Page 88 of Wordless


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This couldn't be an accident.

Finally I took a deep breath, opened the book, and peered inside. Right there on the title page was the inscription from Jack, written in bold blue ink. Until now, I hadn't had the chance to read it for myself, even if Ihadgotten hints from listening to Darbie's commentary at the book-signing.

Now in the quiet hotel room, I read it out loud. "To Becka – a trouble-maker of the highest order."

I smiled.Highest order, huh?That phrase was used frequently in Jack's books, usually by some cleric or nobleman looking to make a point. With a little laugh, I pulled the book closer and studied Jack's signature, all bold and wonderful on the bottom of the page.

Suddenly I was feeling a little misty. Somehow, Jack had not only retrieved my book, he'd given Darbie a taste of her own medicine – all without causing a giant spectacle likeIhad.

The whole thing was kind of scary – but absolutely glorious in its own way.

Clutching the book more tightly now, I glanced toward the door of my hotel room.Should I track him down and thank him?

The answer came in an instant.No.

In the hotel's lobby, he'd made it perfectly clear that I wouldn't be seeing him again until noon tomorrow, when we'd be leaving for the actual book-signing.

With a sigh, I glanced at the clock on the night stand. The time was 1:05 in the afternoon, which meant that I had the whole day to do nothing at all.

I spent it obsessing over Jack, wondering what he was doing, and how he'd managed to pull of such a crazy switch.

Again, I asked myself,who was this guy, anyway?

And what made him tick?

In search of clues, I pulled out my little notebook computer, the one my sister had gotten me for my last birthday. I scoured the internet in hopes of discovering something that I didn't already know.

Instead, I found the same kind of stories I always found – articles about his string of best-sellers, his impressive net worth, and his reclusive nature.

Reclusive or not, there were at leastsomearticles linking him to various love interests – a software developer in California, a violinist in New York, and of course, Imogen from who-knows-where.

During my research, I also discovered that Imogen had an interesting habit of dropping his name on social media whenever she could, even now when they were apparently broken up – not that she was sharingthatlittle factoid.

During the past week, she'd even posted a series of photos of herself at Flynn's place, including several taken out on his back patio. She'd been showing off the same undergarments that she'd been wearing when I'd first spotted her in Flynn's front doorway.

In person, the undergarments had hidden nearly nothing. But in the patio photos, she was perfectly posed to hide her juiciest bits behind potted plants, strategically placed flowers, or even her own hair.

I had to admit, she'd done a masterful job of making the photos sexywithoutbeing technically obscene.

Still, looking at her spectacular body and beautiful face, I couldn’t help but feel rather ordinary in comparison, especially when I came across several photos of her and Jack together at some movie premiere in L.A.

They made a stunning couple, even if Jack wasn't smiling.

This got me thinking, and I retraced my Web pages, looking at picture after picture.

Funny, he wasn't smiling in any of them.

And yet, hedidsmile with me.Well, sometimes that is.

Holed up in my hotel room, I spent an obscenely long time jumping from article to article, until I came across the strangest thing. Way down on some obscure Web forum, an unknown guy was insisting that during the Atlanta convention, he'd sold half a jester costume to – yup, you guessed it – Jack Ward.

I rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, until a sudden realization made me gasp out loud.

The shirt – the one he'd given me to replace my ripped blouse. It had been absolutely hideous – some twisted checker-board thing with purple patches and a funny collar.

The Shirt of Shame.

It was something I'd never forget, especially because I'd endured quite a bit of commentary while wearing it.