Floored by Ainslie Paton Page B

said.
    “I had that cleaned—professionally.”
    “Yes. I realise that. Your professional bloodstain removal treatment turned my Statesman blue and spoiled its rear end.”
    He used a piece of toast to mop egg from his plate. “The appropriate response was thank you.”
    “The appropriate action was not to bleed in my car.”
    He said, “Eat your melon,” to cover the fact he wanted to laugh again.
    “You remain in the back seat at all times. Under no circumstances will you drive the car.”
    “Spoilsport.”
    “The route for each day will be decided the night before. So long as you stick to the driving times you can determine where we drive to. If I don’t like your plan, I’ll say so.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “No fraternising outside of normal professional requirements.”
    He wished she’d taken her glasses off. “What does that mean?”
    “It means I have my early mornings and evenings free to do whatever I want to do without regard for you.” She spoke to the tabletop again, but her voice was strong and clear.
    He folded his arms. “I see. So you can go gadding off down the local for a slap-up Chinese meal, but if it’s after your seven hours behind the wheel, I get left behind in whatever appropriate budget rat hole we’re staying in.”
    She bit down on her back teeth, her jaw clenching, an unambiguous answer.
    “Fine. Very professional. Anything else? Wait.” He was bored, he was tired and he was way off balance and felt like mucking with her calm veneer. He wondered what it would be like to see her anger truly unleashed. “What if I feel like singing?”
    “Would you?”
    “I might.”
    “That would be ruled out under the definition of distracting.” She wasn’t biting. She wasn’t enjoying this.
    “So I guess no gag telling, or I Spy either, right?”
    “Now you’ve got the idea.”
    She was fucking with him though. “Capital. Is that all of it?”
    “No going to each other’s rooms. We meet in neutral territory.”
    “Unless someone is bleeding.”
    She sighed. “Unless someone is bleeding.”
    “What about my rules?”
    She frowned as though she hadn’t thought he’d have any requirements outside of being a passenger and obeying her frigging commands.
    “No mobile phones.”
    “That’s fine. I’ll keep mine turned off.”
    “Not off. We’re dumping them. Yours and mine.”
    “Why?” She stabbed at a piece of honeydew.
    “It’s one of those things you do when you’re on the run. I’ll buy you a new one.” Yeah it was a bit extreme to confiscate hers—so what.
    “Why can’t I agree not to use mine when you’re in the car?”
    He sighed. He needed a second coffee. He needed sunglasses. He needed sleep and out of this conversation. “Because some jerk traced your new number and I don’t want him bothering you on my time—driving or otherwise.”
    She looked away but gave a tight nod of agreement. Which told him something about why she was sitting here with him still.
    He went on. “I need to exercise. I run. It doesn’t concern you but I thought you should know. My arm is fine by the way. Thank you for taking care of me last night.”
    Her dark lenses came up. “I’m sorry, I meant to ask.”
    “Sure.” Though she did sound a little embarrassed.
    “Those staples have to come out. I’m not sure if—”
    “We’ll be in Perth by then. I’ll take care of it.”
    Relief showed in the downward slide of her shoulders.
    “From time to time I might want to stop, stay somewhere longer, drive for a shorter period of time, or change the plan for the day. Any change will be reasonable and I’ll clear it with you, but I’ll expect you to be flexible.”
    “That’s fair.”
    Now for his last rule. He’d thought about this while they’d eaten in silence. She was obviously very uncomfortable with this and he couldn’t blame her. What she’d seen, what he hadn’t been able to tell her. His uncertainty about what danger, if any, she was really in. But he