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  “The coroner took his body out of the office around six o’clock this morning. Forensics left about an hour ago.” Grace spared a glance toward Marilyn, their receptionist who was in her mid-sixties and had ears sharper than a jackrabbit. “I don’t think the police know exactly who did it, which is why we’re being paraded into that office as if we’re nothing more than a herd of cattle being led to the slaughter.”

  “It’s more like roulette. That detective has been spinning the wheel, seeing who lands in the guilty slot.” Cynthia appeared out of nowhere before wrapping an arm around Laurel’s shoulders. The silver bracelets lightly chimed with the woman’s graceful movements. “You doing okay, doll? Grace said you’d gone home with a man who I shall not name. I figured he’d put you to bed. A first for everything, but this does call for extenuating circumstances.”

  “Would you two just stop?” Laurel whispered harshly, chastising both of them for making assumptions. It didn’t matter that she’d done the same, though Smith’s affirmation that she was his to keep had been a bit presumptuous. Nothing he said or did last night changed anything about who they were, regardless of how her body responded to his. She shook her head, realizing that she was getting off track herself. “Nothing showed up on the security cameras? How is that possible?”

  “They were wiped clean. No recording on any of the DVDs. They were all unformatted blanks. Whoever had access to the building after hours was somehow able to disable the surveillance system since five o’clock yesterday afternoon and replace the system’s recording with blanks from our own supply.” Grace shrugged when both Laurel and Cynthia looked at her in surprise. “What? Marilyn’s not the only one who pays attention. Besides, I was first up to be interviewed. Who knew the office walls were so thin?”

  “Did Grace tell you that I’m going to hell?” Laurel lifted the coffee to her lips despite the fact that Grace had given her acid in a cup. She managed another sip without a grimace or spitting it back out. “Brad’s dead, and all I could think about was bye-bye partnership.”

  “That’s human nature,” Cynthia said in understanding, brushing aside her concern for the fact that her friend would burn in hell for all eternity. “And it would be totally different had Brad been the same man he was when Manon Investments started out how many years ago? Let’s face it. He’d let greed change him, and not for the better. Honestly, he had turned into a dick. Death doesn’t change the facts of who he was.”

  “Cynthia’s right,” Grace acknowledged, leaning back a bit so she could see down the long hallway. Laurel flicked her gaze in that direction, having already noted the yellow crime scene tape. Her stomach rolled and threatened to empty its contents at the sight. “This company isn’t what it used to be, and Brad’s death doesn’t magically change him back into the nice guy he was when he started Manon Investments.”

  “Ms. Kent?” Marilyn turned at the sound of her name. Detective Nielsen had been finishing up a phone conversation and had yet to join Phil in the office. He slid his cell inside his suit jacket. “You’re free to go. I appreciate the information you supplied to us, and I’ll be following up with those individuals in question.”

  Grace elbowed Laurel, who in turn was watching Marilyn closely for any hint of what Detective Nielsen could possibly be talking about. Granted, Marilyn was the eyes and ears of this company. But did she actually have some vital knowledge regarding one of the employees or clients that would implicate him or her in Brad’s murder?

  “Fuck,” Cynthia whispered, the noise from her bracelets almost covering up her expletive. This woman, whose black hair didn’t have a strand out of place or a wrinkle in her apparel, never allowed anything to phase her. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”

  Laurel and Grace would have immediately followed, but Detective Nielsen stopped them both. They could only stare after their friend as she quickly made her way through the glass doors toward the elevator bank.

  “Ms. Calanthe, thank you for coming back in so soon.” Detective Nielsen motioned tiredly toward the guest chairs behind them. It was a thankless job, but he was doing it nonetheless. “Please have a seat. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  Numerous things happened at once, though none of them anything Laurel wanted to deal with. She was still running on lack of sleep, regardless of the two or three hours she’d gotten at Smith’s apartment. The acid she was drinking was only upsetting her stomach worse, and the tremors that had set up residence in her hands weren’t diminishing the way she’d hoped.

  “Laurel, may I see you out in the foyer, please?” Paul asked, though it really wasn’t a question. It was obvious he’d found out about her affair with Smith. He shouldered past her through the glass doors, which happened to be where Smith stood confidently in a fresh change of clothes. “Now.”

  Forensics still wasn’t allowing anyone to walk mindlessly through the offices, keeping everyone contained in the foyer. That most likely wouldn’t change until Monday morning. Laurel would have given anything to go and hide in her office until the detective asked to speak with her, but she’d been called out to face the firing squad. She just hoped that wasn’t in the literal term, because the additional time it would take to close the doors on Manon Investments would allow her the months needed to secure a good paying job elsewhere.

  “I’ll go check on Cynthia,” Grace all but whispered, resting a hand on Laurel’s arm in reassurance. “Yell if you think you’re going to need help.”

  Oh, she was already out in the middle of the ocean without a life jacket. There was no saving her from the circling sharks.

  “You, too,” Paul told Smith as he followed Grace to the open foyer.

  Laurel was grateful to have the porcelain mug in her hand. It gave her something to grip so that she didn’t try to uppercut Smith in the jaw should he say something about their relationship being long term. He’d become somewhat delusional in the last ten hours, making assumptions that weren’t true.

