“No.”

“Exactly.”

I ran my hand through my hair and squeezed my eyes shut. What had started out a relaxing evening was now anything but that. “What the hell should we do, then, Joe? We can’t just pack them on a plane for Belize or wherever it is they were going and let everyone think they’re dead. We owe John Weston more than that, if no one else.”

“We’ll work something out,” Joe said. “For now, the most important thing is keeping them safe. That job’s in your hands.”

Great. I was the appointed guardian of a woman who attracted corpses almost as fast as she attracted stares from men.

“So I stay here? I just sit in the hotel with them, keep them safe? And then what? Eventually we’ve got to take some sort of action.”

“I know that. Give me a day to sort things out.”

Sort things out. That’s what Julie had said Randy Hartwick intended to do. It hadn’t worked out well for him.

“What are you planning on?” I asked.

“We need to know more about this murder. Once we have an idea of what went on with that, we can talk about our options. Tomorrow, you watch that tape. See what you can learn from it; see if any familiar faces are on it, whatever. In the meantime, Kinkaid and I will be doing the same thing on our end. Give me a call tomorrow afternoon and we’ll see what we have.”

“Okay.”

“And LP?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to keep those two alive until then, all right?”

He hung up before I could answer. I set the phone down, pulled the drapes shut in front of the balcony door, picked up my bag, locked the room, and went back upstairs. Julie pulled the door open at my knock.

“That was a long time,” she said. “I was starting to get scared.” She was wearing an oversize T-shirt now, and her legs were bare and her breasts uninhibited by a bra. I tried not to stare. It was dark inside the room, but she was standing very close to me.

“Sorry,” I said, “I called my partner.”

She took a half step back, frowning. “Does he know where we are?”

“Julie,” I said gently, “if you’re trusting me, you’re trusting my partner. We’re a package deal, all right? And I promise you, there’s no more reliable man in the world than Joe Pritchard. The last thing he said to me before he hung up was to be sure I kept the two of you safe.”

She watched me thoughtfully and then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I guess you’re right. Well, I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“Goodnight,” I said, setting my bag on the floor and stepping toward the couch.

“Goodnight,” she said. She started into the bedroom, then hesitated and turned on her heel. She took three quick steps over to me and squeezed my forearm gently with her hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered, and then she disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

As I stood staring at the closed door, my arm seeming to tingle and burn where her fingers had touched it, I was glad I was there, too. Maybe a little too glad.

CHAPTER 16

AN INCREDIBLY beautiful woman was standing just a few steps from me with a knife in her hand.

This was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes the next morning. It took a few seconds for my conscious mind to shed the fog of sleep and dreams and recall how and why I’d found myself in this situation. The woman was Julie Weston, and in the hand that wasn’t holding the knife was a plate of bagels. Julie looked down at me and gave me the same shy smile I’d seen the night before in the whirlpool.

“Good morning,” she said. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Great,” I said. “Thank you.”

I picked my watch up from where I had left it on the floor and looked at the time. Almost nine. Surprisingly, I’d slept well. I stretched and got to my feet, feeling the twinges and aches left from a night of sleeping on a short couch that had both my feet and my head at a higher elevation than the rest of my body. Julie turned away quickly and went to put the bagels in the toaster, and I remembered I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I’d expected to wake up ahead of the rest of them. Oh, well, some women would be pleased to find a shirtless young man on the couch in the morning. No sense feeling guilty about it.

I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. When the cold water turned warm I climbed in and let the spray hammer me in the face, driving away the last vestiges of sleep. My body still ached from the uncomfortable sleeping position, but at least I was awake. I got out of the shower, dried off, and dressed. When I stepped out of the bathroom I nearly trampled Betsy Weston. She was standing directly in front of the door, wearing pink pajamas with kittens on them and gigantic pink slippers. Her long dark hair stuck out from her head, fuzzy with the static from the pillowcase. She stared at me with sleepy eyes, but she didn’t look startled, so I assumed her mother had alerted her to my presence. I wondered what Julie had told her, though, or who I was supposed to be when the little girl was within earshot. Probably not the detective who was trying to find out who killed Daddy.

“Mommy says you’re here to keep us company,” she said, putting an end to that question. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Elizabeth. You can call me Betsy if you wanna.”

I knelt down to put myself closer to her height and grasped her tiny hand in mine. She shook it gravely.

“Nice to meet you, Betsy,” I said. “I’m Lincoln.”

“Like the president?” She pronounced it “prezdent.”

“Like that, yes.” I’d been named after someone, but not Abraham Lincoln. It was Percy Lincoln, a soldier who’d saved my father’s life in Vietnam. Seeking to honor the man but unable to force his son to go through life tagged Percy Perry, my father had picked the other name.

“I’m gonna go eat,” Betsy announced, and then she walked around the corner and into the kitchen. I remained kneeling on the floor. A little girl. Interesting. Children weren’t exactly my specialty. It wasn’t that I disliked them; I just wasn’t around them often enough to feel comfortable dealing with them. I found myself incapable of talking to them in the happy, high-pitched cartoon voices so many adults used for small children, so I generally talked to them as I would anyone else, only with less profanity. It seemed the best solution.

I walked into the kitchen, and Julie handed me a paper plate with a raisin bagel on it. “It’s all I had for breakfast food,” she said. “There’s a continental breakfast downstairs, but it ends at nine, so I’m afraid we missed it.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m making coffee, and there’s apple juice in the refrigerator,” she told me as she spread margarine on another bagel and handed it to Betsy. Today Julie was wearing olive shorts and a close-fitting white cotton shirt. She looked no less ravishing than she had in the swimsuit, but I tried to ignore that. Professional bodyguard Lincoln Perry at your service. No emotional attachment to his clients, and certainly no attraction for them. Can’t have it.

“Coffee will be fine, thanks,” I said. She handed me a ceramic mug with a palm tree and the resort’s name emblazoned on the side. I left the coffee black and took a small sip, then looked at Julie, impressed.

“This can’t be hotel coffee.”

She laughed and shook her head. “No way. I can’t drink that stuff. I found a deli down the street that sells gourmet coffee. I had them grind some for me.”

Damn. It was going to be hard enough to ignore her physical beauty. Now she had to make good coffee, too. It got worse and worse.

I leaned against the counter and sipped the coffee, watching the mother and daughter. It was a hell of a situation I’d gotten myself into.

“What do we have planned for the day?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if they felt safe leaving the hotel during the day, but I couldn’t imagine spending twelve hours in the confined space, even if it was much nicer than your average hotel room.