thing.”
Except for the whole “dead” part.
“What is it you’d like my insights about this time?” Her tone was saccharine sweet.
His good cop, charm-the-idiots-into-implicating-themselves persona vanished. His tone and eyes hardened. “Do you ever stop asking questions and just answer them?”
She gave him an exasperated glare. “Ignoring the little detail about you treating me like a suspect, unless you plan to share what you’ve learned about Marcy, I told you what I knew yesterday. I have a job and responsibilities too.” She pointed at the crowded schedule visible on Outlook.
He ignored her computer. “I have questions. Questions about the victim.”
With a resigned sigh, she stuffed the files into her briefcase and dropped it beside her desk.
He shifted in his seat. In spite of the hard, uncomfortable chair, he looked completely at home.
Damn, he was like a dog, practically marking whatever territory he occupied. “What do you want to know?” she asked impatiently. “That I haven’t already told you. Twice . ”
He pulled his pen from his jacket pocket and gave her another assessing glance. He opened his folio, made a notation at the top of the page. “I checked. You moved here nearly five months ago.”
You never looked me up hung in the air unspoken.
“And your point is?”
His features settled into hard planes. He thumbed through the pages of his notebook.
JC didn’t need her for his investigation. Clearly she didn’t know enough about Marcy’s personal life to point him toward a suspect. During her sleepless night, she’d realized nothing had changed. JC was still making the rules—trying to, anyway—and bending them for his own purposes. Letting her go home, and then showing up at her house. Coming to her office, and acting…how? Almost as though he wanted to start something again. But then he’d zing her, or go into cop mode, which made her wonder if it was all a ploy. If he still suspected her of being involved—allegedly involved—in Marcy’s death.
She rubbed her temples. The whole mess was giving her a massive headache.
“This is pointless.” In one smooth move, she rose from her desk, slung her purse over her shoulder, and grabbed her briefcase.
“What are you doing? I’m not finished.”
“Then walk and talk. I have a meeting.”
His foot hit the floor with a responding thud . “I have an investigation.”
“And I have responsibilities to other people. I’ve already told you everything I know about Marcy.” She stepped around the end of her desk. “So either arrest me, or start walking.”
JC stood, blocking her escape route. “I want to know about Tim Stevens’ business.”
“You know damned well I can’t discuss client business.” She glared at him. “The basics of Tim’s company are in the public domain. Go look them up yourself.”
“You could give me that insight you’re so famous for.”
With a snort of impatience, she shifted the briefcase to her other hand. “Tim’s a developer. He contracts some projects, builds them for other people. He owns and leases other ones, like the office complex he’s building near Southridge.”
She sidestepped JC while he scribbled a note.
He followed her into the hallway. “I need a list of the properties he owns and financial information on each one. And the latest statements for Alejandro Montoya’s restaurant.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? I can’t give you that.”
“Why not?” He returned her incredulous stare. “You’re not a lawyer. It’s not privileged information.”
“You and I both know it’s privileged. The ethics requirements of my license are very clear. No unauthorized disclosure of financial information.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I work corporate mergers and acquisitions in Seattle. Breathing a word about a transaction won’t just bring the deal to a screeching halt, it could bring the Securities and Exchange Commission down on
Except for the whole “dead” part.
“What is it you’d like my insights about this time?” Her tone was saccharine sweet.
His good cop, charm-the-idiots-into-implicating-themselves persona vanished. His tone and eyes hardened. “Do you ever stop asking questions and just answer them?”
She gave him an exasperated glare. “Ignoring the little detail about you treating me like a suspect, unless you plan to share what you’ve learned about Marcy, I told you what I knew yesterday. I have a job and responsibilities too.” She pointed at the crowded schedule visible on Outlook.
He ignored her computer. “I have questions. Questions about the victim.”
With a resigned sigh, she stuffed the files into her briefcase and dropped it beside her desk.
He shifted in his seat. In spite of the hard, uncomfortable chair, he looked completely at home.
Damn, he was like a dog, practically marking whatever territory he occupied. “What do you want to know?” she asked impatiently. “That I haven’t already told you. Twice . ”
He pulled his pen from his jacket pocket and gave her another assessing glance. He opened his folio, made a notation at the top of the page. “I checked. You moved here nearly five months ago.”
You never looked me up hung in the air unspoken.
“And your point is?”
His features settled into hard planes. He thumbed through the pages of his notebook.
JC didn’t need her for his investigation. Clearly she didn’t know enough about Marcy’s personal life to point him toward a suspect. During her sleepless night, she’d realized nothing had changed. JC was still making the rules—trying to, anyway—and bending them for his own purposes. Letting her go home, and then showing up at her house. Coming to her office, and acting…how? Almost as though he wanted to start something again. But then he’d zing her, or go into cop mode, which made her wonder if it was all a ploy. If he still suspected her of being involved—allegedly involved—in Marcy’s death.
She rubbed her temples. The whole mess was giving her a massive headache.
“This is pointless.” In one smooth move, she rose from her desk, slung her purse over her shoulder, and grabbed her briefcase.
“What are you doing? I’m not finished.”
“Then walk and talk. I have a meeting.”
His foot hit the floor with a responding thud . “I have an investigation.”
“And I have responsibilities to other people. I’ve already told you everything I know about Marcy.” She stepped around the end of her desk. “So either arrest me, or start walking.”
JC stood, blocking her escape route. “I want to know about Tim Stevens’ business.”
“You know damned well I can’t discuss client business.” She glared at him. “The basics of Tim’s company are in the public domain. Go look them up yourself.”
“You could give me that insight you’re so famous for.”
With a snort of impatience, she shifted the briefcase to her other hand. “Tim’s a developer. He contracts some projects, builds them for other people. He owns and leases other ones, like the office complex he’s building near Southridge.”
She sidestepped JC while he scribbled a note.
He followed her into the hallway. “I need a list of the properties he owns and financial information on each one. And the latest statements for Alejandro Montoya’s restaurant.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? I can’t give you that.”
“Why not?” He returned her incredulous stare. “You’re not a lawyer. It’s not privileged information.”
“You and I both know it’s privileged. The ethics requirements of my license are very clear. No unauthorized disclosure of financial information.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I work corporate mergers and acquisitions in Seattle. Breathing a word about a transaction won’t just bring the deal to a screeching halt, it could bring the Securities and Exchange Commission down on
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