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She shifts closer. “I said to him, ‘If you know anything about a fire in a certain palace, now is a good time to say something.”
“Did he?”
“At first, he claimed he had no idea what I was talking about. He said he had to get back to work, and he turned away.”
She pauses again. Her gaze is full of so much excitement I fear she’ll explode.
“He took a step,” she says, “then another. Then, he suddenly spun around and asked if I was in a position to help him if he helped me.”
“I see. Hence your request of two hundred grand.”
“He said he’ll give us intel that’s worth more than that,” she says.
“For all we know, Joseph Wick doesn’t know any more than Paco Ferré. But he’s more enterprising. He saw an opportunity and decided to play you.”
She hikes a single eyebrow. “Would an enterprising opportunist drop the name Kurt Ozzi out of the blue?”
“That’s highly improbable.”
She reaches over to her nightstand and picks up a paper slip. “This is Joseph’s secret bank account number. He’ll tell us everything he knows once the transfer is complete.”
“He’d better,” I sneer. “I’ll transfer half of the amount. He’ll have the rest after he delivers on his promise.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes it between hers. “Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Her eyes glisten with emotion behind her specs, and her warm little hands feel good around mine.Too good.
“To show your gratitude,” I say, “you won’t go out alone anymore.”
She releases my hand. “Am I under house arrest?”
“We need to figure out who tried to kill you.”
She mutters a curse under her breath. “It was just some random jerk!”
“We’ll find out,” I say. “In the meantime, Rudy will drive you anywhere you need to go. I’m also going to ask Angie to keep an eye on you when I can’t spare Rudy.”
She bristles. “Don’t you have more useful tasks for her? Your grandfather is already paying a detective to tail me.”
“Sure, but Angie’s brief will be to intervene if she believes you’re putting yourself in harm’s way.”
Camille’s head jerks back. “Are you serious?”
“Hopefully by next week, I’ll have a personal bodyguard who can double as a chauffeur cleared to work for you.”
“Are you going to have me chaperoned until we divorce?”
“No,” I say. “Only until the police track down the scooter and the rider. If it wasn’t a targeted hit, then you’re off the hook.”
She turns off her bedside lamp.
I fold up my paper and switch off my lamp.
An hour passes.
Camille seems to genuinely chase sleep, first on her right side, then on her back, and then on her left side. Me, I’m not even trying. I lie on my back, my fingers interlaced at the top of my head and my eyes wide open.
A soft rustle comes from her side. I turn toward her.
