Imogen's voice grew shrill. "But surely you can tell me. I'm his fiancée, for God's sake."
I rolled my eyes. Fiancée my ass.
Okay, it was true that Jack and I hadn't spoken for way too long. And we might even be broken up. But I wasn't so stupid as to believe that he'd gotten engaged during the last two weeks, to Imogen no less.
I stalked up behind her and asked, "So, when's the wedding?"
At the sound of my voice, she whirled to look. From the expression on her face, she was just as delighted to see me as I was to see her. She eyed me up and down before slurring, "What are you doing here?"
Her breath reeked of booze. What kind, I had no idea. But she was definitely drunk.
I crossed my arms. "I might ask the same."
"Don't bother," she slurred, half-forgetting the accent. "In case you didn't notice, I'm having a private conversation."
It hadn't been that private, considering that I'd heard her voice all the way from the elevators. Still, I couldn’t help but smile. "Oh really? With who?"
She looked at me like I was a total idiot. "Isn't it obvious?" She turned around, only to belatedly discover that the concierge had mysteriously disappeared.
It wasn't a mystery to me. I'd seen him leave with my own two eyes. He hadn't been slow about it either.
Imogen whirled back to me and demanded in a drunken voice that was All-American, "Where'd he go? I know you know."
Yup, I sure did. While her back had been turned, he'd slipped into that big, private door behind the front desk.
But Imogen wouldn't be hearing this from me.
With a loose shrug, I replied, "Maybe he's getting dressed for the wedding."
Her brow wrinkled in obvious confusion. "Whose wedding?"
Seriously? Either she had no sense of humor, or she'd totally missed the point. "Yours," I said.
She gave a drunken scoff. "Well it's not like we'd get married now. It takes time to plan a wedding, you know."
I did know. But she was missing the point. I tried again. "So, where's your ring?"
She scrunched up her face for a long moment before replying, "Maybe at the jewelers? Getting resized?"
It was such a sorry excuse that I had to laugh. "Oh yeah? If that's the case, I'm the Queen of England."
She gave a drunken snort. "You are not. You're not even English."
"Yeah. And neither are you."
"So what?" she slurred. "It's called branding."
"What?"
"Branding," she repeated. "Just like Jack." She leaned closer to me and mumbled, "We're so made for each other. He's someone else. And I'm someone else." She gave a little sideways stagger. "See?"
Oh yeah. She was someone else, all right.
And why was she so convinced that Jack was here at the hotel? Or even in Romania at all?
Was it because he'd paid for my hotel suite? But how would Imogen know? Did she have access to his credit card or something?
It was a decent guess. And just when I'd decided that I might be right, she looked past me and hollered out something that sent me reeling all over again. "Jack! There you are!"
Chapter 73
Jack
Yeah. I was.
And I wasn't happy with what I saw.
I'd just gotten off the elevator, only to see Imogen and Becka facing off in the crowded lobby.
Becka, who was dressed in jeans and a casual white shirt, was a sight for sore eyes. Imogen, whatever she was wearing, was the last person I wanted to see, especially here, so close to Becka.
I strode toward them, making plans as I moved. First step – get rid of Imogen.
Second step – make it right with Becka. And third – well, that depended on steps one and two.
Imogen stumbled toward me, jostling people aside as she wove her way through the crowd. I stopped to stare. Was she drunk?
But forget Imogen. I looked to Becka. She didn't move as our eyes locked across the distance. I gave her a pleading look. Don't leave.
She didn't. Thank God. Instead, looking almost amused, she followed in Imogen's wake.
I was still looking at Becka when Imogen plowed into me and clutched me like a lifeline.
Shit.
I made no move to return the embrace. "What are you doing?"
With no trace of that English accent, she slurred, "Saying hello."
She reeked of perfume and gin – and desperation. As she clung to me, she said, "Aren't you gonna say hello back?"
I made a move to dislodge her. "Hell no."