  She reluctantly walked back out the glass doors, joining the two men who had stopped near the first elevator. Grace and Cynthia were nowhere to be found, so either they went downstairs to the lobby or they continued walking toward the other side of the floor where a long hallway contained two bathrooms and a realtor’s office.

  “You want to tell me why I’m just now hearing that the two of you are involved from Detective Nielsen?”

  “I really don’t see how that is any of your business, Paul.” Smith held his ground, which Laurel admired. She wasn’t his biggest fan at the moment, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t give praise where it was due. Unfortunately, his arrogance would only make this situation much worse. Especially considering that Paul liked to be appeased. “What we do on our personal time is just that—personal. It didn’t extend to the office.”

  “Paul, I apologize.”

  “Don’t,” Smith ordered, his dark gaze immediately making contact with hers. There was still an underlying anger simmering in the depth of his brown eyes, but this wasn’t something that he was able to get away with just because his surname was Gallo. “Neither of us have anything to apologize for, Laurel.”

  “I wasn’t apologizing for what we do on our personal time,” Laurel corrected irritably, turning her attention back to Paul. She would have to deal with Smith at some point, but right now, she had to set her priorities straight. Paul and the business had been affected in a dire way due to Brad’s death. Everyone’s emotions were running on high. It was best to soothe this situation over instead of making it worse. “I’m sorry you found out about it the way you did. It was unfortunate. We meant no harm to anyone.”

  “The two of you are both up for the same promotion,” Paul pointed out, his frustration evident. His ran a hand through his ruffled hair, which was rarely out of place. He’d had a hell of a morning, but then so had everyone else. “Do you know how this will look to the board members?”

  The board members consisted of Paul, Steve Lewis, Vern Roberts, and Joshua Green. Brad
also had a position at the table, but that would most likely revert to Meredith. She might have been Brad’s ex-wife, but as far as any of them knew, he’d never changed his will or any of the legal paperwork that concerned Manon Investments.

  “And how does our personal relationship affect the board or their decision in any way?” Smith asked, still poking a stick at a very hurt, confused, and angry lion. Couldn’t he see that Paul was grieving over his friend? “It doesn’t. Our work speaks for itself.”

  Laurel repositioned her purse on her shoulder before switching the coffee to her left hand. She wasn’t sure what prompted her to do it, but she rested her hand on the sleeve of Smith’s suit jacket. Something told her that he needed to know she didn’t feel attacked by Paul’s questioning.

  “Smith, Paul is right. It is all about appearances, and that’s on us.” There was no way around taking full responsibility for the decisions they’d made and the reasons why. “Given what happened last night, none of this is any longer germane, though. The most important thing now is finding the person responsible and handling the outstanding business matters properly.”

  Paul wrapped one arm around his lower chest and used his other hand to cover his face. He began to break down, which wasn’t unexpected. He and Brad had been best friends throughout college, both of them having a dream of owning their own company. They not only accomplished that vision, but they’d been successful in their endeavors as partners. They’d created a reputable hedge fund, and now it would all disintegrate into ashes as if none of it ever existed. But the most painful part of that was Paul had lost his lifelong best friend.

  Smith pressed his lips together and rested a comforting hand on Paul’s shoulder.

  Watching this man crumble under his grief put things into perspective. She wasn’t sure if it was the shock of finding Brad with his throat slit, but reality began to hit her like a two by four. Nothing mattered more in the short term than the impact of Brad’s death and the loss he’d left behind for his family and friends to deal with in the aftermath.

  “Ms. Calanthe?”

  Paul turned away to collect himself while Smith took a step to prevent the detective from seeing the other man’s grief. Her time had finally arrived to go over the accounts of last night once more, as well as any other questions the detective thought were pertinent to the case.

  “We’re ready for you now.”

  She briefly wondered who we consisted of, but a glance over the detective’s shoulder told her that there was another officer waiting for them. Was this a good cop and bad cop scenario? She had nothing to hide, but their intimidating presence had her heart racing and her pulse accelerating.

  The ding of the elevator caught everyone’s attention. A tall woman stepped out into the foyer, her high heels clicking on the marble as she moved forward and rested her eyes on Smith. She allowed not one ounce of emotion to show as she took in the gathering crowd.

  “It appears I’m just in time.” The blonde woman shifted a designer briefcase into her left hand as she casually laid her French manicured nails on Smith’s upper arm. “Is this her?”

  Her obviously meant Laurel. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being referred to as if she weren’t standing right in front of them, but the woman’s brief softening toward her and Smith’s relationship came to an abrupt halt.

  “Yes,” Smith answered unapologetically. He murmured something to Paul before advancing forward, causing everyone else to do the same. It was obvious he’d done so in order to give Paul some time to collect himself, but Smith still wasn’t off the hook for what Laurel suspected to be the truth. He’d brought in a high-end hired gun as a lawyer for their questioning without running that decision by her. “This is Meg Preston. She’ll be our counsel during the questioning.”

