In Death Collection: Books 30-32 by J.D. Robb Page A

“I don’t know what this Dubrosky character’s told you, but he’s a thief and a liar. He’s not to be trusted.”
    â€œYou trusted him with about a hundred and fifty thousand,” Eve pointed out.
    â€œThat’s business, just the price of doing business.” He waved that away, then settled his hands on his knees. “And he came to me. He said he wanted to develop a game, and was working on some new technology, but needed backing. Normally, I’d have dismissed him, but he was persuasive, and the idea was interesting, so I gave him a few thousand to continue the work. And a bit more shortly after as I confess I was caught up. I should know better, of course, but poor judgment’s no crime. Then, after I’d invested considerable time and money, he told me he’d stolen the data from U-Play.”
    On a huff of breath, DuVaugne poured a second martini—and remembered the olives. “I was shocked, outraged, threatened to turn him in, but he blackmailed me. I’d paid him, you see, so it would look as if I’d hired him to access the information. I continued to pay him. I didn’t know what else to do.”
    Eve sat for a moment. “Do you buy any of that, Peabody?”
    â€œNo, sir. Not a word.”
    Obviously stunned, he lowered the glass. “You’d believe a common criminal over me?”
    â€œIn this case,” Eve considered, “oh yeah. You’re not naive, DuVaugne. Not like your very nice wife. And you wouldn’t take a big chunk of cash out of your own pocket to help some struggling programmer develop a game. You hired Dubrosky, and you paid him to do exactly what he did—use some silly sap to feed him the data you wanted. You bring the game and the technology to your company, which is downsizing rapidly, you get to be the hero. Your investment pays off several hundred times. The only hitch to pulling it off? Bart Minnock.”
    â€œI’m not a murderer!” DuVaugne downed half the second martini before slapping the glass down. “If Dubrosky killed that man, he did it on his own. I had nothing to do with it.”
    â€œYou just paid him to steal?”
    â€œIt’s business,” DuVaugne insisted. “It’s just business. My company’s in some trouble, that’s true. We need an infusion, some fresh ideas, a boost in the market. When information comes my way, I use it. That’s good business. It’s the way of the industry. It’s very competitive.”
    â€œWhen you pay someone to steal and/or transfer proprietary information it’s called theft. And guess what? You go to jail. And if that theft is linked to murder you get the bonus prize of accessory thereto.”
    â€œThis is insane. I’m a businessman doing my job. I’d never hurt anyone or have a part in it.”
    â€œStealing the results of someone else’s sweat hurts, and we’ll see what we add to that before we’re done. You can call that lawyer on the way downtown. Lane DuVaugne, you’re under arrest for the solicitation of theft of proprietary information, and for the receipt of same, for conspiracy to commit corporate espionage. Cuff him, Peabody.”
    â€œNo. Please, please. My wife. You have to let me explain to my wife. Let me tell her I’m going with you to—to help you with your investigation. Please, I don’t want to upset her.”
    â€œCall her down. Tell her whatever you want. But she’s going to find out when she has to post bail—if you get it.”
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    S he hadn’t done it for him, Eve thought as she let Peabody handle the booking. She’d done it to give his wife a little more time to adjust to the coming change. DuVaugne could talk with his lawyer, could try to wheedle, but there was no way they’d have a bail hearing until morning.
    She’d see what he had to say after a night in a cell.
    In her office, she tagged