Morgan stepped over the threshold and handed him her business card. The foyer, tiled in black and white like a chessboard, was large enough to dance in. A sweeping staircase curved up one wall. Elegant dark-wood molding trimmed the walls. In the center, a round pedestal table held an arrangement of white roses. The scent of fresh flowers and beeswax filled the room. The muffled bark of a dog echoed in the two-story space.

“The house is beautiful.” She followed him down a hallway. An Oriental carpet runner ran the length of the corridor. “It must be difficult to maintain a home of this size.”

“He has me.” David chuckled. “And some additional staff. As a bachelor, Mr. Hart’s needs are simple.” At the end of the corridor, David opened a door and exposed a stairwell that led downward. “After you.”

Morgan and Lance descended into the basement. But it was no ordinary cellar. Kieran’s basement contained a professional-quality indoor gun range with a single target on a ceiling-mounted electronic pulley system. They stepped onto a concrete floor.

“Mr. Hart,” David called out. “Ms. Dane and Mr. Kruger to see you.”

Kieran Hart stood behind a table loaded with a handgun, a box of bullets, and a silver coffee service. Next to the coffeepot, three delicate white china cups sat on saucers.

“Thank you, David. You can leave us.” Kieran Hart looked younger than thirty-five. He wore tailored slacks, a black cashmere sweater, and Italian loafers the way a regular person wore sweats. Protective earmuffs were looped around his neck.

Morgan introduced herself, and she and Lance shook Kieran’s hand. “As I mentioned in our phone call, I’m representing Haley Powell, and I’d like to ask you a few questions that might help with her defense.”

“I’m glad to help Haley, but I’m not sure what I can do for you.” Kieran’s gaze narrowed on Lance and then brushed over Morgan’s bruise. Frowning, he turned to the table and picked up a heavily engraved weapon with a rosewood stock. He gestured to several pairs of sport earmuffs. “Please help yourself to the coffee as well. My new toy was just delivered. Forgive me if I indulge myself.”

Lance and Morgan donned ear protection. Morgan gratefully filled a cup. The ache that cradled the back of her head felt semipermanent.

Kieran raised his earmuffs. He pointed the gun down range and pulled the trigger two times. He paused, sized up the target again, and fired twice more. He set the gun on the table and lowered his earmuffs around his neck.

“Ed Brown Signature Edition 1911.” Lance whistled.

Kieran pushed a button, and the paper target moved toward them. He’d hit the human outline twice in the chest, once in the forehead, and once in the neck.

“Care to try it?” Kieran gestured to the weapon. He loaded a new target and sent it back about thirty feet.

They all raised their earmuffs. Lance walked to the table, took the gun, and moved into position. He fired three shots at the target, then lowered the pistol. “Nice weapon.”

Kieran brought the target in. Lance’s shots had all pierced the target’s center mass.

“Ms. Dane?” Kieran gestured toward the weapon.

“No, thank you.” Morgan finished her coffee and set the cup on the table.

“Are you sure?” Kieran asked. “It doesn’t have a strong kick, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about.” Morgan sighed. She wasn’t into gun porn. Her handgun was a tool, not a fashion accessory.

“I assure you, the weapon’s performance is even more impressive than its appearance.” Kieran refreshed the target. “I insist.”

Morgan just wanted to ask him questions, but apparently, he was going to make her shoot the gun first. What the hell? She took the pistol, secured her earmuffs, and fired three shots at the target.

Kieran brought her target in and frowned at it. “Well done.”

But his tone belied his words. Was he annoyed that her cluster of shots was grouped slightly tighter than his? She’d been shooting since she was a child. Her father was a cop and insisted all his children learn to handle and respect guns. She practiced several times a month, not because she loved guns but because her father and grandfather had drilled the necessity into her head. Like self-defense, shooting was a perishable skill. A person had no business carrying a gun if he or she wasn’t proficient in handling it.

Clearly, he expected some sort of gun-praise. “It’s a lovely weapon.” Morgan set it on the table. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Hart?”

Kieran ejected the magazine from the pistol. “My great-grandfather secured a patent for a lubricating oil. Small families have kept the fortune relatively intact. I don’t have to do anything, but my father thinks that humans need purpose. I am therefore employed by the family trust. My main task is managing charitable contributions. One of the benefits of being disgracefully wealthy is having the ability to actually make a difference. Last year, the Hart family funded a pediatric emergency wing at the hospital in Scarlet Falls.”

“That must feel wonderful,” Morgan said.

“It’s satisfying.” Kieran opened the box of bullets. “I suppose my father is right. Even I need a purpose. In addition to donating money to charity, I host outlandish events and talk other wealthy people into opening their wallets for the less fortunate.”

“That sounds easier than it probably is,” Lance said.

“You know it.” Kieran grinned. “It’s easier to get donations from the homeless. The rich are notoriously tight with their pennies. That’s why they’re rich.”

“I’ll remember that.” Lance folded his arms.

Kieran turned from Lance to Morgan. “Now, why all the questions about me? I thought you came here to discuss Haley.”

Morgan waved a hand. “I was just trying to get a sense of who you are.”

Kieran leveled a gaze at her. “If it comes down to testifying in a courtroom, I can assure you that I show well, Ms. Dane.”

Kieran was articulate, handsome, and successful—all qualities that impressed juries.

Morgan moved on. “How long did you date Haley?”

“A few months.” He tried to cover his irritation, but it showed in the tension around his mouth and the force he used to insert a bullet into the magazine.

“When did you break up?” Morgan asked.

“About eight months ago?” His questioning tone suggested he couldn’t quite remember the exact date. “I’m happy to help her, but I can’t imagine what I can tell you.”

“How did you meet?” she asked.

“At a charity event I hosted for the hospital. Haley’s mother made a sizable donation.” He pushed another bullet into the magazine.

“Do you know why Haley broke up with you?” Morgan asked.

Kieran sighed. He was trying to look casual, but Morgan caught a flicker of anger in his eyes. He quickly suppressed it. “I’m ready for a family. Haley isn’t. It wasn’t her fault or mine. We’re just not at the same place in our lives.”

A little different from Haley’s story, but it sounded good, she’d give him that. “Have you been to the new nightclub, Beats?”

“I have.” His eyes closed to half-mast.

“Did you see Haley there on Friday night?” she asked.

A muscle in the side of Kieran’s jaw twitched. “I did.”

His hesitation told her if he could have lied, he would have. Kieran might be a jerk, but he was smart. There was no benefit in lying about a fact that could be easily verified.

“Why were you at the club?” Morgan asked.

“I just wanted to check out the scene.” He shoved another bullet into the magazine, his movement more forceful.

“May I use your restroom?” Lance asked.

Kieran gestured toward the stairwell. “Yes. Second door on the right.”

“Thanks.” Lance jogged up the steps.

Morgan could only hope he didn’t snoop anywhere he’d be caught. She knew from experience that there was no point trying to stop him. All she could do was keep Kieran occupied until Lance returned.