“I won’t turn you down.” Champion crossed the kitchen and went out through a set of glass doors into what appeared to be another indulgence of the ultrarich—a rooftop garden. She wondered how much it cost Graham to have it tended.

Now that she was alone with him, the penthouse no longer felt so spacious. She needed to get down to business. “How did you figure out your ex-pal Keith had his hand in the till?”

“I followed your suggestion and did my own liquor inventory.”

“And you came up short.”

“For starters.” He rose from the couch and made his way toward the kitchen. “The son of a bitch wasn’t ringing up dozens of orders. He was also comping a crapload of drinks every night and getting big tips in return.”

“Rookie management mistake,” she said. “Letting employees decide who to comp. And keeping the tip drawer by the register makes it all too easy.”

He set his mug in the sink and glanced out the glass doors toward the garden. She didn’t like sitting while he was on his feet, and as she rose, she saw what she hadn’t noticed before. An open metal staircase at the opposite end of the penthouse leading to a sizable bedroom loft. She wondered how many of his hookups had gotten their stilettos stuck in those metal slats.

The kitchen didn’t look as though it was used for much more than brewing coffee, which made his rooftop garden even more of an indulgence. “From what I observed...” she said, “...and remember I was at Spiral to keep an eye on you, not your staff... Your pal Keith might have had a side deal going with a couple of the servers. Claiming a drink had been returned when it hadn’t, then voiding the sale and pocketing the money. That kind of thing.”

“Which servers?”

She wasn’t throwing anyone under the bus without evidence. “That’s what you’re hiring me to find out.”

Heath Champion came in from the garden carrying a grocery bag with green carrot fronds sticking out of the top. “You’re the only guy I know who’s growing brussels sprouts. Tomatoes I understand. Jalapeños, sure. But brussels sprouts?”

“Deal with it.”

She’d forgotten to turn off her cell, and it blared out the theme from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Graham arched an eyebrow at her. “Very professional.”

She grabbed the cell from her messenger bag. The call was from Officer Eric. She turned off the ringer and reached back inside. “I have an agency contract...”

Graham tilted his head toward his agent. “Give it to him while I put some clothes on.” He headed toward the stairs, and for the barest moment she imagined standing under those open metal stair treads and looking up. She thrust the folder toward Champion.