Deadly Politics by Maggie Sefton

phone. “Where would be the closest and safest shopping area to park your car?”
    â€œUhhhhh, let me think,” I struggled, running the major shopping centers through my mind as I maneuvered into the left lane.
    Tysons Corner was down the road, but that was a traffic nightmare in the best of times. Where else? Remembering a drug store at a busy intersection I’d passed earlier in the day, I nosed the Acura into the left turn lane and waited for a break in traffic, praying I could execute a U-turn without causing an accident.
    â€œOkay, Albert, how about the intersection of Old Dominion and Glebe Road? There’s a drugstore there. I’ll park in the back.”
    â€œI’m on my way,” Albert said, in the tone of a man on a mission. “I’ve got your cell number. See you soon, Ms. Malone.”
    â€œRight,” I said before tossing the phone into the next seat. I needed both hands for this turn. I whipped the Acura around the tight corner and roared off in the opposite direction, ignoring the sound of honking horns.
    _____
    His cell phone vibrated. The familiar number flashed on the screen.
    â€œWe may need you this weekend,” a man’s scratchy voice said.
    â€œGood thing you called. I was about to head for the Bay tomorrow.”
    â€œIf affirmative, we’ll text you a keycode for data files.”
    â€œLocation?”
    â€œGeorgetown.”
    â€œAgain? Who pissed off those guys this time?”
    â€œNo one you’d know. Just a congressional staffer who’s gotten way too curious for her own good. Looking into things she shouldn’t and asking questions. That makes those guys real nervous. Problem is, she’s connected. Her father was that congressman from Colorado, Eric Grayson. You remember him, don’t you?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œThey’re worried her father might have told her something before he died. So, when Grayson’s daughter starts asking questions, they don’t like it.”
    â€œWell, you know the old saying. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’” He laughed softly.
    â€œWe’ll be in touch.” Then the line went dead.
    No sense of humor, that one, he thought as he pocketed his phone.
    _____
    Albert pulled off Wisconsin Avenue and headed down Q Street, deftly weaving around double-parked cars, before pulling into the gated driveway. At his touch to the visor, the black wrought iron gate swung open, and we drove into the garage area behind the house.
    Outdoor lights and lanterns threw bright arcs over the tall brick walls. Light pierced the fast-approaching twilight and I felt my heart beat faster. Albert opened the car door, and the sound of muffled conversation rolled over me like a wave on the beach. My pulse began to race. Nerve cells snapped awake. Old habits were hard to break.
    I caught myself. What the hell was I doing? I’d barely been in Washington thirty-six hours, and I was sucked in already. How’d that happen?
    â€œWe’ll slip in the side door, Ms. Malone,” Albert said, as he helped me from the car.
    â€œPlease call me Molly,” I said, as he guided me away from the enclosed rear garden and around the corner of the residence. Luisa was standing at a back door, smiling as she took my purse.
    I glimpsed the catering staff bustling about in a brightly lit kitchen as Albert ushered me down a back hallway. There was a delicious aroma floating in the air, and I made a mental note to ask Brewster who the senator used as caterers. I might as well provide counter-intelligence for Nan and Deb while there.
    â€œHere, you go, Molly.” Albert ushered me through a door that led off another passageway. “Peter is keeping an eye out for you. Enjoy yourself.” He gave a friendly smile as he closed the door behind me.
    I noticed the closed door disappear into the molding. Well, I’ll be damned. A secret door, I thought, as I stood in the senator’s