“Thank you. You can count on it.”
As they walked away, Eve glanced over at Roarke. “That last bit—to him, not her? Good timing on that. And nice, what is it, derision.”
“Heartfelt.” He paused by the car. “You know how you often say, after I’ve done a bit of something, that you owe me one?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d like to collect.”
?
?How exactly?”
“You need to let me dig into this bloody bloke, and bury him once I have. He’ll have more tucked away here and there, and possibly some of that will help your case. Regardless, I want to dig, and deep. I shouldn’t need the unregistered, but if I do, I do. That’s the payment.”
“If you need the unregistered, tell me. If you get anything there that does play into the investigation, I need to know how to deal with it.”
“Agreed. You drive. I’m going to get started.”
Since he pulled out his PPC as soon as he got into the car, she gave him quiet to work. She had plenty to think about.
She had no doubt Cohen was as dirty as they came—a liar, a cheat, very likely into some fraud, tax evasion. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least to learn he got a small percentage of Banger income.
The question was: How deep did it go? Just business? Did just business include accessory to murder?
Why put the woman’s name on the documents? She’d have asked Roarke, but he was already muttering to himself as he worked.
She had a theory. The properties all carried mortgages. Was she cover? Something goes south, he leaves her holding the bag?
Considering that, she called in, ordered surveillance on the residence. If Cohen left, she wanted to know where he went.
“His partnership with Jones extends to a company,” Roarke said as he continued to work. “CoJo Corp. They use it to bank rents, to pay for maintenance, taxes, insurance. All very standard, with each of them taking a percentage every month—of what they report, in any case.”
“You’ve got more than that,” Eve said as she drove through the gates.
“I do. I’ve found two buried accounts already in the time it’s taken to get home, and that’s on a bleeding portable. Sort of a pity, as playing with the unregistered would be a bit of fun. He’s just not good enough at this to bother.”
“Or you’re too good to need to bother.”
When they got out of the car, he skirted the hood, took both her hands. “I wish I didn’t know, absolutely, you sign papers of ours without the reading of them.”
“I give them a scan.” Sometimes. “If you fucked me over, I’m a cop. I know how to make you pay without letting it show. Like, the one where I tranq your wine, dress you in a diaper and pasties, get you in your office, and transmit the image globally.”
“You’ve given this some thought.”
“Just in my free time.” She gave his hands a squeeze before drawing hers away and laying them on his cheeks. “Bottom line? She wasn’t wrong to trust a man she loves—because it has to be love. He’s not rich or good-looking or powerful. She just loves the wrong man. I don’t.”
“Well now,” he murmured, then leaned in to take her mouth in a soft, slow, sweet kiss.
“There’s the one where I coat the inside of all your boxers with a biological that causes your works to develop festering boils.”
It made him wince. “Christ Jesus, you obviously have far too much free time.”
“I’ve got a whole list,” she said as he opened the front door. “For him, too,” she added, shooting a finger at Summerset.
Summerset merely cocked his eyebrows. “No visible injuries once again. We appear to be on a streak.”
“For him I have the stick up his ass surgically removed, and without it, his whole body collapses into a puddle of ghoul.”