Since they’d interviewed that personal trainer the other day, Elin Svendsen, he had fantasized about her obsessively. The way she hinted at the nasty stuff she had done with Senator O’Connor… What Freddie wouldn’t give for one night with her. Maybe once they cleared the case, he’d be in the market for some personal training of a different sort.

In the meantime, he needed to go into that house and ask Patricia Donaldson if her son was John O’Connor’s son, if she’d continued a sexual relationship with the senator and if so, what kind of sex she’d had with him. The thought of asking those questions of a woman he’d never met made him sick.

Even if he sat there all night, he’d never be fully prepared. And since Sam was waiting for him to get this information and get it back to her, Freddie emerged from the rental car and headed up the flagstone walkway. With one last deep breath to settle his nerves, he rang the bell. Chimes echoed through the house. He waited a full minute before a fragile-looking blonde opened the door. Her blue eyes were rimmed with red, her pretty face ravaged with exhaustion. If this woman hadn’t recently lost someone she loved, Freddie would turn in his badge.

“Patricia Donaldson?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I’m Detective Freddie Cruz, Metro Police, Washington, D.C.” He showed her his badge.

She took the badge from him, examined it and handed it back to him. “This is about John.”

“Yes, ma’am. I wondered if I might have a few minutes of your time?”

With a weary gesture, she stepped aside to let him in.

Freddie followed her to a comfortable family room, noting the photos of the handsome blond boy scattered throughout the house. The place appeared to have been professionally decorated, but had retained a warm, cozy atmosphere.

When he was seated across from her, Freddie said, “You were acquainted with Senator John O’Connor?”

“We’ve been friends for many years,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her raw eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.” She brushed at the dampness on her cheeks.

“You were just friends?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

Freddie reached for a framed photo on an end table. “Your son?”

“Yes.”

“Handsome boy.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t help but notice his striking resemblance to the senator.”

She shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

Freddie returned the photo to the table. “Is your son at home?”

“He went to do an errand at school. He’s a junior at Loyola.”