  “I don’t need someone representing me, Smith.” Laurel couldn’t stop a bit of her exhaustion slipping through her mask. She shoved the coffee cup into his hand, tired of holding it. She was out-and-out drained of any energy to get her through this upcoming interrogation, but she would persevere. “I have nothing to hide and am perfectly capable of answering a few questions.”

  “Not without a lawyer, you aren’t. Meg is here for us both.”

  He was on a first name basis with his lawyer?

  Laurel made the quick decision of allowing Smith this one concession. Having a lawyer present might very well reduce the time she needed to be here or in his presence. She could then go home and fall into bed with plans to sleep for the next twelve hours.

  “Fine,” Laurel relented, feigning a smile as she spun on her own heels to face the detective. They weren’t nearly as expensive as the Jimmy Choos that Meg Preston was wearing, but they’d gotten Laurel through some tough times. “Let’s do this, Ms. Preston.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Just how long has Laurel been in there?” Grace asked, her usual smile missing as she joined Smith in the corner of the foyer. “I would have thought she would have been done by now. What kind of lawyer did you hire?”

  He’d been staring at the closed door where Detective Nielsen had escorted Laurel and Meg to conduct the interview. Smith was under no misconceptions about how these types of investigations were run, and he’d been pleased when Laurel had accepted the legal counsel he’d provided. Speaking to the authorities about anything official without representation was always a mistake. His father hadn’t needed to tell him twice.

  “It’s been exactly forty-three minutes.” Smith didn’t have to look at his watch, considering he’d done so thirty seconds before Grace had walked back through the glass doors. “Did Cynthia ever get ahold of Gareth?”

  “You knew?” The astonishment in Grace’s tone was evident. Smith had been in this industry long enough to know that nothing important was kept secret for very long. He was, however, a bit surprised that Grace hadn’t learned that vital lesson by now. It was the reason he wasn’t bothered when his relationship with Laurel had been brought out into the open. The only ones who hadn’t known were those few coworkers who kept to themselves or spent the majority of their time in another state or country, like Paul Slater. “And no, she hasn’t been able to reach him. At least, that was the last I heard.”

  “Gareth and I go way back, actually,” Smith divulged, his long-standing friendship with one of their biggest high net worth clients was common knowledge. “He rang me up last week, saying he’d overreacted to a situation recently. Cynthia took offense at some offhand comment he’d made. He wanted me to check on her.”

  “Did Gareth happen to tell you exactly what it was that he’d said, because it might land your friend behind bars.”

  “What are you talking about?” Smith hadn’t asked Gareth for details. That wasn’t how their kind of friendship worked, as it had more to do with respect than it did taking in a game on a Sunday afternoon. And as of late, his Sunday afternoons had been spent in bed with Laurel. “Are you implying Cynthia believes Gareth had something to do with Brad’s murder?”

  “I’m saying that it’s possible that Marilyn might have taken a conversation out of context.” Grace’s knuckles had gone white, as if she were also worried about what Marilyn might have said during her interview. This was the problem with not being up front about situations. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make, as well.”

  Smith nodded, but he never took his eyes off the closed office door. He’d known Meg for years, as she was one of the many lawyers kept on retainer by his family. She was who he had chosen to see to his own personal and business dealings, though it was rare she was put in this type of position. He had no doubt that she could handle herself more than adequately, but it was her attitude toward Laurel that had him on edge at the moment.

  Those two women were both very independent.

  It was his belief that two type A personalities didn’t mix well together, but it appeared he had nothing to worry about. Both Laurel and Meg emerged from the firm’s small conference room looking more like friends tha
n adversaries.

  “Thank you, Ms. Preston.” Laurel held out her arm, shaking hands with Meg as if they’d just closed the most lucrative deal of the century.

  “Please, call me Meg.” She pulled out a business card from the side of her briefcase, handing over her contact numbers with one of her rare smiles. “Don’t hesitate to call me should you need my services again. Smith, are you ready?”

  No, he wasn’t ready to go into an interrogation where he would provide little information to a murder investigation he wanted nothing to do with. Brad Manon had not lived up to his name when Smith had begun working for Manon Investments. All the hype had been snuffed out the first week of his employment, especially after he’d had his first run-in with the mercurial man behind the fund.

  “Laurel, I shouldn’t be long.” Smith closed the distance between them, wishing he could take away the dark blemishes underneath her lashes. She was running on little sleep, and he’d had a hand in that. “Please wait for me.”

  “Smith, I’m going home. Alone.” Laurel reached up and brought her hair around so that it hung over her right shoulder. “I need some time…to sleep, to think, and to figure out what I’m going to do next. I’ll call you.”

  Smith’s first reaction was that giving Laurel some space would only allow her time to rebuild the barriers he’d managed to chip away at last night and this morning. He’d meant every word when he said that he wanted to set their future on a different path. Yet, he could see the exhaustion in her pale features.

  “I’ll be in touch soon, then.”

  Laurel rested a hand on his dress shirt as he pulled her close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Their three-month affair had been rather wild and passionate, leaving them breathless after each and every evening they spent together. It wasn’t something one walked away from. She’d kept him at arm’s length while he’d done all he could do not to allow her to pull away from him.