Page 79 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“Take it easy,” Julian said. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

“It’s not your career on the line.”

That was true, Julian thought. If he failed to secure the notebook, his father would be annoyed but there would be other commissions. After all, there was no shortage of people seeking the firm’s unique services. But he prided himself on his perfect record. He always got the job done and he never left loose ends.

He and Tremayne ambled through the lobby, making a point of discussing the possibility of a game of golf the next morning.

They were strolling along the covered walkway that led to Tremayne’s villa when a beautiful car cruised into the long driveway. There was a man at the wheel. He wore sunglasses and an open-collared shirt. A woman, her hair partially covered by a scarf knotted under her chin, sat in the passenger seat. She, too, wore sunglasses, an oversized pair that concealed much of her face. But something about the line of her jaw snagged Julian’s attention.

“Nice car,” he said. “Looks custom.”

Nick turned his head to look. He grimaced. “They say it’s the fastest car in California.”

“Belong to anyone you know?”

“That’s Oliver Ward’s car. Damn. I’d heard the bitch was sleeping with him. What the hell is she up to?”

“The bitch?”

“That’s her, the reporter who’s trying to destroy me. The one Ogden sent you to take care of.”

“Irene Glasson?”

“Yeah.”

Well, well, well. Hello, Anna Harris. We meet at last.

“She’s sleeping with Ward?” Julian asked.

“He’s a cripple. Bungled his last act. Plenty of good-looking women around the pool but a guy in his condition probably can’t get any of them to fuck him. So he ends up with the bitch.”

Chapter 35

“It feels like she’s stalking me,” Nick said.

He led the way through the living room of the villa and out onto the shaded patio. They sat down on the big rattan chairs.

Julian Enright didn’t look anything like Ogden’s usual tough guys, he thought. Enright wasn’t some beat-up ex-stuntman, and he didn’t have the brutish edge of a mob guy. Hell, Enright could have been in pictures, himself. He was handsome in a classy, well-bred way—a blond Cary Grant, maybe. He moved like Grant, too, with a casual elegance that announced to the world that it could wait on him. What’s more, the hair looked real, not bleached. His clothes were obviously hand-tailored, and with his tall, lean, athletic build, he looked very good in them.

Luckily Enright wasn’t an aspiring actor, Nick thought. He would have been serious competition in the leading man category.

“Tell me everything from start to finish,” Julian Enright said. “Don’t leave out any details. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

“Didn’t Ogden fill you in?”

“I prefer to do my own background research.”

“Research?”

“Fact gathering. Call it whatever you want. Talk to me, Tremayne.”

“I told you, it’s like she’s gunning for me.”

“You’re sure that you and Miss Glasson have never crossed paths? No one-night stands? A brief affair?”

“I’m positive. She’s not my type.” Too restless to sit still, Nick got to his feet, clawed his fingers through his hair, and began to pace the patio. “She’s got it in for me, I tell you.”

“Any idea why she might harbor a grudge against you?” Julian asked in mild tones.