She refused to be dislodged. With her arms wrapped around my waist, she leaned back and stared up at me. "Hey, you said it all wrong."
No. I'd said exactly what I'd meant. To clear up any confusion, I told her, "You need to go." As I spoke, I moved backward, hoping she'd take the hint.
She didn't. Instead, she held on tighter, letting me drag her along for several paces as she whined, "But I came all this way!"
Yeah. Me, too. But it wasn't to see her.
With growing frustration, I looked to Becka, who was still strolling toward us. As she moved, I drank in the sight of her, wishing I could stride forward and meet her more than halfway.
When she reached us, it was pure torture. To think, I could reach out and gather Becka into my arms, if only that space weren't occupied by a drunk interloper.
I gave Becka a pleading look. "Just wait, okay?"
She surprised me with an impish smile. The smile went straight to my heart, warming it all the way through. As I soaked up the sight of her, Imogen slurred, "I knew Tom wasn't lying."
Tom? I looked to Imogen and said, "Tom who?"
She gave a drunken giggle. "Your pilot. He's been really friendly."
My jaw clenched. "You mean Tim?"
"Yeah." She laughed. "That's what I said."
I didn't bother arguing. Tim was a substitute co-pilot while the regular guy was off having some minor surgery. Tim didn't know it, but he was fucking fired.
Not only had the guy talked, he'd obviously blabbed the moment I'd made my flight plans known.
I was still chewing on that when Imogen slurred, "I saw the news, the thing about your dad, the senator. I saw it."
She didn't need to say it twice. I'd been dealing with the shit-storm for the last twenty-four hours. I hadn't known the story was coming, which meant that I'd had no chance to tell Becka beforehand.
I'd been planning to tell her everything at the end of the tour. Timing aside, she should have heard it from me.
Too late for that now.
Against me, Imogen was still slurring, "You're like a prince or something."
Where she got that, I had no idea.
I was no prince. Not even close.
And she wasn't finished. "You know, like Prince Toros in your books? He had a secret history, too. And remember Lady Marielle?"
I did. After all, she was my creation. But that was fiction. And this was reality.
When I didn't bother with a reply, Imogen said, "When I go, I want to die just like her." She gave a happy sigh. "In your arms."
Oh, for fuck's sake. "Don't tempt me."
"Huh?" Her arms tightened as she pulled back to stare up at me. "What does that mean?"
From the sidelines, Becka said, "It's a joke. Like he wants to murder you." She gave Imogen a hopeful smile. "Get it?"
"Oh shut up," Imogen slurred. "Prince Toros didn't kill nobody." She looked back to me and mumbled, "And you and me? We're totally connected."
If she meant physically, yeah, we were. And right about now, I'd give just about anything to dislodge her – without resorting to actual murder.
Even if the thought was oddly tempting.
Imogen was still babbling. "I mean, you've got a secret identity, and I've got a secret identity." Her eyes were gleaming now. "Together, we're like Batman."
What the holy hell?
Through clenched teeth, I said, "No. We're not." Because for one thing, my identity wasn't so secret a
nymore.
With growing frustration, I looked to Becka.
There she was – the girl I loved, the girl I'd flown twelve hours to see, the girl who made me want to smile, even now.
But more than anything, I wanted her safe in my arms.
Earlier, when I'd arrived at the hotel, I'd gone straight up to the suite she shared with Anna. Finding the suite empty, I'd returned back down to the lobby to scour the sofas and armchairs for a certain someone who liked to curl up and read.
But instead of finding Becka alone reading, I'd found her arguing with another someone who still couldn’t take a hint.
And now Imogen was saying, "And speaking of bats, I really like Romania. At the airport, I met this Count. He was so into me." Her shoulders slumped. "But he was old."
Looking amused as hell, Becka reached out and tapped Imogen on the shoulder.
When Imogen turned to look, Becka asked, "Just how old was he?"
Imogen frowned. "Really old, like ancient."
