She shuddered. “What happened at the Adlingtons’ residence doesn’t count.”
“Trust me, it counts.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re never going to be able to forget it.”
She thought about that. “You’re right. That is very insightful of you.”
“Golly, thanks. Once in a while I impress myself. There’s a map in the glove box. You’re in charge of navigation.”
“Lucky for you, I know how to read a map.”
“Yeah, clearly my luck runneth over today.”
She opened the glove box, pushed aside the flashlight and a few other items, and pulled out the map.
In spite of Simon’s dour mood, she would have enjoyed the trip if their mission was not so serious. The road followed the coastline as far as Los Angeles. It was another picture-perfect Southern California day. The ocean sparked and dazzled with a diamond-sharp light. The breeze stimulated all her senses. And she was sitting very close to the most interesting man she had ever met. Simon drove the exciting car with cool, relaxed skill.
All in all it was a scene right out of a Hollywood movie.This is where I was meant to be,she thought.Should have walked away from Brazier Shipping years ago and moved to Burning Cove.
But as with so many things in this land of sunshine and glamour, appearances could be deceiving. That was certainly true of Simon Cage.
“Are you a real antiquarian book dealer?” she asked.
His hard profile got harder. For a moment she wasn’t sure he was going to answer the question.
“Real enough,” he said finally. “I’ve got a small shop on the first floor of my house in Santa Monica. But I make most of my money tracking down and authenticating antiquarian books for collectors.”
“And working for Luther Pell?”
“I do occasional odd jobs for him, yes.”
“Investigations.”
“Yes.”
“No offense, but you don’t look like a professional investigator.”
“You’re not the first person to mention that,” he said. “That’s more or less the point when you’re working undercover.”
She flushed. “Right.”
“Maybe I should get a trench coat. Can I ask where you bought yours?”
She shot him a scorching look. “That is not amusing.”
“I’m not known for my humor.”
“Understandable,” she said. “I assume you have a gun.”
“In my briefcase.”
“Well, that’s something, at least.”
“The briefcase or the gun?”
“Ha. That was a desperate attempt at humor. Don’t try to deny it. I know it when I see it.”
