“I’ll stay out of your way,” he said.
She stiffened. “I didn’t mean that I didn’t want you along.”
He smiled. “Sure you did.”
“Look, you’re welcome to drive to L.A. with me,” she said. Her voice sharpened. “I was just concerned about your leg, that’s all.”
“I told you, I’ll take care of it.”
“Fine. It’s your leg.”
“Yes, it is my leg.”
She gave him a frosty look. “You’re annoyed.”
“Possibly.”
“Are you always this irritable?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my staff.”
She startled him with a steely smile. “No need to do that. I’m quite capable of forming my own opinion.”
He watched her warily. “And just what is your opinion?”
“I think certain subjects, such as a mention of your leg, annoy you.”
“It’s a mention of my poor leg that annoys me.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” She glanced around the patio as if searching for another topic of conversation. “I see you have your own pool.”
“I use it for exercising my poor leg.”
“Right.” She rose, clamping the lapels of the robe with one hand. “I think I’ve irritated you enough for one day and the sun isn’t even up yet. I had better go upstairs and see about getting dressed. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”
She turned and took two steps back toward the shadowed interior of the villa.
“Irene?”
She paused and looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure this out together. Partners, remember?”
She walked back and came to a halt in front of him.
“Not just partners,” she said. “Not after last night.”
“What, then?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I told you I knew that your friend Luther Pell trusted you. I found that . . . reassuring. But after what happened last night, I know I can trust you. That means a lot, believe me.”
“You know hardly anything about me.”
“Everyone has secrets,” she said. “It doesn’t mean I can’t trust you.”
“That’s good to know,” he said. “Because I trust you, too.”
“Why?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe because you refused to leave me alone in a burning building?”
“You wouldn’t have left me there, either.”
“So we know that much about each other. Is that enough?”
“It is for me. For now.”
Then, before he realized what she intended, she bent down and brushed her lips lightly across his cheek.
The heat of her body whispered to his senses. An unfamiliar certainty flashed through him. He started to reach for her but she was already stepping back.
He watched her disappear into the shadows of the living room.
It was only after she was gone that he realized that for the past few minutes he had been entirely unaware of the pain in his leg.
He smiled, bemused by his own reaction to the woman and the dawn of the new day.
Magic.
Chapter 29
They were finishing a breakfast of fresh melon, creamy scrambled eggs, and toast on the patio when the phone rang. Oliver grabbed his cane and got to his feet.
“With luck that will be Brandon with an update,” he said.
He disappeared into the living room to take the call. Irene slathered butter on a slice of toast and watched the sun dance on Oliver’s private pool.
She tried to ignore the nervy sensation that abruptly knotted her stomach. She reminded herself that she and Oliver had been expecting the call. The problem was that she had been savoring the intimacy of the moment—a perfect breakfast on the patio at the start of another perfect California morning.
It was all a little too perfect. Reality had been bound to intrude.
Oliver reappeared a few minutes later. His expression was severe but she could sense the energy in the atmosphere around him.
“Well?” she said.
He lowered himself into the chair across from her. He seemed to be moving more easily this morning, she thought. She took that as a sign that he had not inflicted too much damage on his poor leg during the night. Scratch the poor, she thought. The man had his pride. She respected that.
“Brandon says Springer and his pal—a guy who goes by the name of Dallas—are both hired muscle,” Oliver said.
“We guessed that much. The question is, who hired them?”
“According to Springer, he and Dallas are both professional stuntmen. Seems work at the studios has been a little slow lately, so they’ve been picking up some extra cash by doing odd jobs for a shady character named McAllister, otherwise known as Hollywood Mack. Springer claims that he and his pal don’t know who commissioned the arson last night. He says Hollywood Mack never tells them the name of the so-called client, but Brandon made some telephone calls to a pal in the L.A. police department. Evidently Hollywood Mack is reputed to perform certain services for some of the studios—including the one that has Tremayne under contract.”