“No.”
“Then I’ll call the police like I’ve just threatened to.”
Trent sighs down the phone line. “Go ahead. They’re just going to tell you the same thing I will. He’s not breaking any laws. He’s not interfering with you. They can’t stop him monitoring your house.”
“Well, that’s bullshit.”
He bursts into laughter. “Sure. But it’s also bullshit that keeps an eye on you when I can’t be there.”
And suddenly I’m swallowing around an enormous lump. “You’re coming back?”
“Unless you agree with my original suggestion, yes. Until the police catch whoever’s after you, me and Elton aren’t letting you out of our sight.”
“Elton,” I repeat with a chuckle.
“It’s something like that,” he says. “And even if it’s not his real name it fits, doesn’t it?”
“You’re not even sure of his name?”
Someone shouts for Trent and when he answers again, he’s distracted. “Sounds like you can see him from where you are. Why don’t you go ask him? I’ve got to go. See you tonight.”
“Wait!”
But he’s gone, leaving me with a set of car keys and a rumpled man who looks more like he’s coming off a three-day bender than someone who’s safeguarding my life.
“You want a cup of tea or coffee?” I offer, returning his keys. “There might even be a gingernut hiding in the cupboard unless my flatmates have eaten them.”
His face is still exceedingly wary, but the man nods, locking his car before he follows me inside.
CHAPTERTWELVE
TRENT
“You’re not meantto spend the afternoon entertaining him,” I complain when I turn up with takeaways and another bottle of good bourbon that I filched from my dad’s study.
Rosa, Finley, and the PI who’s meant to be stationed outside, monitoring the place, are sitting at the table, playing cards and looking like they’re about to come to blows or collapse with raucous laughter.
“His name’s Edwin,” Rosa announces with glee.
“He’s divorced and shares custody of his nine-year-old daughter,” Finley adds, scraping the pot towards her. “And you can call him Eddie for short.”
“I won’t call you at all if this is how you interpret instructions,” I grumble directly to the man, my words landing with all the harm of a light dusting of snow.
“Don’t get on his case,” Rosa scolds me in return. “If you’re going to hire men to surround me every moment of the day, I get to decide what to do with them.”
“If we’re taking requests,” Finley adds, relieving me of my burdens with a delighted expression. “I would like a female to take tomorrow’s shift. Can’t have these two flirting all day long and leave me stranded.”
Flirting?
I stare at the man who’s old enough to be my father and give a small grunt of disbelief. Surely, he’s not her type. He’s not anyone’s type.
“Stop glaring at us,” Rosa says with a cheeky grin. “Come sit and play.”
“I don’t play cards.”
“Then grab some plates and cutlery from the kitchen and serve up whatever you’ve got in the bag. It smells delicious.”
I move into the kitchen, storing the three types of ice cream in the compact freezer, having to take a knife to the worst of the frost before they’ll fit. The rest of the food is in containers, and I open them on the table, handing out plates and cutlery before taking a seat.
