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"He provided her with a steady and generous income." From behind her chair, Roarke rubbed absently at the tension in Eve's shoulders. "Why kill him?"
"A million a year?" She glanced back at him. "That would be nothing to you."
"Darling, it's all something."
"You probably blow that on shoes."
Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "If your feet aren't happy, you aren't happy."
She grunted, tapped her fingers on the desk. "So what if she got greedy, got tired of hanging out for a million a year? Kill him, and do it right, and she gets it all and gets it now."
"It's a big risk. It goes wrong, she's charged with murder and gets nothing but a cage for her trouble."
"She's calculating. She'd figure the odds. Computer, what is the value of J. Clarence Branson's personal estate, not including any holdings in Branson Toys and Tools."
Working…
Roarke moved away to pour himself a brandy. He knew Eve would drink nothing—save coffee—while she worked like this. And since he wanted her to sleep, he bypassed the AutoChef.
She was up and pacing when he turned back. The belt of her robe had loosened, reminding him he had plans for her before sleep. Very specific, interesting plans.
Data complete. Estimated value, including appraisals of real estate, transportation vehicles, art, and jewelry is two hundred and sixty-eight million dollars.
"That's a hell of an increase in salary." Eve scooped her hair back with her hand. "You deduct the minor bequests, the death taxes, and he'd have finagled some there to cut them back, and she stands to get about two hundred million."
"Mantz will argue she didn't know about the inheritance."
"She knew. They'd been together over three years. Damn straight she knew."
"How much am I worth, Eve, and how are the bequests in my will distributed?"
She glanced up briefly, irritation in her eyes. "How the hell would I know?" When he smiled at her, she blew out a breath. "That's different. We didn't make a business arrangement."
"True enough. But Mantz will still argue it."
"He can argue until his tongue falls out. She knew. I'm going to talk to her again, hit her tomorrow. Her story about the other woman and her insane fit of jealousy just isn't holding up for me."
She swung back behind the desk and called up the debit data. Dissatisfied, she studied it, sliding her hands into her pockets. "Expensive taste, but nothing out of line with her income. She bought a lot of men's jewelry, clothing. Maybe she had a guy on the side. That's an angle worth looking into."
"Hmm." Her robe was open now, revealing a delightful strip of flesh, black silk, and leather. "I suppose all of that has to wait until tomorrow."
"Not much more I can do here tonight," she agreed.
"On the contrary." He moved quickly, tugging the robe off, then running his hands over her. "I can think of a great deal more."
"Oh yeah?" Her blood was already on boil. The man had the most creative hands. "Such as?"
"Why don't I make a few suggestions." With his lips curving against hers, he backed her up against the wall. The first one murmured against her ear made her eyes cross.
"Wow. That's a good one. I'm just not sure it's physically possible."
"Never know until you try," Roarke said, and began to demonstrate.
*** CHAPTER SIX ***
Peabody was already waiting when Eve arrived in her office in the morning. "Thanks for the time off, Dallas."
Eve eyed the slim vase of red, hothouse roses on her desk. "You bought me flowers?"