Becka's eyes sparkled. She leaned close and said in a loud whisper, "If he's a day over six-hundred, you'd better wear a scarf."
Imogen blinked. "Really? Why?"
Becka's eyebrows furrowed. She looked to me and said, "You got that, right?"
"Oh yeah." I got it all right. And I loved her all the more for it.
Still, her happy demeanor wasn't what I'd expected. I'd expected her to be mad as hell.
Aside from the latest news about my family, I'd been hiding things for months. And I'd been out of touch for two full weeks. And then today, I'd shown up with no warning, hoping to win her back.
But from the look in her eyes, I hadn't yet lost her.
How was that possible?
I didn't know. But I was determined to find out.
Chapter 74
Becka
"So then," I said, "I started looking at all those cities."
Jack and I we were sitting side by side on the sofa in my hotel suite. I was leaning against him, enjoying the feel of his hard body against mine.
He asked, "Which cities?"
"The ones where you disappeared in the middle of the night. And you know what I found?"
"What?"
I smiled. "Some pretty crazy stuff."
"Such as…?"
"Well, for starters, about the judge – you know, the guy you had pictures of? I saw the story of him getting arrested."
Jack's tone grew teasing, "Did you now?"
I nodded against him. "And I just knew you had something to do with it." I pulled back to study his face. "You are planning to tell me what happened, aren't you?"
He smiled. "Maybe."
I gave him a mock push to the chest. "What do you mean, maybe?"
"I mean, it depends."
"On what?"
He pulled me tight against him. "On if you're still mine."
I did my best Jack Ward impression. "You've gotta ask?"
"I do," he said. "No joke. I thought you'd tell me to go to hell."
I laughed against him. "Yeah, me too."
"But you didn't. Why?"
"Okay, yeah, I was pretty angry. But then I saw that news story about the judge, and I did a little more research, and then, there was that thing today with your family. And well…I finally remembered something."
"What?"
"Back at my condo, when you searched Nicky's room, you wouldn’t tell me what you found in his dresser, remember?"
"I remember."
"And when I asked you why, do you recall the reason you gave?"
With a wry laugh, Jack said, "Plausible deniability."
"Right," I said. "And, after I thought about it, I realized why you didn't tell me what was going on during the book tour." My eyes grew misty as I explained, "It was because you didn't want to get me in trouble…" I hesitated. "…you know, if things didn't turn out so great."
Into my hair, Jack said, "You're pretty smart for a trouble-maker."
Once again, I pulled back to look at him. "But you're here now. Does that mean that everything turned out okay?"
"So far."
This wasn't quite the answer I'd been hoping for. "So…you're not sure?"
"A hundred percent? No." His gaze warmed. "But I am sure of one thing."
"What?" I asked.
"Make that two things," he said. "One—I love you, Becka."
I fought another urge to cry. And now I didn't know what to say, or rather, how to say it. I mean, I wasn't even sure what to call him. But that didn't change the way I felt. In the end, I settled on, "And I love you. A lot."
He smiled. "And, two – no matter what happens, you won't be involved."
"So I was right?" I said. "That's why you sent me away? So I wouldn't be involved?"
"I should've done it sooner," he said. "But you want the truth?"
I nodded.
"I wanted you with me." His voice grew quiet. "It was selfish. Stupid, too."
"It wasn't selfish," I said. "And it was smart, really smart." I smiled through my tears. "And besides, it all worked out."
Jack didn't smile back. "There's no guarantee. You know that, right?"
"I don't need a guarantee," I said. "All I need is you."
Now, he did smile. "I know the feeling."
My own smile faded as I realized how much I still didn't know. I had a million questions. But first there was the most important question of all. "Are you okay? I mean, with the news about your family?"
"I'm more than okay." His eyes met mine. "And I want you to know something."
"What?"
"I would've told you."
I couldn't stop myself from asking, "When?"
"Soon. And it wasn't the only thing I wanted to say. I mean, I had a reason for waiting."
"Really? What?"
