Page 76 of Misadventures with a Duke

“Let’s chalk that delusion up to your jet lag, yeah?” The woman’s aqua ponytail nearly becomes a lethal weapon as she switches her attention back to me. “I stand by my original theory. It won’t be long before Logan has to obey his superiors and move on to leads that yield better results. A day more. Two at best.”

“If that’s true, and I’m not saying it is”—Allie absently swipes at crumbs from the cheesy fish that were part of D’s earlier care package—“we should use the time wisely. We have to burn both your FBI agent outfits, such as they are, and entertain ourselves by thinking of a new hair color for Tiggerfina here.”

“Aha.” Drue brightens with unnatural drama. “Saved from the hotel room hair dye job by the dominatrix wig.” And then pulls out her hair tie and blithely toss-tosses her lush blue waves. “But also because this shit’s a bitch to switch.”

I smash a few fish and wobble my left leg. “Maybe all I need is a simple haircut.”

Allie frowns. “Not with that distinct color, darling.”

“Biggest asset. First thing on the APB broadcast,” Drue adds.

“Thanks for nothing, thumbtack butt.”

Deftly, she catches the fish-shaped cracker I’ve hurled. As Allie throws her hands up to celebrate the clean pass, I give in to a heartfelt smirk—right before my sincere confession.

“It’s so good to have you guys here.” I reach for their hands. “I mean that. Thank you both. For absolutely everything.”

Drue smirks with definitive purpose. “You’re just saying that because I took the bullet of going to the pharmacy counter.”

At once, I groan. It barely edges out Allie’s fresh gasp.

“What bullet? In what way? The pharmacy? Rae, are you okay?”

I fling another cheesy fish. “Well, there’s the topic transition we didn’t need.”

After fishing in her bra for the cracker, Drue flicks it back at me. “And there’s the response that tells me everything.”

“Everything about what?” Allie’s all but bouncing in her seat. “Damn it, what loop am I out of?”

I jerk my head back and forth. “Not important.”

“Which means it is,” she insists. “You’re never this cagey about trifles and trinkets.”

I roll my eyes. “Because my professional reputation depends on trifles and trinkets?”

“Good try but no good.” She darts her scrutiny between D and me. “Come on. You both going to tell me to chalk this one up to jet lag too?”

Silence stretches.

Drue stares at me.

I scrutinize three more smushed cheesy fishes.

But she finally speaks. “You didn’t take it, did you?”

Allie huffs. “Take what?”

All of a sudden, I’m restless. Surging to my feet barely helps, especially because I twist my fingers together like some fretting frau from long ago. All right, maybe only two hundred years ago. But that’s far enough away for a full-on conscience crisis. An inner debate that hasn’t set me free since this morning.

“Well, you have seventy-two hours, right? So there’s still time to decide.”

“Seventy-two ho—” Allie interrupts her snit on a blunt snag of breath. “Oh. You mean that kind of a decision?”

I leave the kitchen area, pacing out across the bedroom. “You know, fifteen minutes ago, we were deciding other things. Girls’ night in, remember? Passionflix? HBO? Nail polish? Maybe even hair dye?”

Allie rises too. “Fifteen minutes ago, I wasn’t aware that you and Bastien had tumbled quite that far over the edge.”

I stop. Pivot. And then snap, “Well we did, okay? But I’m working it out for myself, and—”