Page 61 of The Bodyguard

“Yeah, me neither.” She stared at the bathroom counter and then shuffled through the photographs. Then she held up the corresponding picture. “I think this is weird.”

He glanced at the crime scene photo and didn’t see whatever she wanted him to. “What am I missing?”

“Look at how everything has been arranged.”

He stared at the toiletries on the counter in the picture and then at the blank counter in front of him. “What?”

“Look at the toothbrushes and toothpaste.”

Again, Sawyer stared at the counter and then the photo. “I don’t see anything noteworthy.”

She pointed at the counter. “The two toothbrushes are right beside each other, a half inch apart, hanging off the edge into the sink. Who does that?”

“What?”

“No one lines their toothbrushes side by side, a half inch apart. Not even if they have been married for years. It’s too precise and unnatural.”

Sawyer scowled at the photo. “Really?” He used an electric toothbrush that had a charger. But before that, he couldn’t remember thinking about the placement of his toothbrush on a counter, much less whether he put it next to or opposite someone else’s.

“If you’re new into a relationship, it’d be too June Cleaver to line up toothbrushes. If you’re cheating and sneaking aroundand not used to sharing a bathroom, it’s a bold statement to line them up.”

A skeptical look crossed his features.

“You’re proving my point, Sawyer. No one does this.”

“Okay, say you’re right. What’s the point? It has nothing to do with whether or not Mylene killed—”

Loud, excited voices poured into the beach house.

“Shit,” he muttered. They inched out of the bathroom. The voices didn’t sound threatening, but he wouldn’t take a chance. Sawyer tucked Angela behind his back. He wasn’t armed, and she wasn’t wearing a Kevlar vest. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck. “Did you leave anything downstairs?”

Angela shook her head but caught herself. “My hat.”

What sounded like two kids and a shepherding adult boomed from the first floor. Bags were dropped. Kids squealed.

“Forget it.” They had to get out. The kids sounded like a herd of buffalo as they explored the beach house. “The back door is still unlocked—come on.”

“What’s upstairs?” one of the children called.

They stopped short. No-go on the back door. Sawyer took Angela’s hand and beelined for the bedroom balcony as little feet raced up the stairs. He threw open the sliding glass door and flung it closed just as he was certain the kids hit the top of the staircase.

A two-story beach house on stilts meant Angela and Sawyer were three floors up. Directly below, two women unloaded a minivan on a crushed-shell driveway. A concrete patio extended on both sides. Neither would make a pleasant landing zone.

The second-story deck was just off to the side, several feet away. Sawyer could make the jump. He wasn’t sure how Angela would fare.

“No way,” she said, reading his mind. “Absolutely not. I’m going to break my neck.”

“I’m open to suggestions, sweetheart.”

“Maybe we stay up here until they leave?” she half joked. “Or maybe they’ll head straight to the beach?”

The sliding glass door flew open. They froze against the side of the house.

“Whoa,” a kid squealed from inside the doorway. “We are so high up!”

“We’re not supposed to open doors!” a younger-sounding kid chided. “I’m telling.”

The sliding glass door slammed shut.

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