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“I have,” she admitted. “They basically said the same thing. I just thought maybe you could dig deeper and find something irregular when they set it up.”
Brian shook his head. “I didn’t. Their marriage was solid, they weren’t drug users, and no one was sick or mentally ill. I interviewed people that knew them years ago, and no one voiced any concerns.”
Renee still looked crestfallen.
“Mrs. Taylor, you’re not destitute by any means,” Brian said, leaning forward on his desk. “Talk to a financial planner. If you invest what you have, it will support you the rest of your life.”
Renee cocked her head at him. “But it’s not going to support me in the way I’ve become accustomed.”
Brian wanted to shake his head at the ridiculousness of it. The woman had a couple million to invest, and she wasn’t happy with it. If he had a couple million, he’d probably quit his job and… do something. No, he wouldn’t. He liked his job.
Renee leaned forward and he could tell she was trying to guide his gaze toward her cleavage. She’d done it before, and he didn’t understand what she was thinking. The flirting wouldn’t help him find her more money.
“I’m sorry we weren’t able to find you better options, Mrs. Taylor,” he said, standing, trying to signal the end of the meeting.
Renee stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to understand why her skills weren’t working. Then she forced a smile, though it looked a little brittle. “Thank you, Brian. I appreciate everything you’ve done. I’ll leave a card downstairs where you can send the invoice.”
“We’ll do that,” he promised, guiding her out of the office.
At the last minute, Mrs. Taylor turned into his arms, drawing him into an awkward hug. Brian felt her lips at his neck, and he fought not to scowl. He set her back, very carefully. “If you need us for anything else, we’re available.”
And he would make damned sure that one of the other men in the office drew the short straw with her.
Mrs. Taylor sniffled, but there were no tears. Brian maintained his polite smile as she gave him a last, lingering look, then tottered on her heels toward the stairs.
“Well, that was awkward,” a deep voice murmured.
Brian turned. Severn Moran stood leaning against a doorjamb, his long legs crossed at the ankles. There was a smirk on his face and Brian knew what he was thinking.
“Whatever,” he laughed. “I’m not rich enough for her blood.”
“I don’t think she was looking for long-term,” his buddy said. “She was giving off serious lonely widow vibes.”
“You can have her,” Brian said, crossing toward the breakroom. He needed a coffee after that mess.
Severn followed him. “I don’t know. They get desperate enough they overlook certain things.”
Brian glanced at Severn. His buddy was several inches taller than him, leaner, dark haired, almost his opposite in every way. Severn had been in a bomb blast, though, that had left him marked for life. He’d been walking through a doorway when the blast had ripped through, burning his hands, arms, neck and lower jaw as he was blown back. Brian didn’t feel like the scars were that bad, but Severn hated for people to look at him for too long. He acted like he didn’t care, but Brian had been around enough former military to recognize the signs.
Severn was in charge of field operations and coordinated resources. He reported directly to Parker and was out on the street more than in the office. Brian was glad to see him here.
“Are you busting my balls for a reason?” he asked him, and Severn grinned.
“Well, maybe. I have a new case for you. I’ll tell you at the meeting.”
Brian made his coffee and followed Severn to the open-air meeting area. They had an enclosed meeting room as well, but they didn’t prefer the space and used it mostly for clients, when they had to divulge private information. The circular grouping of soft chairs was a popular gathering place for them all, and Brian loved the vibe. In many ways the Columbus branch of Lost and Found was more laid back than the other branches, though they were no less dedicated to their jobs.
“How is that woman you were helping?” Severn asked him, dropping into an overstuffed armchair.
“She’s doing really well,” Brian said, sitting carefully as he cradled his cup.
“Is that why you didn’t…” Severn’s voice trailed off, and he made a motion to the stairs Mrs. Taylor had gone down.
Was that why he hadn’t responded to the widow? Because it had felt wrong to even consider the idea. “Maybe,” he said softly. “I like her, Sev, I’m not gonna lie.”
“And she doesn’t mind the prosthetics?”
Brian shook his head. “Not a hint that it even bothers her.”
