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If I keep talking, Cady won’t have to say a word.

“Noam Tate is dead.” The second officer looks like he steps off a football field and into a uniform and clearly missed the memo about subtlety and compassion when dealing with deaths.

Cady inhales sharply as she covers her mouth with a shaking hand. She already knew, but I don’t think she’s acting.

It’s hearing the words for the first time that gets you.

I’m also not acting as I snort with disgust. “That’s not very compassionate, considering you must know Ms. Quinn is—was—a personal friend of Mr. Tate.” I tsk under my breath. “Did you run all the way over here to tell her that he passed away? Considering Ms. Quinn’s status and what she brings to the country in taxes alone, I would think our police force could handle this with the utmost respect, not little boys running over to tattle or gossip.”

The young one swells like a balloon ready to pop, but the first officer—the more mature officer—puts a hand on his chest like he’s done this before. “You had dinner with him last night,” he prompts, trying his best to ignore me.

“Well, I didn’t eat with the man,” I bluster. “My meal was with—”

“I did,” Cady says over my blathering. “I had dinner with Mr. Tate.”

“That’s it?” I demand. “That wasn’t even a question. More like a statement of fact.”

“Max,” Cady murmurs, her voice a warning.

“We need to ask about her whereabouts… after dinner.” The innuendo lies heavy in the second officer’s voice, and quite frankly, pisses me off.

I glance across the table at Cady and slide my hand over hers.

“Well, then you came to the right person after all,” I say, with all my father’s iciness and my bravado. “She was with me last night after dinner.” I smile coolly at the officers. “Not that it’s any of your business. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish breakfast with my new friend without any further interruptions.”

9

Cady

Ikeep my expression steady even though my insides are jumpy enough to make anyone brand me as guilty.

I did not expect him to say that.

I didn’t expect anything from Max Steele.

I know of his reputation—youngest son of famed developer Dalton Steele and doing his best to stay afloat in the company and impress daddy. He’s like an eager puppy—bouncing and barking and peeing on the floor when he gets excited.

But when he talks to the police about me, he turns into a guard dog.

“Sorry, about that, dear,” Max says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Not really being a gentleman, am I, if I go around telling these nice men our business?”

I take a sip of tea and hold Max’s gaze over the rim. “Gentlemen are boring.”

His eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline. A nice hairline. Thick hair. I appreciate men with a full head of hair. And with visible reluctance, he turns away from me to look up at the police still looming over the table. “Anything else we can help you with, boys?”

“You’re telling us you ate with Mr. Tate and then joined Mr. Steele in his room?” The second officer, ruddy-faced and broad-shouldered, doesn’t bother to hide his sneer.

“Mr. Tate is a long-time friend of mine,” I say carefully.

“Friend. Right.”

“What are you implying?” Max snaps. “That it would be impossible for a woman with Ms. Quinn’s business sense and savvy—more than most men I know—to be considered a peer of Noam Tate, even though he acted as a mentor to her for her entire career? You think that wouldn’t happen because she’s a woman? Or because she’s a beautiful one?”

They don’t know what to do with him, and frankly, neither do I. But hearing him defend me like this is like someone handing me a warm blanket after a cold walk home. “Maximus,” I say softly.

He looks over at me and by the twinkle in his eye… He’s enjoying this. “Our eyes met across the restaurant when she was with Tate,” Max waxes nostalgically. “I was ready to bust up their dinner and claim her as my own right then and there, but Cady stayed the course because Tate is a good man, a good friend. As soon as she said goodnight at the door, though, she found me and the rest… is none of your business.”

“I think it might be,” the heavyset officer tells me with a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

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