“You’d be surprised the way people treat him sometimes.” They got into the car. “I’m only going to say this once, and if I hear you repeated it I’ll deny it with everything I’ve got. Understand?”

“Gee, I can’t wait to hear this. You leave me breathless with anticipation.”

“Your sarcasm and significant dietary failings aside, you’re a special guy, Freddie Cruz. A one-in-a-million good guy.” She glanced over to find him staring at her with his mouth hanging open. “Now that we’ve got that bullshit out of the way, what do you say we get back to figuring out who killed the senator?” When Freddie failed to reply, she said, “For Christ’s sake, will you quit looking at me like I just hit you with the Taser?”

“Might as well have,” he muttered. “Might as well have.”

That he didn’t mention her disrespectful use of the Lord’s name told her she’d truly shocked him with the compliment, which made for a satisfying start to what promised to be a shitty day.

They found Natalie Jordan at home alone in Belle Haven, an upscale development of stately colonial homes in Alexandria. Red brick, white columns and black wrought iron fronted hers. The home reeked of old money and Virginia aristocracy.

“Nice crib,” Freddie said, gazing around at the well-kept grounds.

“Looks like Natalie landed herself a sugar daddy after all,” Sam said as she rang the doorbell. Chimes pealed inside.

Natalie answered the door dressed in a salmon-colored silk blouse, winter white wool pants and two-inch heels. A gold chain bearing a diamond the size of Sam’s thumb encircled her slender neck, and her blond hair was cut into a sleek bob that perfectly offset her thin, angular face. Sharp blue eyes were rimmed with red and dark circles marred her otherwise flawless complexion. Sam could see what Nick had meant when he’d described Natalie as “quite something.”

No slouch in the fashion department herself, Sam was immediately intimidated. Her stomach twisted. Willing the pain away with a quick deep breath, Sam flashed her badge. “Detective Sergeant Holland and Detective Cruz, Metro Police.”

“Come in,” Natalie said in a honeyed Southern accent. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Senator O’Connor and I were involved for a number of years. I assumed you’d want to speak to me at some point. May I offer you something? Coffee or a cold drink?”

Before Freddie could accept, Sam said, “No, thank you. Do you mind if we record this conversation?”

Natalie shook her head, and Sam gestured for Freddie to turn on the recorder.

Sam began by noting the people present and the location of their interview. “Can you tell me where you were on Tuesday between the hours of ten p.m. and seven a.m.?”

While Natalie might have been expecting them, she clearly hadn’t been expecting that. “I’m a suspect?”