“And that was enough?”
“It didn’t belong, and I’ve seen it before.” But she was not going to talk about Iraq. Certainly not with him. “Does your dad still want to go?” she asked.
Glenn sighed and gave her a visual inspection. “Of course.”
“Don’t we need to wait for the police?”
He gave her a “get real”look. “This is St. Isidore. He owns the police.”
She managed not to frown. Lambert was a legitimate businessman. Sure, there’d been rumors, but she’d never seen anything to suggest that his dealings went beyond greasing the skids to get things done in some of the corrupt island-nations, something every businessman in the Caribbean undoubtedly did.
“The guards are handling things. If the copsneed a statement,” Glenn said, “they’ll contact you later, but this was pretty straightforward. The other guy shot first.”
“Any idea who it was?”
“Doesn’t much matter now.”
She shivered. Itdidmatter. Someone wanted Treavor Lambert dead, and if the shooter had a boss, her client was still in danger. As was she by association.
“Woman of the year!” Lambert bellowed as he approached, wipingdust from the back of his suit jacket. “You saved me.” He grabbed her free hand and pumped it between both of his.
“Just protecting my number one source of income.” She gently slipped free of his grasp.
He laughed, deepening the creases etched into his deeply tanned face by the Caribbean sun. “I’ll double it.”
“Sir, that’s not—”
“Nonsense.” He didn’t appear shaken, but then he was an expertat hiding behind bluster. “Don’t argue with me. I’m the customer.”
She wrangled a deferential smile. “Okay. Thank you.”
Dropping his jubilant expression, he asked. “Are you okay? You good to fly?”
“One hundred percent,” she said, grabbing for Rockley’s leash. “Let’s do it.”
“Excellent. Come inside and get some coffee while I change into a clean suit.” He pinched the shredded fabric of hispants between his fingertips. “This one is ruined.”
Inside? She’d never been invited into his home before. “What about Rockley?”
“Bring him.” Lambert waved her to follow him and then waited for her to catch up, leading her along a brick path toward the house.
She gave the leash a gentle tug and moved in alongside Lambert as they passed through a gate, and up to the wraparound porch held upby ornate columns.
After they entered through a set of French doors, he waved her toward a doorway. “Coffee’s already made. Mugs, cream, and sugar are on the counter. One of the girls in there can help you. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Glenn had stayed outside talking to the guards, so she felt safe entering the kitchen alone. Whereas the living room had been appointed inornate furnishings that looked too old and valuable to safely sit on, the kitchen was modern. As big as her small house, it was bright and airy with pale gray cabinets, stainless appliances, and white granite counter tops. A large window over the farmhouse sink and a skylight over the island let in the washed-out light of early morning.
To her left, a wide counter had been turned into a drinkstation with a coffee maker, cappuccino machine, and an electric tea kettle. “Something for everyone,” she muttered. “Rockley, sit.”
He followed her command and she pushed the looping handle of his leash down onto her forearm to free up her hands. Grabbing a yellow mug off a rack of hooks filled with a rainbow-colored set, she filled it about halfway and added a little cream and sugar.
Lambertwould be out any minute. No need to take more than she could drink.
“Can I help you with anything, ma’am?” a familiar voice asked from behind her.
The mug slipped from Caitlyn’s hands and shattered on the tile floor.
