absorbed with bigger concerns. “Ellery’s fine,” Lara had told her, “as long as it’s not raining. The man has more hair products than I’ve owned in my whole life!”
Lara had liked Joe Brighton and called him an interesting man. Brighton had been a marine before going into media. “He could spin it so that a polar explorer would buy an icebox, no word of a lie!” Lara had said.
And about the huge guy, Nathan Oliver, Lara’s comment had been, “He’s okay, too. Except if you were to crash into the guy, you’d probably have to be hospitalized. I think he’s made of steel—or maybe rock. He’d crumble if he cracked a smile. He’s called an assistant, but I suspect he’s really a bodyguard.”
Meg thought she recognized the men, at least vaguely. They hovered around the congressman whenever he spoke in public.
“Come in, come in, please,” Ellery Manheim told them. “Congressman Walker is waiting in the den. I understand you’ve come to see us about Lara Mayhew?”
“Yes,” Matt said. Meg realized he didn’t intend to say anything more until they were actually with the congressman.
If Manheim had hoped Matt was going to discuss why they were there, he didn’t reveal any sign of it. He just said, “Lara is a phenomenal young woman. Her work for Congressman Walker was exceptional.”
They were led through a mudroom to a grand foyer and, from there, to a large office off to the side; it seemed to stretch the length of the house, which must have been seven or eight thousand square feet in size.
Matt glanced at her as they moved along. To her surprise, he offered her a wry smile and whispered, “And this is just his Capitol home. Can you imagine his spread in Virginia?”
Her lips twitched slightly. He was already stepping forward to shake Congressman Walker’s hand.
“I understand there’s some concern about Lara Mayhew,” Walker said after introductions had gone around. Meg noticed that Matt referred to her as Agent Murray—and made no reference to her friendship with Lara.
“Yes, she left friends and family a few very cryptic messages, and no one’s been able to reach her,” Matt said.
Congressman Walker directed them to comfortable leather seating in the center of the long office. Meg saw that his men had followed them in, but didn’t sit. “Lara was with us at Capitol Hill until very late the night before last,” Walker said. “And normally, she’d be here now. She was wonderful! But I’m afraid she resigned her position that night. Maybe the hours of the job got to her,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t blame her. She was young and probably wanted more of a life than she had working with me.”
“You’re planning a run for the presidency?” Matt asked.
“Considering it,” Walker responded.
“Congressman,” Ellery Manheim said, clearing his throat.
Walker grinned. Meg observed that he was a handsome and dignified man, wearing his years very well for a man of sixty-plus. He had retained a full head of steel-gray hair; his eyes were a deep brown and set in a nicely sculpted face. He was extremely fit; Lara had told her he could run on his treadmill and dictate notes or discuss a promotional or communications issue at the same time. Today, he was casually dressed in a light blue pullover and jeans.
He had an easy smile that made him a man to trust.
“Why were you working so late?” Matt asked.
“The evening got away from us.” Walker let out a soft sigh. “You can’t imagine the volume of letters I receive, the needs of my constituents. Couple that with studying the quantity of bills that are always on the agenda—and sorting out what’s tacked onto what and whether the value of passing a particular bill outweighs the problems. Then, of course, there’s reelection—and deciding if I should throw my hat in the ring. Work never stops,” he said.
“No, it never does!” That pronouncement came from a woman who swept into the room. She was slim and tiny and kept her hair tinted blonde, and, like the congressman, she carried her age well. She didn’t appear to be the recipient of hours of cosmetic work, and the smile lines that crinkled around her mouth and eyes only enhanced her natural beauty.
“Work, work, work!” she said, grinning as she approached the newcomers.
Matt instantly rose; Meg did, too. “My wife, Kendra,” Congressman Walker said. “Kendra, special agents Bosworth and Murray, FBI.”
“FBI?” Kendra repeated, shaking their hands.
“They’re here about Lara,” Walker said.
“Lara? She’s an amazing girl,” Kendra said. “If she’s in any kind of trouble...”
“No trouble, my dear,” Walker said quickly. “She’s missing.”
“Missing? She was working with you all the other night!” Kendra said. She frowned, playing with a little silver pendant of the Washington Memorial she wore around her neck. “But didn’t you tell me she was moving on—that she felt she wasn’t really cut out for politics?”
“Yes, dear,” Walker murmured.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Kendra declared. “Ellery, could you ask Ginger to bring a coffee and tea service in here? You people are so consumed with work that you forget good manners!”
Ellery disappeared out the door as bidden.
Kendra sat, motioning for Matt and Meg and the congressman to do so again. “Born and raised in Virginia by old-school parents,” Kendra told them. “And while many aspects of Southern history might be regrettable, Southern hospitality is not one of them. Why didn’t you offer these hardworking agents some form of sustenance, Ian?”
“My dear, we hadn’t gotten that far!” Walker protested. He looked at her as if he still adored her and the gaze she gave him in return said the same thing. Meg knew they’d been married for nearly thirty years. Their devotion was admirable.
If it was real.
“We’re fine,” Matt assured her. “And I’m from Virginia myself.”
“I hope you voted for me,” Walker said.
“Yes, actually, I did,” Matt said.
“And you, Ms. Murray? I’m sorry, I mean Agent Murray?” Walker asked.
Meg saw that he was studying her closely.
She’d never met him. Between their schedules, she and Lara had only managed to get together for a few brief breakfasts and dinners. While Lara had talked about her job and the people she worked with, she’d never had a chance to bring Meg to a fund-raiser or any other event where she might’ve gotten to know Walker. Yet he seemed to know her. Or know about her.
She forced a smile. “West Virginia,” she told him. “But if I was registered in Virginia, I’m sure I would’ve voted for you.”
A young woman in a polo shirt and chinos walked in, bearing a silver tray laden with a teapot, an urn, finger sandwiches, cream and
