Means Page 6

  It was time for both of them to see their different sides.

  “Get some rest.” Smith finally released her, hoping he was making the right decision in letting her go home alone. “We have a lot of important decisions ahead of us, sweetheart.”

  Laurel snuck a glance at Meg, but neither woman commented on his declaration. It was more than apparent that Nielsen had overheard them as well, but again, Smith wasn’t concerned about anyone’s opinion regarding his personal life, not even the one remaining partner. Smith continued to monitor Laurel’s progress as she walked through the glass door. She didn’t have long to wait after pressing the elevator button and soon disappeared behind the sliding door.

  “Shall we?” Meg patiently waited for Smith to finally enter the office where Detective Nielsen was waiting for them on one side of the conference table. The other detective was standing near a window overlooking South Marquette Avenue. He wasn’t someone Smith recognized, which was unusual seeing as the Gallos often hosted a charity dinner for local law enforcement agencies. “Detective, we’re ready when you are.”

  “Smith, let’s forgo the formalities, shall we?” Fred Nielsen held back his tie as he took a seat behind the mostly empty table. This office was reserved for clients who had need for privacy, allowing them easy access to a phone, desk, and computer. “You previously stated that you were with Ms. Calanthe until after midnight. The coroner is placing Brad Manon’s death around ten o’clock last night. I’ll get right to the point. Do you know of anyone who would want to see Brad Manon dead for any reason at all?”

  “Look, Manon wasn’t the easiest man to get along with,” Smith began, joining Fred in having a seat. Meg took the second guest chair, listening intently and ensuring that the questions asked and responses given were answered with his best interest in mind. “Manon had his share of enemies just as anyone in this business has. There were quite a lot of individuals who were envious of his current success, but he made it his business to hire the best and the brightest. He had a good team behind him, which would have guaranteed his future success.”

  “Speaking of his team, was there anyone in the office behaving oddly or maybe even vocal about their dislike for Manon?”

  “I would take whatever Marilyn says with a grain of salt,” Smith advised, crossing his leg as he settled in for the duration. “The trading desk consists of Steve Lewis and Joshua Green. Steve tends to be a little on the serious side, whereas Josh is the one who’s constantly mixing the sugar with salt. He likes to get a reaction. They’re very vocal about their likes and dislikes, and that includes attitudes about people around this place. But neither one of them has the ability to cut a man’s throat from ear to ear and watch him bleed out. And before you ask about the rumors of Manon being in debt, I honestly haven’t the slightest clue about his personal financial status.”

  “What about Slater?” The other detective, who had been silent up to this point, finally turned his attention to those in the room. Smith took an immediate dislike to the man. “It’s our understanding that Paul wanted to bring in another managing partner.”

  “I’m sorry,” Smith countered, meeting the man’s gaze without hesitation. It was also Smith’s way of delaying his response. He had no idea that Paul was thinking of doing something so drastic. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m the detective who—”

  “My partner,” Fred cut in, shooting his colleague a warning glance. “Smith, this is Detective Richard Mancini. He just transferred in from New York. He hasn’t been completely read in.”

  Fred left out that because Mancini wasn’t from around here, he didn’t know all the movers and shakers, but that had been his intention. Smith honestly didn’t care about that. It was rare he used his surname to take advantage of anything, discounting yesterday when he’d done so in order to reach Laurel.

  For her, pride could take a back seat.

  Smith’s problem with Mancini was that he was too brash and had no time for anyone who couldn’t help him solve a case. At least, that’s the first impression Smith had gotten when he’d walked into the room.

  “Well, Detective Mancini, let me set the record straight for you.” Smith held up his hand when Meg began to balk. Yes, it was her job to protect him. Yes, it was the reason she was kept on retainer by the Gallos. But he also understood that the police were at a loss as to why Manon was killed, and that any information at this point could be relevant. “I wasn’t aware of Paul bringing on another managing partner. Paul hasn’t been in the office much over the last few months nor did he confide in me.”

  “And is that unusual?”

  “Which? Him not confiding in me or the fact that he hadn’t bothered to come to the office very often? No to both,” Smith replied, giving a truthful observation on the behavior he’d seen during his employment here. “Paul is great at bringing in the money. He’s usually out with clients ninety percent of the time, whether on the golf course, having lunch, or just paying them a visit in Barbados. Brad was the one responsible for turning a profit on the money Paul had brought into the fund.”

  “So it’s reasonable to say that you would benefit professionally by Manon’s death, considering you’d like to step into his shoes.” Detective Mancini went straight in for the kill, but his aim was a little off given that he wasn’t in possession of all the facts. Smith wasn’t caught unaware, having seen where this conversation was headed the moment the man opened his mouth. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Meg?” Smith stood, bringing this particular questioning session to an end. He smoothed his tie before buttoning his suit jacket, not worried when Mancini stepped forward to block his exit. Better men than him had tried and failed to intimidate Smith by use of sheer will. “I’ll let you take over from here. Detective Mancini, it was…well, whatever it was.”

