"It does now," she told me seriously. "So long as you did not suspect your own part in the picture, you could do more good for Phelps by running free. Now you know and Phelps' careful herding of your motions won't work."
"Don't get it."
"Watch," she said with a shrug. "They'll try. I don't dare experiment, Steve, or I'd leave you right now. You'd find out very shortly that you're with me because I got here first."
"And knowing the score makes me also dangerous to your Highways? Likely to bring 'em out of Hiding?"
"Yes."
"So now that I've dumped over the old apple cart, I can assume that you're here to take me in."
"What else can I do, Steve?" she said unhappily.
I couldn't answer that. I just sat there looking at her and trying to remember that her shapely one hundred and eighteen pounds were steel hard and monster strong and that she could probably carry me under one arm all the way to Homestead without breathing hard. I couldn't cut and run; she could outrun me. I couldn't slug her on the jaw and get away; I'd break my hand. The Bonanza .375 would probably stun her, but I have not the cold blooded viciousness to pull a gun on a woman and drill her. I grunted sourly, that weapon had been about as useful to me as a stuffed bear or an authentic Egyptian Obelisk.
"Well, I'm not going," I said stubbornly.
She looked at me in surprise. "What are you going to do?" she asked me.