Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(24)

He acknowledged this, picked up his own briefcase. “We all do our jobs, Lieutenant.”

“Right, and yours is to run to a murderer and tell her she just got rich.”

His eyes never wavered. “Life is very rarely black and white.” He nodded to Suzanna. “Good evening, Counselor,” he murmured and left.

“He’s right.” Suzanna sighed and sat again. “He’s only doing his job.”

“Will she inherit?” Eve demanded.

Suzanna pinched the bridge of her nose. “As things stand, yes. With charges of second-degree manslaughter, it can be argued she killed J. C. in a moment of jealous passion. His will was a sealed document. We can’t prove she had prior knowledge of its contents or that those contents in any way influenced her. Under current law, she can gain by his death.”

“If the charges are bumped up?”

Suzanna dropped her hand into her lap, regarding Eve thoughtfully. “Then things change. Is there a chance of that? I was under the impression the case was closed.”

“Closed doesn’t mean locked.”

“I hope you’ll keep me updated,” Suzanna said as she rose and walked out with them to where the maid waited with their coats.

“I’ll let you know what I can when I can.” When they stepped outside, Eve slid her hands into her pockets. The limo was waiting. She struggled not to be embarrassed by it.

“Can we give you a lift home, Ms. Day?” Roarke asked.

“No, thanks. I could use a walk.” She paused a moment and her sigh puffed out a thin stream of white. “As an estate lawyer, I deal with this sort of thing all the time. Grief and greed. But it’s rare it hits this close to home. I really liked J. C. Some people you think will live forever.” Shaking her head, she walked away.

“Well, that was fun.” Eve started toward the car. “Wonder if Lissy my love will shed half as many tears over this guy as Clarissa. You know her very well?”

“Hmm, no.” Roarke slid into the car beside her. “In that false intimacy of social acquaintances, I run into the Branson brothers at events occasionally. Clarissa and Lisbeth were usually with them.”

“I’d’ve reversed it.”

Roarke sat back, lighted a cigarette. “Meaning?”

“I’d put Clarissa with J. C. Just going by what I’ve learned about him, he was lighter, less driven, more emotional than his brother. Clarissa comes off fragile, nearly tender — seems a little… intimidated by Branson. She doesn’t seem like your slick corporate wife. The man’s running a big, international company. Why doesn’t he have a slick corporate wife?” Even as she posed the question, Roarke was grinning, making her narrow her eyes. “What?”

“I was going to say that he might have fallen for a different type. It happens, even to the heads of big, international companies.”

Now her narrowed eyes glinted. “Are you saying I’m not a slick, corporate wife?”

He drew contemplatively on his cigarette. “If I said you were, you’d try to hurt me, then we’d end up wrestling back here. One thing would lead to another and we’d be very late for a business dinner.”

“I’d be real sorry about that,” she muttered. “You’re not exactly the typical cop’s spouse either, pal.”

“If you said I was, we’d end up wrestling back here, and so on.” He stubbed out his cigarette, then trailed a fingertip down the center of her body from throat to waist. “Wanna?”

“I didn’t get all polished up so you could leave fingerprints all over me.”

He smiled and cupped her breast. “Darling, I never leave prints.”

During the evening of dinner and conversation, Eve managed to slip away long enough to request a warrant to access data on Lisbeth Cooke’s finances. She cited the sizable inheritance as cause and got lucky with a judge who either agreed with her or was too tired to argue the point.

As a result, she was alert and edgy when they arrived home.

“I’ve got some stuff I want to check out,” she told Roarke when they walked into the bedroom. “I’m going to change and work in my office awhile.”

“On…?”

“I asked for a warrant to access Cooke’s financial data.” She wiggled out of the dress, tossed it aside, then stood there, much to her husband’s interest, in two tiny scraps of black and high leather boots. “It came through during the dessert course.”

“I must have a whip around here,” he murmured.

“A what?”

Grinning, he started toward her, amused when her eyes narrowed threateningly. “Keep your distance, ace. I said I have work.”

“I can access that information in half the time you can. I’ll help you out.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“No. But we both know I can do it faster and interpret it without getting a tension headache. And all I want in return is one little thing.”

“What little thing?”

“That when we’re finished you’re still wearing this very interesting getup.”

“Getup?” She glanced over, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and blinked in shock. “Jesus, I look like — “