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 onthatwhen 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 gotthat, I had no idea.
I was no prince.Not even close.
And she wasn't finished. "You know, like Prince Toros in your books?Hehad 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. "Inyourarms."
Oh, for fuck's sake."Don't tempt me."
"Huh?" Her arms tightened as she pulled back to stare up at me. "What doesthatmean?"
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'retotallyconnected."
If she meant physically, yeah, we were. And right about now, I'd give just about anything to dislodge her –withoutresorting to actual murder.
Even if the thought was oddly tempting.
Imogen was still babbling. "I mean,you'vegot a secret identity, andI'vegot 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 anymore.
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, Ireallylike Romania. At the airport, I met this Count. He wassointo me." Her shoulders slumped. "But he was old."
Looking amused as hell, Becka reached out and tapped Imogen on the shoulder.
