Page 34 of Three Steps Behind

She released a whoosh of air. “There’s something I should’ve mentioned earlier, but my brain is still swirling to process everything.”

“I’d worry about you if it wasn’t.”

Not what she’d expected to hear. He’d worry about her if she wasn’t a mess? She shook off the thought and, leaning in, whispered in his ear, “Tay and Nick had a prenup, so even if Nick killed her, he’d have no right to her money.”

Had Deck shuddered at her breath on his ear, or was her mind playing tricks on her?

“What about the rest?” he whispered back, tickling her ear and sending gooseflesh rippling along her skin. Had her whisper done the same to him?

“Harp?” He nudged her arm.

“Right. The rest?” Where was her mind? On him. Not where it should be and at a completely inappropriate time. She cleared her throat, hoping it would clear the muddle in her head.

“House, cars, etcetera?” Deck said.

“Yes. All are worth a great deal of money—their house, vacation home in Aspen, several cars, the boat . . . Nick has a lot of toys.”

“Do you think she left them to him? Or if they’re in his name or even jointly owned, he’d be able to keep them, I believe.”

“Good point,” she replied. “We’ll have to start digging to see what all he stands to get outside of the prenup. It could add up fairly quick with just vacation properties alone.”

She bounced her knee, the second hand on the clock on the wall behind her ticking away. Tick. Tick. Tick. The ten-gallon water bottle at the beverage station bubbled. Glub. Glub.

She glanced back to the counter, her knee bouncing higher. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Deck unzipped his jacket and leaned back in the leather seat.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the counter. “I just wanted to check on the progress.”

“She’s nearly done and should be out momentarily.”

“Thank you.” Harper tapped the counter. “Just a couple moments,” she told Deck as she retook her seat, legs swinging.

A few minutes later, a beautiful woman with olive skin, dark eyes, and wavy hair stepped into the lobby. “I’m Lindsay. You’re friends of Taylor Jackson’s?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harper stood. Deck came up behind her, a reassuring hand on her non-bruised shoulder. She didn’t flinch. His touch had become comforting. Just in little, unstartling bits.

“Why don’t you follow me into the conference room?” Lindsay led the way. “Please take a seat.” She gestured to the office-style leather chairs situated around an oval cherrywood table. “How can I help you?”

Harper waited until the door was closed behind them before diving in.

“Deckard is a PI and I’m FBI. And we have concerns about the suddenness of Taylor Jackson’s death, along with the possible motive of someone close to her. It all has us worried foul play may be involved.”

“Foul play?” Lindsay frowned, linking her arms across her cream suit blazer. “I heard it was a heart attack.”

“There wasn’t an autopsy so we can’t be sure of cause of death.”

“Really?” She leaned forward.

“Nick refused to have one done, and since no criminal activity was suspected by the police, he had that right. And then he had her cremated, so there’s no way to get one now. I think he might have been covering his tracks.”

“Wow.” Lindsay sat back. “That all was fast. As was his calling me the day after she died. At first I thought it was just to inform me, but he requested a reading of the will. Most bereaved wait longer than a day before shifting their thoughts to that.”

“We agree,” Harper spoke for both of them.

“So . . .” Lindsay slid the green folder in front of her.

Was it Taylor’s file? Harper inched forward on her seat, the edge under her thighs. If she could only get a peek.