Page 35 of Ravaged With You

“I see. One moment.” She stepped sideways to a computer hidden behind the reception desk. Red could hear her typing, her professional smile never wavering.

She must have been texting Corveau, because a moment later, she returned with a genuine smile. “If you would like to take a seat in the lobby, Mr. Corveau will be right down.”

“Thanks,” Jo said, but when she turned away from the desk, her expression shifted from professional to deer-in-the-headlights.

He bit back a grin, took her arm, and led her to a plush settee in the open area.

“I took a risk,” she said.

“And it paid off,” he said mildly. “Don’t do it again.”

She winced. “I know. Sorry. I thought of it as we were walking in. I mean, it’s the most solid connection, and the safest. If I introduced myself as Mel’s wife—well, what if he’s the one who sent the thugs to attack me?”

“I agree one-hundred percent.” He paused. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I know. Sorry.” She reached over and took his hand, then squeezed. “We’re a team, right?”

For a moment—just one, brief, horrible moment—he wanted to stand up, leave that place, and get as far away from the distillery, Mel’s death, and this woman as possible. He did not do teams. Not anymore. But damned if she wasn’t right. They’d become one so seamlessly he hadn’t even noticed. And though that terrified him, he knew it was true. More, there was no way he was walking away now. Not with Jo still in danger.

“Red?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, of course, we’re a team.”

“No, I mean you’re hurting me.”

He realized with a start that he’d tightened his grip on her hand. “Sorry,” he said, releasing her.

“You okay?”

There was an edge to her voice, concern mixed with wariness, and he was certain that she was thinking of the way he’d lost his shit that morning. “Fine. Just distracted.”

“Well, don’t be. I need you on your A-game.”

“You’re right,” he said. “And I am. I won’t let you down.”

“We won’t let Mel down,” she corrected. “And we won’t get killed in the process. Deal?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Deal.”

Across the lobby, a tall, thin man in a silver-gray suit exited the elevator, then glanced toward the reception area. The clerk who’d helped them nodded in their direction, and the man, presumably Corveau, strode to them, his expression curious, but not wary. Perhaps he wasn’t involved. Or, perhaps, he was very good at hiding his true emotions.

“I’m Martin Corveau,” he said as he took the seat opposite them. “I understand you’re from Kline and Rosenfeld? Is there a problem? Ms. Painter mentioned something about documents.”

“Mr. Corveau, I’m Jo Swift, and I’m a legal assistant at the firm. This is my friend, Charlie Cooper.”

“You can call me Red.”

Corveau’s brow furrowed. “Red Cooper. You’re Mel’s partner. And you’re his wife.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see.” He leaned back in the chair, then leaned forward again. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t see at all.”

Jo glanced toward Red, and when he nodded, she drew a breath, then began, launching into the approach they’d previously agreed to take with the man. “I’m very sorry to tell you that my husband is dead. He—well, the truth is he committed suicide yesterday. We’re trying to figure out why.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. But I don’t understand why you’re here. You think I might know something?”

Red had been watching the man’s face, searching for any sign of nerves or obfuscation. He saw nothing.