

We take a right and follow another long corridor that ends at a steel door. Astra holds it open, and I follow her in to find Lieb Tal standing at a window overlooking an indoor shooting range. All eight lanes are filled with men and women in black tactical pants and black polo-shirts bearing the company crest on the left breast, safety goggles, and headphones, firing a variety of sidearms at paper targets.

“I apologize for not being able to meet with you somewhere a little more suitable,” he says, his voice faintly dusted with the accent of his Israeli heritage.

Nearly six inches taller than me, Lieb’s black polo shirt is stretched taut across the hard planes of his chest and stomach. The sleeves of his shirt strain around biceps that seem as big around as my thighs. He’s even better looking in person than in his picture, and he seems to be the living embodiment of that tired, old romance cliché—tall, dark, and handsome. Doing my best to ignore Astra’s smirk, I clear my throat and adopt my most professional face.

“No apologies necessary, Mr. Tal. This is as good a place as any to have a chat,” I reply. “I’m Unit Chief—”

“Blake Wilder,” he says as he turns to us. “And you are SSA Astra Russo, Chief Wilder’s longtime right hand. I do my homework, and your reputations precede you.”

Astra grins. “Some might say I’m her better half.”

Tal’s stoic face softens, and a corner of his mouth quirks upward. It quickly fades, though, and the sober expression returns. I’m curious to know what homework he’s done on us. But then, information is part of the man’s business, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.

“Please, call me Lieb,” he says, then, as if reading my mind, adds, “I spoke with Senator Barlow, and he told me I should expect a visit from you at some point. I assume you are here to talk about Ashley’s disappearance.”

“We are,” I reply. “What can you tell us?”

He shakes his head. “Sadly, nothing. On days Ashley has her piano lessons, her father does not want me shadowing her, preferring to give her some small bit of freedom, so I always pick her up at the studio at five p.m. sharp. I arrived to pick her up yesterday, and she was not there. I spoke with her instructor, and he said she did not show up for her lesson. I phoned Senator Barlow immediately after that to let him know.”

His story jibes with the one Violet told us. Lieb seems like a straight-forward kind of man who tells it like it is. Facts without embellishment or emotion. His demeanor is brisk and direct. Almost curt. I respect and appreciate that.

“Are you aware of anybody who might have been watching or following Ashley?” Astra asks. “Anybody she’d been having trouble with?”

He shakes his head. “No, she wasn’t having trouble with anybody,” he said firmly. “Nor was anybody stalking her.”

“Would you know for sure?” Astra presses.

“It is my job to know.”

“I do have a question about that, Lieb,” I say. “Your business has taken off. You’re very successful, and your company has a sterling reputation. And yet, you still insist on personally protecting the Barlows. Why is that?”

“Senator Barlow took me on when I was a nobody. When I was just getting started in the industry,” he replies. “He showed me loyalty when he didn’t have to. I choose to return that loyalty by continuing to serve…”

His voice trails off, and he looks away, an expression of sadness and shame crossing his features. He seems like a man who keeps his emotions in check, but cracks are forming in the façade of his self-control. I don’t need to be a clairvoyant to see how hard he’s taking this or how much he’s blaming himself for Ashley’s abduction. This is personal for him.

My gut is telling me he’s not our guy, but before I take him off my suspect list, I still have questions that need answers. He clears his throat and looks up at me, his expression stony. That moment of raw emotion has passed, and those cracks in the façade are suddenly patched over. He’s back in firm control of himself once more.

“Lieb, how would you characterize your relationship with Ashley?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Were you two close?”

“I am very fond of her, yes,” he replies.

“What would you say if I told you somebody thought you two might have been a little too close? Or were perhaps behaving a little inappropriately with her?”

His face grows scarlet, and his jaw muscles flex as he grits his teeth. Fire burns in his eyes, and his expression darkens as he stares at me, the offense he’s taking to my questions more than clear.

“Then I would tell you somebody is spreading filthy lies,” he says, his voice low and tight. “I’ve known Ashley since she was a little girl. I’ve watched her grow up—”