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Addy smiled. "Thank you."
The bartender pulled two more beers from the cooler and set them on the bar. The senator's beefy hand pushed his money to the edge. The bartender grabbed the money, strode to the cash register and brought back change, barely stopping to make sure it all landed on the bar. She breezily scooted to the end of the bar and took the drink order of the reddish-haired man.
The senator's phone rang again and he inhaled a deep breath and let it out in a huff. Squirming on the stool to pull his phone from his trouser pockets, he tapped the icon. "Yeah."
Between the music and the talking, it was impossible to hear the other end of the conversation, but his body language told her it wasn't a good call.
"I'm aware. He's sitting right where I can see him."
5
Rafe parked his vehicle in the garage at his home. He'd purchased this home five years ago, after his last promotion. This was the neighborhood he'd waited for. Arlington Heights. Elite, close to the Pentagon and secure. He'd spent most of his life in barracks and shitty apartments enough to know that as soon as he could afford a home, it would be here. He'd hired an interior designer to decorate before he moved in. She'd captured his style perfectly.
All warm tones and leather furniture, he'd once been told by a female friend that it was the perfect man cave. And, it was. It was perfect for him.
He crossed the foyer into the spacious living room, his eyes always landing on the floor-to-ceiling brick fireplace nestled between mahogany built-in shelves. On the shelves were photographs of his sister, Brooke, who was two years younger, and his brother, Brent, who was four years younger. Both of them lived far away from their parents as well. But that also meant, they didn't see each other as often as he'd like.
Brooke was a photographer, now taking photos of cover models for books and enjoying every minute of it. And Brent was working for a large corporation in the design and development area. Rafe was the only one who entered the military.
Stepping into his office, he tucked his briefcase under the desk. He then moved to his bedroom and pulled off his suit jacket, and neatly hung it in the closet in the space it held this morning.
He quickly changed into dark blue sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Letting out a sigh of relief, he made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He'd planned on making spaghetti tonight, all the ingredients waiting for him on the second shelf. Laying his phone on the counter, he popped open his music app, tapped his playlist, and began cutting up a green pepper as music filled his house.
He browned his ground beef, added the peppers and onions, and set the lid on the pan to let the flavors fuse when his phone rang.
Stifling his irritation, he tapped the answer icon. "Rafe Martin."
"Mr. Martin, this is Clinton Miller, the sketch artist at the DoD. I received your email. When would you like to meet?"
"Is tonight out of the question?"
"No sir. I can meet you at the office."
Rafe looked down at his clothing, inhaled the aroma of his dinner, and his shoulders slumped. "How about this. I'm just ready to eat dinner and I'm dressed in casual attire. We can meet at the office as long as we don't need to dress up."
Clinton laughed. "I'm so on board with that. I just got home myself and saw your email. Casual sounds perfect."
"I'll be there in an hour."
"I'll be there as well. Do you know where my office is?"
Rafe stirred his sauce. "I do. I'll see you soon."
The line went dead, his music began filtering through the built-in speakers around his home once again, and he poured himself a glass of wine. Yes, he was going back to work, but you can't eat spaghetti without wine. One glass would be fine and he'd call a driver. All good.
After finishing his dinner, Rafe texted a car service, donned his tennis shoes, pocketed his wallet, his phone and his keys, and waited for the car.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. One glance and he noted his car was out front. He stepped out into the warm evening air, strode to the car, and slid easily into the backseat. "The Pentagon, please."
Rafe watched the lights of the city as they drove by. He thought back to the day’s events, he could still see the man leaving the locker room. His facial features were as clear as this taxi driver’s, though he tried not looking at the driver too much, he didn't need to test his memory.
The car stopped in front of the main entrance, he paid on his app. "Please come back here in an hour."
"Yes, sir. I'll be right here."
Rafe left a large tip to ensure he would and slid out of the backseat with ease.
He stepped to the security desk, showed his ID, scanned himself in and trooped down the hall to Clinton Miller's office.
