be the first Washington powerhouse to be caught with his pants down. So what are you saying? That you want to expose him?”
Sara frowned. “Lauren, this is big news, especially considering that Edwin Zachary is one of Washington’s biggest proponents of family values. He was the first one to publicly denounce Senator Baldwin for having an extramarital affair. Zachary has a serious shot at the presidential candidacy, and yet he’s running around doing this? It’s incredibly hypocritical. I think this story is worth pursuing.”
Lauren sighed. “I agree. Do you know who the woman was? Can we get her to corroborate your story?”
“I know her name is Colette, and I know where she lives.”
“Okay. Get her side of the story and then we’ll talk. Without that, all we have is your word against his.”
Sara nodded. “I’ll get it.”
“And Sara? This has the makings of a good story, but it’s not a done deal. Your interview with Sergeant Delgado? That’s a clincher, and that’s your priority right now. I don’t want you spending a lot of time on the Zachary story. Are we clear?”
Sara barely resisted the urge to hold the phone away from her ear and stare at it in bemusement. She sensed a real reluctance on Lauren’s part to pursue the lead, but she didn’t understand why. American Man magazine wrote about strong men, but they didn’t limit those stories to feel-good features. The publication prided itself on showing the good, the bad and the ugly side of power. And Lauren was known to be ruthless when it came to uncovering political scandals. At least, she usually was. Why should this be any different? Sara didn’t get it. “I’ll call Sergeant Delgado today,” she promised.
Which was the last thing she wanted to do, she thought as she hung up the phone. Sara poured herself a cup of coffee and retrieved his card from her evening bag, sitting down at her kitchen table to contemplate it moodily. The dreams she’d had of him were still too fresh in her mind. If she closed her eyes, she could actually feel his lips on hers, warm and hard and demanding. She shivered and opened her eyes.
As business cards went, his was simple and straightforward: heavy white vellum with the Marine Corps logo in one corner and his name, rank and telephone number in bold lettering across the front. Drawing in a fortifying breath, Sara picked up her cell phone and dialed the number. It wasn’t yet eight-thirty, and Sara had the perverse hope that she might wake him up.
He picked up on the second ring. “Delgado.”
His voice was crisp and alert without the slightest hint of grogginess. The guy had probably been awake for hours. Unbidden, pImages** of him climbing naked out of a rumpled bed swamped Sara’s imagination. She could picture it clearly—smooth, tawny skin over sleek muscles, stubble shadowing his strong jaw and throat as he absently rubbed a hand over his corrugated abdomen—
“Hello?” Impatience sharpened his voice, jerking Sara out of her reverie.
“Yes, hi, Sergeant Delgado. This is, um, Sara Sinclair. We met last night at the charity ball?” She winced, wishing she’d used a more authoritative tone, wishing she had waited until later in the day to contact him. He no doubt thought she was desperate, calling him so early on a Sunday morning.
“The journalist.” His voice deepened. “I remember.”
“I wanted to set up a date—er, an interview—with you for the magazine, and I was wondering when a convenient time might be.”
“That all depends,” he drawled. “How long do you need?”
The question was perfectly legitimate, yet Sara’s rampant imagination imbued it with all kinds of double meaning, no doubt fueled by the dreams she’d had of him. She felt her face grow warm and was grateful that he couldn’t see her.
“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me,” she finally managed, and nearly groaned at her choice of words. “I mean, however long it takes to get the story. But even if you only have an hour, then that’ll be fine, too.”
There was a brief silence, as if he were considering. “How does Tuesday work for you?”
Sara hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d been holding her breath and now she let it out in a rush of relief. “Yes, that’s perfect.”
Reluctant to meet Rafe in the intimate setting of a restaurant, she gave him the name of a popular café located at the edge of the sculpture garden on the grounds of the National Mall. The place had a lovely outside seating area, guaranteed to be pleasantly crowded. They agreed to meet there at three o’clock for coffee. Sara hung up and sat back in her chair, considering the prospect of seeing Rafe Delgado again. How would he react when she switched from discussing the Semper Fi Fund to the hostage rescue? She shivered, wishing that the story wasn’t so important to Lauren. Wishing that Lauren hadn’t asked her to conduct the interview.
Her gaze fell on the little black planner that she had found in the car. Frowning, she picked it up and thumbed through it, not recognizing the handwriting scrawled on the pages. The only explanation was that the book had fallen out of Colette’s handbag the previous night. The other woman’s apartment complex wasn’t all that far away. Placing it back on the table, Sara decided she would drop it off later that morning. While she’d been looking forward to a relaxing Sunday of doing nothing, she realized she could use the excuse of returning the book as a perfect way to obtain more information about Colette’s involvement with Edwin Zachary. No matter what Lauren said, Sara was certain there was a story there.
SARA STOOD ON THE STEPS of the building where she had dropped Colette off the night before and quickly scanned the list of residents posted near the entry, but didn’t see the name Colette or even any beginning with the letter C. She was unsure what to do next, when an older woman came up the steps.
“Can I help you, dear?” she asked.
Sara turned to her in relief. “Yes, thank you. I’m looking for a—an acquaintance. She left a personal item in my car and I’d like to return it to her, but I’m afraid I only know her first name.”
The older woman smiled. “That’s no problem. I know everyone in this building and most of the other buildings, as well.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “When you’ve lived here as long as I have, well…let’s just say I make a point of getting to know everyone. What’s your friend’s name?”
“Colette.”
“Hmm. Colette.” The woman considered for a moment and then finally shook her head. “I don’t know anyone here who goes by that name. Are you sure you have the right address?”
Sara nodded. “Yes. I dropped her at this door just last night. She’s about twenty-five years old, my height, with long dark hair. Very attractive.”
The woman gave her an odd look. “You do know that this is an over-fifty community?”
Taken aback, Sara was momentarily at a loss for words. “No. I had no idea.”
“Trust me when I say there are no women in this complex who match that description. The youngest woman here is still twice the age of your friend.”
Sara frowned. “Are you sure? I mean, I dropped her off right at this door.”
“Did you see her actually enter this building?”
