“Patrick,” she said quietly, her eyes scanning the white marble and gold fixtures.
“Impressive, isn’t it? It was custom-built about thirty years ago when the co-owners decided Pine Ridge would become their flagship location.”
“No offense, but why Pine Ridge? Aren’t their other locations in big cities?”
Someone had been doing her research. He hadn’t expected any less. He wondered just how deep she’d gone. Clearly, not deep enough if she didn’t know who owned the Goddess.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “But the executive chef decided to make Pine Ridge her home.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” she said as they traversed the white marble foyer.
Inside, the maître d’ greeted Patrick by name with the warmth of someone who had known him since before he was old enough to appreciate a good restaurant. Because he had.
Morgan gave him a sidelong glance. “Come here often, do you?”
Pleasure skittered happily through his chest. That seemingly casual question, combined with the intensity with which she was watching his expression, suggested what she really wanted to know was, “How many other women have you brought here?”
“I’ve been here a few times,” he replied, suppressing his grin at her territorialism.
She pressed her lips together and said nothing.
A waiter showed them to their table, one tucked into a semi-private alcove with a stunning view of the waterfall and gardens beneath. Intimate and cozy, the table for two was draped in gold-accented white linen, topped with a beveled crystal vase of fresh flowers, and ivory candles. Patrick pulled out her chair, then took the seat across from her. He watched her look around and absorb it the way she absorbed everything.
And the look in her eyes when she turned back to him? Awe. Absolute wonder.
Once seated, a server poured water into crystal goblets and left.
“Don’t we get menus or something?” Morgan asked in a hushed voice.
“Already taken care of,” Patrick said.
“Oh.”
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
She wasn’t. He could see the questions burning in her eyes.
The sommelier came and poured them each a glass of wine. Patrick thanked him, then slid his phone across the table, opting to ease into thecroiediscussion with something Morgan felt more comfortable with.
Morgan looked at it in confusion. “What’s this?”
“Answers.” It wasn’t the full package Riley had assembled, just a precis of the important points. “Your Philly case. The victim, Daniel Caruso, was a mid-level contract administrator at the city procurement office. He’d been funneling information about an inflated contracting scheme to someone outside the organization.”
Morgan looked at the screen. He watched her reading. Saw the moment she began to connect the dots.
“His name appeared in the financial architecture we uncovered,” Patrick continued. “One shell entity, three steps removed fromthe Virginia law firm. Caruso was moving documents out right under their noses. They found out.”
She was quiet, reading. He gave her the time.
“The injection site was wrong for an accidental overdose,” she said, half to herself. Her uncertainty all but disappeared as her MDI side rose to the forefront, just as he’d intended. “Caruso was right-handed. The site was the left antecubital. And the lividity—” She stopped. Set the phone down. “Someone staged that scene and assumed no one would look past the tox screen.”
“Butyoulooked.”
“And I wasn’t supposed to be there.” Then something else moved across her face, something careful and internal, and he knew she’d connected the biggest dots of all. “The contracting scheme. I recognize the name. My stepfather’s family operates in the same… ecosystem.”
She didn’t say it as a question. He didn’t answer it as one.