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“That’s kind of disturbing,” Astra says.

“How do you know Ashley was there?”

“I’ve got her RSVPs on her computer—along with some pictures she took from inside the club with some of these guys,” Rick tells me.

“Well, then. It looks like we’ve got our in. Whoever runs these mixers might be able to help us out,” I say, then turn to Astra. “Want to go clubbing?”

“This might be the first time I say I really don’t want to. I’m completely creeped out just thinking about it,” she replies.

“Too bad. Put on your big girl panties, and let’s go,” I tell her.

Astra rolls her eyes. “I think I’d rather be staring down a psycho with a chainsaw.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. You might just find somebody to strike up a mutually beneficial relationship with,” Rick teases.

Astra looks at me. “Can you fire him?”

“When we get back. I need him to finish what I asked him to do first,” I say with a laugh.

Blue Velvet Lounge, Ballston Quarter; Arlington, VA

Nestled in the heart of Ballston Quarter, a hip, nightlife-driven center of Arlington, is the Blue Velvet Lounge. It’s a small, intimate place that’s got a mellow vibe. The bar area is done in dark wood and brass, and the main floor is filled with semiprivate sitting areas, all the chairs and couches plush and upholstered with blue velvet… of course. The entire place is dimly lit by recessed lighting around the perimeter of the room glowing softly of blue neon, and a stage sits at the far end of the room for live music.

“If I didn’t know what went on here, I might think this place was pretty cool. But because I do, I just think it’s gross,” Astra says.

A wry grin curls my lips. “I think they do more than the whole sugar baby speed dating thing. It looks like they host live bands.”

“Still,” she replies. “Would you come here?”

“Probably not.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The club is empty, save for some workers running around cleaning and getting ready for the doors to open in just a few hours. As we walk deeper into the place, a tall, well-built man in dark slacks and a dark button-down shirt that’s open at the collar glides over to us. He has on a black jacket with a blood red pocket square, his black hair is slicked back, and he’s got a neatly trimmed goatee. Something about his demeanor kind of screams mafia boss wannabe. The man stops and regards us with eyes that sparkle like chips of obsidian in the dim light.

“Joey Bauer,” he greets us.

“Unit Chief Wilder, SSA Russo,” I say as we badge him.

“Interesting,” he replies. “And what can I do for the FBI?”

“We need to speak with the owner of this lounge. Is he here?” Astra says.

“You’re lookin’ at him,” he says.

“Great,” I reply.

“What’s this about?”

“We needed to talk to you about your sugar baby mixers. We understand that you’re also the owner of the Sugar Shack website?” I say.

“There’s nothing illegal about it,” he replies. “Everybody here is a consenting adult, and what they choose to do with their time and money isn’t my concern.”

“Except, not everybody who comes to your parties is a consenting adult,” I say.

“Come again?”

Astra pulls out her phone and calls up a picture Rick had sent her of Ashley at one of his parties. Bauer looks at the picture, squinting dramatically, then shakes his head.

“Nah. Don’t know her. That picture could have been taken anywhere, but it wasn’t here,” he says with a dismissive shrug.

I share a look of disbelief with Astra and can’t stop the laugh that bursts from my mouth. Turning to Bauer, I stare at him with wide eyes.

“Are you serious?” I ask.

“What?”

Taking the phone from Astra, I point to a couple of notable features in the photo, then gesture to an area across the lounge from us.

“This picture was taken right over there,” I say, my tone thick with incredulity.

Bauer makes a big show of looking at the photo again and turning to where I’m pointing. He turns back to us and pulls a face and shakes his head.

“Nah. I don’t know where that picture was taken, but it wasn’t in my lounge,” he says.

Are sens

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