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twinkling lights of Manhattan. It wasn’t like ET to be so succinct. He hadn’t even asked about her reunion with Miles, a subject of which he never seemed to tire. Was there more to the issue with the Davenports than her assistant was letting on?
    She groaned and turned from the window. Images from her flight and reunion with Miles flitted through her tired brain, including the bulky figure of Detective Benedetti flashing his badge.
    Was it her imagination, or did Miles seem to be uncharacteristically stressed? Usually the Brit was low-key and relaxed, but today Darby had detected an undercurrent of anxiety, even before they’d learned of the Russian’s death. Now I have my own issues to worry about, she thought. I can keep Miles company and get frantic over mold. The idea did not cheer her.
    Darby went to find Miles in the bedroom. He smiled warmly from the bed where he lay on his side, wearing only his boxers and reading a magazine. The muscles in his chest and arms were taut, well-defined, and as he flipped a page, Darby felt a surge of well-being edged with lust. Mentally she banished the strange encounters of the day, determined to put on something sexy as quickly as she could.

three
    “Murder? No fricking way.”
    Sherry Cooper, dressed and perfectly made-up at only six-thirty in the morning, thrust her hands on her hips, stunned. A second later she reached for an enormous coffee mug and took a gulp. “The penthouse girl’s boyfriend is the big guy, right?”
    “No. That’s her bodyguard.” Gina Trovata shook her head as she licked strawberry jam from her finger. “The boyfriend’s not here too often, but when he is, he goes down to the pool and swims laps.” Gina herself was partial to the hot tub, so she saw who swam on a regular basis.
    “I’ll be damned. A Russian guy?”
    “They’re all Russian, sweetheart.” Penn Cooper strode into the kitchen, his arms entangled in a vibrant silk tie which he knotted as he walked. “Alec Rodin is—or was—Natalia’s fiancé. They found his body in an alley, apparently. He’d been, as they say back in Louisville, stuck like a pig.”
    “Holy sh—sugar.” Sherry was making an earnest effort to curb her affinity for swearing, now that one of her sons had been heard trying out her colorful vocabulary. She narrowed her eyes and looked at her husband. “Maybe that means the penthouse will open up.”
    “I wouldn’t count on it. Both father and daughter seem to love New York.” Penn pointed at his tie and Sherry reached out to straighten it.
    “Yes, but maybe they’ll realize they don’t need all that room.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll text Rona in a little bit, see what she knows.”
    “Rona? I’ve told you, honey—Rona didn’t make that sale.”
    “I know, Penn, but let’s face it—the woman knows everything that goes on in this building. She’s sold nearly every condo at least once.”
    “She didn’t know squat when it came to that deal.”
    He’s right, Gina thought, as she screwed the lid on the jam, licking her fingers again as she did so. She put it back in the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs and some milk, listening for Sherry’s response.
    “It can’t hurt to ask Rona. Then we should talk to the Russians directly, too.”
    Penn frowned.
    Gina reached for a bowl and a whisk. Uh-oh, she thought. Here it comes.
    “I don’t see why we need that place, Sher. We’re fine here.” Above the colorful tie his square jaw was set, immovable, chiseled as if from granite.
    “We’ve been through this a hundred times, Penn. This unit just isn’t big enough.”
    “We’ve got four bedrooms! And some of them are big enough for a Little League team, never mind a couple of small kids.”
    “The boys need their own rooms. It’s what every educator says, what all the self-esteem research bears out.” Sherry was very big on self-esteem, mentioning it nearly every time she spoke about parenting. Now she waved a hand in