“We’re good for now. It’s possible we may need to circle back if we have more questions,” I tell him. “But I give you my word that we’ll be very discreet. I may not like this whole sugar baby thing, but it’s not my business.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“Thanks for your help, Mr. Bauer,” I say.
Astra and I get to our feet and head for the door. Bauer calls to us before we get there, though, and I turn around.
“Are you really not going to tell me who she is or what she did?” he asks.
“I’m really not. Like I said, we’re just doing some routine background research,” I say. “And it’s advisable that you forget her and us altogether. We were never here. Got it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Thanks for your help.”
“Sure thing. Always happy to do my civic duty.”
A wry grin curls my lips as Astra and I walk out of his office, then make our way out of the bar. I don’t know who the guy is that Ashley was talking to just yet, but he is our first tangible lead, so I’m sure as hell going to find out.
FBI Operational Black Site, Foggy Bottom District; Washington DC
“For whatever it’s worth, Joey Bauer is clean,” Nina says. “Moved to Virginia from Jersey twenty years ago and opened up the Blue Velvet almost ten years ago. Pays his taxes, has no criminal record, and his club is apparently as clean as he is.”
“That’s surprising,” Astra says. “He’s a dollar-store Tony Soprano.”
“Maybe being from Jersey and all, he just likes the image,” Paige offers.
“Maybe,” I say.
“I can keep digging if you want,” Nina says.
“Maybe later. What can you tell us about the guy who was with Ashley that night?” I ask.
“I got a hit on facial rec, and his name is Archibald Richter,” Nina replies. “Fifty-five years old, married, has three grown children. He is a corporate lawyer by trade and currently works as a government relations director for Hempstead Petroleum.”
“Oh good, he’s a lobbyist,” Astra says with obvious distaste.
“You pronounced cockroach wrong,” I reply.
Lobbyists are no better than mob bagmen—the guys who deliver money for bribes and payoffs. My opinion is that they’re only marginally better than the trash we spend our days chasing. Sure, they don’t directly murder people, but in many cases, they support and push policies that have killed more people than every serial killer in the history of this country. Lobbying is legal bribery, and I will never understand why we tolerate it. But hey, that’s above my paygrade, so it’s probably best if I just stay in my lane.
“Okay, so, he’s a lobbyist and a philanderer, and he has a taste for young girls,” Astray says. “Could this guy be any more of a scumbag lowlife?”
“Do you really want an answer to that question?” I ask.
“No, probably not.”
Nina sits up, her expression alarmed. “Hey, we’ve got company—”
Before she can finish, we hear the electronic keypad on the door being activated. Nobody but us is supposed to have the whereabouts of this black site, let alone the code to the lock on the door. Jumping to my feet, I draw my weapon and take aim at the doorway to the main room as the front door opens. The rest of the team follows my lead, and when the man appears in the doorway, he’s greeted by three Glocks pointed at his face. He throws his hands up, looking startled.
“It’s me—it’s me. Don’t shoot,” he calls as he whips off his ball cap.
The breath explodes from my lungs as I lower my weapon, doing my best to suppress my irritation. “Jesus, Senator. What are you doing here?”
Paige and Nina quickly holster their weapons and stare at Senator Barlow. The man’s eyes are wide, and his face pales as he gapes at us, perhaps realizing just how close he just came to having several holes in him that don’t belong there. He swallows hard and quickly gathers himself.
“What are you doing here, Senator?” I repeat. “Nobody is supposed to have access to this site but my team. How did you—”
“Lauren told me where to find you. She gave me the code to get in.”
I have to fight to keep from rolling my eyes, my irritation rising inexorably to the surface. “This facility is anonymous for a reason, Senator. Drawing attention to it invites questions, and being a high-profile person, you may have just blown our cover. You wanted us to keep this out of the public eye. If reporters catch wind of you entering an anonymous house, how long do you think we’re going to be able to do that?”
“I wore a disguise. Nobody saw me—”
“Sir, you’ve been in this game long enough to know that one, a baseball cap is not an adequate disguise, and two, reporters aren’t stupid. They’re crafty, devious, and can be on your tail without you knowing. If somebody caught wind of you—”
“They didn’t.”
“You can’t know that for sure,” I snap. “Nina, monitor the exterior cameras to see if anybody’s lurking around out there. I don’t want any more surprises.”
“Copy that,” she says and turns to the security laptop to do as I ask.
I turn back to Barlow. “What are you doing here?”
