Max waited a beat, his expression asking the obvious question: What was the unofficial report?
Lucy pushed her chair back from the Victorian writing table that served as her desk. At the mullioned window that filled one wall of her library, she stared at the Hudson River Valley and the manicured acres of her estate, lushly green from the summer rain.
“No formal investigation is being launched into William Peyton’s death. His heart failure was confirmed with an autopsy. But…” She turned to look at him. “Beckworth Insurance investigators are not entirely certain. It’s very neat, this young woman being handed billions and the power of all her husband’s voting shares on Peyton’s board of directors. Yes, the autopsy was clean. No one is filing charges and no law enforcement has been notified. But you know how thorough Beckworth is. Since they handle the insurance for the entire Peyton Enterprises, they want the truth, whatever it is.”
“She didn’t really inherit control of the company,” he told her. “Just that Foundation, and I believe it was one billion, not two.”
She couldn’t resist a wry smile. “So you have been keeping tabs on Cori Cooper.”
He glanced at the magazine cover. “I read.” His brow furrowed as he gazed at her. “This is no random assignment, Luce. Why me?”
Lucy locked her hands behind her back and looked hard at him. “You bring some critical elements to the party.”
A smile threatened. “Other than my boyish charm, they would be?”
“You are a superb bodyguard, you are an excellent interrogator thanks to your years in the DEA, and you have a personal relationship with the principal, making it easier to access private information.” He also had charm, in spades. He just didn’t dole it out liberally. “I do, however, have one major concern.”
He looked at her expectantly.
“Can you leave your emotions out of this, Max?”
His lip twitched and for a moment, she thought he was going to laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, I’m not.”
“Lucy.” He shook his head, a gleam in his chestnut brown eyes. “Of all things to get in my way, emotions would not be one of them.”
“I’ve never given you a responsibility like this, protecting and investigating a person you were involved with.”
He stood to a height that dwarfed her own six feet, his face still unreadable except for the tiny scar above his right eyebrow, which paled as he gathered the papers together.
“Not an issue. Considering I just got back from six months in South Africa sucking up to an arms dealer, I’d call babysitting some trophy widow a walk in the park.”
“Parks can be deadly places.”
He smirked. “Luce, this is Protection and Investigation 101. And I know Cori Cooper: That girl’s an open book.”
“That girl is a very rich woman under a cloud of suspicion for murder.”
His eyes shuttered momentarily. “If she’s guilty of anything, I’ll know it in five minutes.” He closed the folder and slid it into a soft-sided leather bag.
“Money—and murder—can change a person,” she warned softly.
He crossed the twenty-foot oriental carpet in just a few steps. At the door, he slowly turned back. “Have you considered the possibility that she had nothing to do with her husband’s death? That it was a heart attack, pure and simple?”
“Defending her already?” That was the risk in assigning him to the job: He couldn’t be objective.
He finally gave her a long, slow smile. “Just considering every possible outcome.”
“You do that. And try to stay cool down there.”
As he disappeared into the hallway, she could have sworn she heard him laugh softly.
Every Bullet Catcher was tested once in his career. Lord, she hoped that this Rock of Gibraltar, with a mile-wide moat around his heart, could pass his test.
“You know what I hate most about you, Mrs. Corinne Peyton?”
Cori turned to see her closest friend descending three stone steps to the lower lawn, moving in beaded evening pants as gossamer-like as her nickname. “I’m sure the list is long, Breezy, but what is it now?”
“That death becomes you.”
Cori drew back, offended. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not, for once in my life, going for humor.” Breezy slid a well-toned arm around Cori’s waist and tugged her closer. “I watched you work that party for the last hour. You manage to exude grace, class, and radiance, with just the appropriate amount of grief and ennui.”
Cori tilted her head and laughed. “Ennui? Now there’s a word you don’t hear thrown around too often.”
Breezy shrugged. “Occupational hazard of being married to a lawyer who likes expensive