  Smith never broke eye contact, waiting patiently for the detective to step aside. The man eventually rubbed his tongue across his lower lip as if he wanted to say something in protest, but he eventually gave in to the inevitable loss.

  “Gentleman, my client came here in good faith, willing to answer any of your questions you may…”

  Smith closed the door behind him with full confidence Meg would handle what had turned out to be a clusterfuck. He’d kept his private dealings just that…private. No phone calls were made at the office, no public meetings had taken place here in the city, and he honestly never had any intention of poaching from Manon Investments’ client list.

  In hindsight, there was no possible way for Detective Mancini to have known of Smith’s plans regarding his intentions to open his own hedge fund unless Laurel let it slip during her time in that office. Yet Meg had been with her the entire time, ruling out that slim possibility due to her lack of objection to the detective’s misplaced accusation.

  Had Laurel mentioned his plans to Grace? Maybe Cynthia? And they, in turn, said something during their time with the detectives?

  It was possible, but highly unlikely.

  Smith didn’t like the way this day was unfolding. Last night, Brad Manon had been killed and everyone had assumed it was because of the mountain of debt he’d found himself buried under. That had quickly spiraled to finger pointing and conspiracies.

  Smith had lived the majority of his life being targeted because of his last name. The most vital question on the forefront now changed the course of this investigation.

  Had Manon been murdered due to his own poor choices or was his death nothing more than a means to an end to bring Smith Gallo down?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Laurel pried her eyes open and stared into the abyss of darkness.

  She tried to think of absolutely nothing, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. Her thoughts were racing, and nothing could slow them down. She turned over under the warm sheets and nestled deeper into her pillow in an attempt to clear her mind.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Laurel sat straight up in bed, her gaze going directly to the bedside table. The
alarm clock read that is was going on eight-thirty at night. She’d been lying here all day with little to show for her efforts.

  She grabbed her phone off the charger before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Only one of her slippers was where she’d left it, so she finally turned on the light to see if the other one had been kicked underneath the bed.

  It was nowhere to be found.

  She decided slippers and her bed were much like socks and the dryer.

  More heavy knocking came at the door.

  “Damn it,” Laurel muttered, quickly making her way through the bedroom and out into the living room. She stubbed her toe on the side table up against the wall, the very reason she’d gotten those damn slippers to begin with. The pain was momentarily blinding, as it always was. She was relatively sure her little toe had been broken twenty-three million times in the years she’d lived here, but she’d been too embarrassed to go and get x-rays. “I’m coming! Hold on!”

  Laurel hopped the rest of the way, sparing one glance at the display on her phone. Sure enough, Grace and Cynthia both had texted her numerous times throughout the day. There were also quite a few messages from Smith, but she wasn’t ready to deal with that emotional baggage quite yet. She finally reached her small foyer, flipping the deadbolt and swinging open the door while standing on one foot.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear the—”

  Laurel fought the urge to slam the door in Smith’s face. He was still wearing the same suit he’d changed into earlier this morning, his shave still fresh, and not a strand of his thick hair out of place. He looked just as good as if he’d gotten dressed an hour ago.

  Unlike her.

  She was a wreck.

  Laurel was wearing what she always wore to bed, which was a pair of black running shorts, a pink t-shirt that had a hole in the shoulder due to wear, and the scrunchy that held her hair up in what was sure to look like she’d been in a hurricane. She could even see the flyaway wisps standing out from the side of her head. It was just the impressions she wanted to make.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The words she’d been thinking in her head came tumbling out of her mouth, but she decided she wasn’t going to apologize. There had been rules in place for a reason. Their conversation from earlier did not change the one where she went to his place if she wanted companionship, not the reverse. Besides, her little toe was still throbbing. She wasn’t in the mood to be nice to anyone.

  “Are you hurt?” Smith’s eyes had slowly grazed over her entire body, not leaving an inch unseen, until his concerned gaze landed on her pink toe. “What happened?”

  “Smith, what are you doing here?” Laurel had no choice but to hop back when he crossed the threshold. “And how did you even know where I live?”

  Laurel was losing control of things again, just when she thought she’d gotten herself sorted. Granted, being away from Smith’s intimidating presence might have had something to do with the illusion of control. She had a clear head when he wasn’t around. Hence, why it was in both their best interests that he left forthwith.

  “Here.” Smith leaned down and scooped her up into his arms before she could stop him. He used the bottom of his dress shoe to close the door behind him. “Let’s see what damage you’ve caused.”

  “Would you please put me down? I stubbed my toe, that’s all. I didn’t break my leg.”

  Laurel cringed when she saw the sight of her kitchen, wishing she’d turned the overhead light off when she’d gone to bed. There were still dishes in the sink, an old cup of coffee on the counter from yesterday morning, and a basket of dirty clothes near the closet doors that hid her washer and dryer. This was an affordable one-bedroom apartment that she could manage while still paying on her student loans, and she didn’t need Mister Money Bucks scrutinizing her living arrangements.

