Page 66 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

She gave him a sharp, unreadable look and then turned her back to him. Her shoulders were very straight.

“I can’t afford to hire a bodyguard, if that’s what you’re about to suggest,” she said. “And I’m sure my editor won’t pay for one—not for long, at least. How does one even go about hiring a bodyguard, anyway?”

“Forget the bodyguard. Finding one who knows his business and can be trusted isn’t easy. You’ll be better off staying here, with me, until this situation gets resolved.”

She turned around. “Here? At the hotel, you mean?”

“Here, in my private quarters. In spite of what happened to Gloria Maitland, I can promise you that I really do have good security, certainly better than the security at the Cove Inn. You’ll be reasonably safe if you stay on the grounds of the hotel.”

She stared at him, floored. It took her a moment to recover.

“Thank you,” she said. “That’s a very generous offer but, really, it’s not necessary.”

“My bedroom is down the hall,” he said. He spoke very deliberately. “On this floor. The guest suite is upstairs, if you will recall. You saw it the night you found Maitland’s body in the spa.”

He waited for his meaning to sink in.

She flushed. “I never meant to imply—”

“Trust me when I tell you that I avoid going up and down stairs whenever possible. You’ll have plenty of privacy.”

She turned red. “I don’t doubt for a moment that you would be a perfect gentleman.”

He wasn’t sure that was a compliment but he let it go.

“Good,” he said. “It’s settled, then.”

She got a stubborn look. “We both know I can’t stay holed up here at the Burning Cove Hotel indefinitely; I’ve got a job that I can’t afford to lose. I’ve also got an apartment in L.A. My editor told me that someone broke in while I’ve been out of town.”

“What the hell? Your apartment was burglarized?”

“Evidently. I was planning to drive to the city today to get some fresh clothes and take a look around to see if the burglar stole anything. I’ll have to go tomorrow, instead.” She glanced at the clock. “Make that today.”

“Has it occurred to you that the break-in might be connected to your Nick Tremayne story?”

“Of course. Probably a studio job.”

“I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem overly concerned.”

“Naturally I’m concerned. But it tells me I’m on the right track.”

“You’re going to keep working on the Tremayne story?” He grimaced. “Of course you are. What was I thinking?”

“If I give up now, Nick Tremayne will continue to murder his lovers and get away with it. Tonight was a turning point. I can feel it. He’s starting to panic.”

“We can’t solve all of your problems tonight, but we can deal with one of them—your safety. Spend the night here. I’ll send someone to the inn to pick up your things. We’ll get more information from the cops in the morning. That should help us decide what to do next.”

She blinked. “Us?”

He swallowed the last of the whiskey and lowered the glass.

“Us,” he said.

She fell silent, as if she could not think of a response. He should probably take her lack of enthusiasm as a personal affront.

She started to resume her pacing but stopped midway across the room.

“Daisy’s handbag,” she said. “I forgot about it. I suppose we should give it to Detective Brandon.”