“Not so much as a parking ticket.”

“All right, so that’s something,” Spenser said.

“He’s divorced and has one kid. By all accounts, Russell is a self-made man,” Jacob reported. “Started building apps in his garage while he went to Oregon State—never finished school after he sold his first app for a healthy chunk of change. Ever since then, he’s built an empire from creating then selling apps. His fingerprints are all over most of the apps we use on our phones these days.”

“With more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes already, he’s making a killing from a wide, diverse investment portfolio,” Amanda picked up. “He’s also doing a lot of charity and philanthropic work. It reads to me like he’s working at building a positive public image.”

“Running for office?”

She shrugged. “Nothing official yet, but I’ve found the bare framework of a website for an exploratory committee, so at some point in the future perhaps? Or it’s possible he abandoned those plans altogether. Who’s to say?”

“His political aspirations are irrelevant anyway,” Spenser related. “I need more information about him as a person. Can either of you find any sketchy associations? Anybody with a record for violent crimes in his direct orbit?”

“I’m looking through his socials, but it’s going to take me a little time to get backgrounds on these people, but I’ll get on it,” Jacob said.

“Good. Thanks. Sorry to pile so much on you,” Spenser said.

He shrugged. “It’s the job. Nothing I can’t handle, boss.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t want to leave you completely snowed under,” she said. “Amanda, do me a favor and help him out. Go through his socials and see if you can find any shady contacts.”

“I’m on it,” she replied with a quick salute.

“Good, okay,” Spenser said. “I’ll check in with you guys later.”

“Where are you headed, Sheriff?”

“I’m headed up to the city,” she replied. “I’m going to go have a conversation with Joel Russell and see what sort of hit I get off him.”

Spenser stopped by her place to change out of her uniform. She thought approaching Russell in civilian clothing might be less threatening and less apt to put him on the defensive. In theory anyway. You could never anticipate how people would react to having somebody with a badge in their face asking questions. She’d seen people be mellow and simply answer the questions and she’d seen people absolutely flip out. But people, by nature, were often rash and unpredictable, so Spenser did everything she could to minimize the chances for an interaction to go sideways.

She pulled into a spot at the marina, having stopped by Russell’s office only to be told he wouldn’t be in. It had taken her half the day to track the man down. Grumbling to herself, she climbed out of her car and made her way down onto the docks. After a couple of wrong turns, she asked a few people who were able to put her on the right track.

Spenser eventually found the right slip and approached the O Fortuna, a forty-five-foot luxury flybridge cruising yacht. Sitting at a table on the lower deck at the stern of the boat, sipping a cocktail, was Joel Russell. Dressed in a pair of khaki cargo shorts, blue deck shoes, and a white polo shirt, with dark sunglasses and his face turned up to the sun, he was the picture of privilege and leisure. He pulled his shades down and watched her approach, a wry twist to his lips.

“I see you found me,” he said.

His dirty blonde hair was cut short and expertly styled, his cheeks and chin dotted with fashionable stubble. Six-three, lean, and fit, Russell bore a passing resemblance to Chris Evans. Sitting at the table beside him was a woman—a girl, really—with long platinum blonde hair, golden, sun-kissed skin, and obvious enhancements spilling out of her bikini top. Even Spenser had to admit the girl was stunning.

“Were you hiding?” Spenser asked.

He laughed. “Don’t take it personally. I was hiding from everybody. I woke up today and decided it was too nice a day to go into the office, so we decided to play hooky.”

Spenser had to keep from rolling her eyes. The idea of ditching work and hanging out on your yacht all day because it was too nice a day to spend in the office was a foreign concept to her. Not that it didn’t sound appealing. She was probably just jealous that she didn’t have that option.

“Must be nice to have the ability to make that choice,” Spenser said.

“Yes. It is,” he replied. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Please, come aboard.”

Spenser stepped onto the swim platform attached to the stern of Russell’s yacht, then walked through the gate in the transom and onto the deck. Despite his dark shades, Spenser could feel Russell’s eyes gliding over her form and suppressed a shudder. As if he sensed her discomfort, his lips curled wolfishly. He seemed to enjoy her unease.

Ever the gracious host, though, he gestured to the seat across from him. His young, blonde companion looked at Spenser like something she’d stepped in, making no effort to hide her distaste while obviously marking her territory. Spenser bit her tongue, keeping herself from asking if the girl was old enough for that cocktail in her hand.

“Eva, sweetheart, why don’t you go and make a cocktail for our guest,” Russell said.

The statuesque blonde looked at him with a frown and a flash of resentment in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” Spenser said. “But thank you.”

“See? She’s fine,” Eva replied in a tone that was haughty and offended.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“She just told you she’s fine, babe.”

“I’m sure. Thank you,” Spenser repeated.

Silence reigned over the table for a few long beats. Somewhere off in the distance, a ship’s horn blew, and Spenser turned her face up to the sky, enjoying the sun on her skin and the gentle sway of the sea. No doubt about it… she was jealous as hell.

“Why don’t you go below for a bit, anyway? The grownups have some business to discuss,” Russell said, his tone making it clear it wasn’t a suggestion.

Eva shot Spenser a hateful glare as she stood up and stomped her foot. The girl was wearing something that could only be described as something between a string bikini and dental floss and showcased her spectacularly sculpted body. Spenser looked away, suddenly feeling bad about herself. With an indignant snort and another withering glared, Eva stormed away and headed below deck. When she was gone, Russell looked at Spenser with an amused expression on his face.

“Sorry about her,” he said. “She can sometimes be a little territorial, and she’s clearly threatened by you.”

It was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. A rueful laugh slipped past her lips as she recalled the way that teeny-tiny, less than a bikini fit the young woman’s generously curvy, athletic body. The woman could have graced the cover of a Victoria’s Secret catalog, or even a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. For all Spenser knew, she had.

“She has no real reason to be,” Spenser said.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, his tone sly and suggestive.

This time, Spenser couldn’t keep from rolling her eyes. The man was a dog. She also didn’t think she was in any danger from him, given the fact that she was on the wrong side of thirty. Besides, for all his bravado and suave charisma, Spenser didn’t think Joel Russell would be able to handle a real woman. There was a reason guys like him, masters of their own universe and captains of industry, enjoyed having young, impressionable girls on their arms—to mask their own insecurities. One thing Spenser had found to be true, generally speaking, was the more money and power a man had, the more delicate and fragile their ego, and the last thing they wanted was a headstrong, intelligent woman with her own thoughts and opinions challenging them.

“I think I’m a little too old for you,” Spenser said.

He laughed. “I always make exceptions.”

“Gee, that’s sweet,” she replied. “But do her parents know she’s here?”

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, she’s twenty-three.”

“I drink scotch older than her.”

He laughed. “So do I.”