He followed that up with, “I also shouldn’t go upstairs, get my gun, come back down, shoot you in the head, toss your lifeless corps over the deck railing, and let the seagulls get rid of all evidence.”
Completely ignoring his lame attempt at humor, at least I was hoping it was humor; I gazed impressively around the room.
“Nice place. Quiet too.” I meant it too.
“It was until a couple minutes ago.” Gil growled.
“I’m getting the feeling you don’t want me here.” I confessed.
He walked toward the front door, opened it, and tossed my stuff out. He left the door standing open as he walked away from it.
“Don’t know what would give you that impression.” He whirred and then disappeared around the backside of the stairs, which I assumed led to the bedrooms.