"No comment." He leaned his forehead against mine. "…yet."
"Oh come on," I said. "I mean, we've got time, right?"
"Not as much as you'd think," he said. "Your sister will be here in forty minutes."
"How do you know?"
"Let's just say she's not coming alone." He reached out and caressed my face. "I missed you."
His words, his touch, the look in his eyes – all of it was a balm to my battered soul. I leaned into his caress. "I missed you, too. And you know what?"
"What?"
"I'm thinking…" My pulse quickened like it always did. "Maybe we should talk later, anyway. I mean, forty minutes, that's not much time."
His eyes filled with humor. "For what?"
Yes, I knew we had a lot to talk about, but suddenly, all I wanted was to feel his body pressed tight against mine with nothing between us. I gave him a secret smile. "To see what you've been missing."
Now he was smiling, too. "Don't you mean what you've been missing?"
I stood and grabbed his hand. "That too."
Chapter 75
Becka
True to Jack's word, my sister arrived within the hour. She was accompanied by Flynn, who'd apparently flown in with Jack on his private jet.
When Anna and Flynn walked into the hotel suite, laughing, I wanted to laugh, too – even though I hadn't heard the joke.
As Jack and I watched from the sofa, Flynn pulled Anna close and told her, "I'll deal with you later."
She smiled up at him. "Promise?"
He grinned. "You know it."
With Jack at my side, and my sister looking so happy, I felt like everything was finally clicking into place. As for myself, I was weak-kneed and smiling from ear-to-ear, thanks to the amazing guy sitting next to me.
As Flynn shut the door behind them, Anna looked to me and said, "Guess who we saw in the lobby."
I gave a dramatic groan. "Oh, no. Don't tell me. Imogen?"
My sister nodded. "Yup."
I was almost afraid to ask. "What was she doing?"
"Arguing with the concierge," Anna said. "And she was drunk off her ass." Anna made a face. "She kept ranting about Batman. The whole thing
was so bizarre. You should've seen her."
I tried to laugh. "I did see her." I looked to Jack. "I guess she didn't stay in her room, huh"
He shrugged. "I guess not."
"I know why," I said. "She was expecting you to join her."
He smiled. "Maybe."
I just had to know. "Did you tell her that? Or did she just assume?"
"She assumed," he said. "But hey, I would've told her anything to get rid of her."
"Anything?" I teased.
"It was either that, or kill her," he said.
It was an obvious joke. Still, it was a good reminder that Jack owed me some details that he'd promised earlier. And it was time for him to pay up.
So when he and I returned to my private bedroom to pack for the trip home, I asked, "So, are you finally going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"Everything you did on the book tour. You said you would, remember?"
"You already know the most important thing."
"You mean with the judge?"
"No. I meant with you." He reached out and yanked me close. "I fell in love."
Even as I laughed, I told him, "I'm serious. If you don't tell me, I'll go crazy."
And, so he did.
It took him nearly an hour, and by the time he finished, I was staring in absolute shock.
Turns out, he'd planned the whole book tour as a cover for his secret activities, which included putting a whole bunch of corrupt people behind bars – or at least heading seriously in that direction.
And the funny thing was, Jack had done all of this in secret, without any cooperation from authorities.
As he rattled off the names and occupations of the people he'd exposed in one way or another, I sat in silent wonder. His list included two judges, a police sheriff, a couple of lawyers, three drug dealers, a banker, several corrupt businessmen, and more.
And now that I knew who, I was dying to know how. As we sat on the edge of my bed, I asked, "How'd you do it?"
"That depended on the person," he said. "Like take the judge. From those pictures, you might've guessed he was being blackmailed."
"Yeah, I guessed, but it didn't say that in the news."
"I know," he said. "It hasn't gotten out. But he knows."
"You mean the judge?"
Jack nodded. "Those pictures – he was storing them in his safe. They weren't the originals. And when the pictures started popping up around the court house, he didn't take it so well."
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