“But we know she had access to it, thanks to the English yew on the grounds of her church—where, as you discovered, she used to do volunteer gardening.”

“True. Plus, the FBI did identify her as the owner of the offshore account that funneled the so-called interest payments to her victims via a New York address. If this goes to a jury, I don’t think there’s any question that the prosecutor will convince them she’s guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, even if some of the evidence is circumstantial.”

“I hope so.” Grace shivered, despite the cozy warmth of the room. “It creeps me out how she methodically eliminated people without any apparent remorse.”

“Unlike Mullins, who was eaten up by guilt.”

“I’m glad the courts didn’t treat him harshly.” She crossed to the bouquet of roses and bent down to inhale the heady fragrance.

“They tend to be lenient with people who cooperate and admit their guilt. Setting up the offshore account for Eleanor and sucking in the clients she selected was the least of the evils committed in this scheme. That doesn’t condone what he did, but the blackmail threat hanging over his head was powerful.”

She fingered a velvety petal. “He’s lucky his wife stuck with him and that the congregation at church rallied around to watch out for her while he serves his one-year sentence.”

“He’ll be paying off the money to the charities that were supposed to get it for a long while, though.”

“Unless the FBI manages to pry the funds loose from the offshore account.” She turned back to Nate. The mellow light warmed his skin, giving him a golden glow.

Appropriate.

For the man who had stolen her heart over these past months with his tenderness and kindness and caring was pure gold.

“I hope that happens—but I’m not in the mood to think about Mullins tonight. I only have one person on my mind at the moment.” Nate joined her by the roses and pulled her into the circle of his arms. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“About a dozen times.” She fingered his bow tie. “Have I told you how handsome you look in a tux?”

“Mmm-hmm. But I’m not a tux kind of guy. I’m ready to ditch this noose of a tie.”

She tugged one side until the knot came loose and the two ends hung down the front of his shirt. “Done.”

His eyes darkened. “The top button on my shirt is tight too.”

She worked it open. “Better?”

“Uh-huh.” He motioned to the fancy upsweep her stylist had created. “Are you going to leave your hair up all night?”

“You don’t like my do?”

“Very much. But you may be more comfortable sleeping if you let it down.”

“I won’t argue with that. However . . . there are dozens of pins that will have to come out, and I can’t see them all. I may need assistance.”

“That can be arranged.” He began slowly removing them one by one.