  “Did you break it? It’s beginning to swell.” Smith set her on the counter, which happened to be ice cold. She couldn’t help but inhale sharply when the back of her thighs made contact with the laminate. “Let me take a closer look.”

  The faint scent of Smith’s expensive cologne was a temptation she could have done without, along with the warmth of his strong hands, which now traveled down her left leg until he’d set her foot against his rock-hard abs. She closed her eyes and did her best to picture him a hundred pounds heavier with a receding hairline.

  No luck.

  “Ouch!” The comical vision she’d conjured up faded the moment he tried to wiggle her toe. Laurel would have yanked her foot away had he not had a good hold on her ankle. “Watch it, Harvard boy! That hurt.”

  “It’s not broken, but that’s a hell of a stubbed toe.” Smith carefully released her leg so that he could walk over to the refrigerator. She wanted to cry out to him that she didn’t need any ice, but it was too late. “Um, what is that?”

  “What is what?” Laurel hopped off the counter, leaving her phone behind. She quickly hobbled over to where he had the bottom drawer of the freezer open while staring at the contents in somewhat shock. She didn’t blame him for the bewildered look. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.”

  Laurel shoved the drawer closed with her good foot, which happened to be the one with a slipper on it. She would have been somewhat embarrassed by her state of dress had another dose of anger not shot through her bloodstream.

  “Smith, I’m going to ask you one last time,” Laurel said, making her intentions known. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

  “Pretending like nothing has changed between us gets us nowhere.”

  Smith was apparently letting her off the hook about what was in her freezer, but he was sailing into uncharted territory. At least, according to her calculations.

  “Look around you, Smith.” Laurel so didn’t want to have this conversation, especially now that her entire life was leaking water through holes that were too big to plug with her big toe. She leaned back against the refrigerator, still mentally exhausted. The eight hours of fitful sleep she’d gotten had done nothing to shake her fatigue. Her barriers had been chipped away, and she honestly didn’t have the strength to reconstruct them. “Seriously, look around this place and tell me that what we have has a chance of lasting a New York minute? I don’t do charity balls or run in the same social circle as your royal court. I still have student loans, while making sure my mom has enough grocery money to eat for the month. We’re both workaholics. We’d never see one another. You’re about to open your own hedge fund somewhere in the city. I’m most likely going to end up in New York panhandling while I look for a position at one of the investment banks. It won’t work, Smith.”

  “Do you want to make it work? Or are you quitting?”

  It was such a simple question, yet it held so many land mines that she was almost afraid to breathe. Smith took a step forward. He tucked some of those flyaway strands behind her ear in a gentle manner he rarely exhibited. It was when he tilted her face up so that she caught the look of hope flare in his dark eyes that she answered him honestly.

  “Yes, but—”

  Smith kissed her, once again with a gentleness that surprised her. It wasn’t the all-consuming beginning of another late evening tryst that they usually engaged in on the weekdays. No, this was the start of something that absolutely terrified the shit out of her.

  His tongue gently caressed her bottom lip until she allowed him to play with hers. He tasted of whiskey and mint, a heady combination. She would have asked where he’d come from this late at night, but her body was responding with its inherent need for security. Even the throbbing in her little toe somewhat subsided, taking up residence someplace else in her mindset. Conversation could definitely wait until later, when she was sure regret would rear its ugly head.

  “That’s the only answer that matters to me.” Smith lifted her back up into his arms, causing her one slipper to fall to the floor. One slipper really wasn’t much good anyway. He walked out of the kitchen and through her small living room, whic
h actually happened to look good since she hadn’t been home much. There were only two other rooms in the apartment; her bathroom and bedroom. Both doors were side by side and it was obvious which was which. “Please tell me that you—”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Weren’t expecting company?”

  “No, I wasn’t. But then you showed up.” Laurel appreciated that Smith carefully set her back on her feet, allowing her to cross the tile with some dignity. This time, she did utilize the peephole. Her stomach sank as recognition dawned. “Um, Smith? You might want to give Meg a call.”

  Laurel wasn’t dressed to receive a visit from the two detectives she’d spoken to earlier, but it wasn’t like she could keep them waiting out in the hallway while she got dressed. She would have loved to have a bit of time to calm her racing heart, given that she’d been about to engage in extracurricular activities. It wasn’t easy to go from arousal to putting on a makeshift attempt at a professional air.

  She wrapped her trembling hand around the doorknob, not looking back to see if Smith was following her advice. It wasn’t like they were here to arrest anyone, given that neither she nor Smith had done anything wrong. And even if that were the case, extremely unlikely as that may be, they were still allowed one phone call before processing. She’d seen enough television shows to know that bit of information.

  “Detectives,” Laurel greeted cautiously while throwing them a look of apology. “Please, join the party.”

  “What can we do for you?” Smith asked, getting right to the point. He remained where he was on the edge of the living room carpet. “As you can imagine, Laurel has had a rough twenty-four hours.”

  “We have a couple of follow-up questions.” Detective Nielsen quietly closed the door behind them once Laurel took a few steps back. The gravity of his inquiry was etched in the lines around his eyes. “We’d also like—”