Page 38 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

There was a group of young men clustered around the valet parking stand. Their expressions brightened at the sight of Oliver’s car. They were visibly crushed when Oliver cruised past them and deftly maneuvered the vehicle into a space markedPrivate.

“I think you just ruined their evening,” Irene said.

“I can’t trust any of them with the key,” Oliver said. He shut down the engine. “They wouldn’t be able to resist taking the car for a spin as soon as we were out of sight.”

“Who wouldn’t want to drive this car?”

He gave her a speculative look. “Do you want to get behind the wheel?”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to give it a whirl.”

He smiled. “Forget it. No one drives this car except me.”

She sighed. “If it were mine, I’d be possessive about it, too.”

He opened his door and climbed out.

Automatically she started to open her own door.

“It’s supposed to look like we’re on a date, remember?” Oliver said.

“Oh, right.”

She sat back and untied her scarf while Oliver retrieved his cane and made his way around the front of the car to her door.

He got her door open and reached down to assist her out of the passenger seat. She wasn’t sure what to do with the powerful hand that he offered. She was afraid that if she took it, she might accidentally pull him off balance.

Flummoxed, she grabbed the top of the windshield frame instead, intending to use it to lever herself up out of the low-slung seat.

“Are you usually this difficult?” Oliver asked. “Or am I getting special treatment?”

Before she could respond, he took her arm in a viselike grip. Hehauled her up out of the seat so quickly and with such force that for a second she was afraid she would be propelled into flight.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t want to—”

She broke off awkwardly, not wanting to put her concern into words. She knew he would not appreciate it.

“In the future don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I’m in danger of falling on my face.”

She was almost certain that he was speaking to her with his back teeth clamped together. It was not an auspicious start to the evening.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Do me a favor. Don’t say sorry for the rest of the evening, all right?”

“Right. Sorry. I mean—”

“Forget it.”

He steered her toward the wrought iron gate where two large, muscular men dressed in formal black and white waited. Irene suspected that they were supposed to look like butlers or majordomos, but they bore a striking resemblance to prizefighters or gangsters. It occurred to her that the fashionable drape cut of their jackets could easily conceal shoulder holsters.

And maybe her imagination was getting out of control.

“Good evening, Joe, Ned,” Oliver said. He inclined his head in casual recognition of the pair. “Nice night, isn’t it? I believe Miss Glasson and I are expected.”

“Evening, Mr. Ward,” Joe said.

“Mr. Ward, sir,” Ned said.

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