Page 47 of Booked for Kidnapping

“You did? What sort of case?”

“It was doing some undercover work checking into a money laundering outfit. Pretty easy stuff, actually. We just had to go to the shops they’d identified while wired, then run the serial numbers of the cash we got to determine if the bills were stolen. Whenever we got confirmation of stolen cash, we’d do a few more hits to see if we got more stolen cash. Once we had enough proof of wrongdoing, the FBI would take over to gather additional evidence and close out the case. Not exactly glamorous work, but it benefited everybody. We got to see real investigations up close and personal, learn new tricks of the trade, and we got a few lessons on how to prepare to handle our own case. I think they want to use us as a test to see if the cells can be cultivated to become a functional branch of the FBI.” Bradley sighed, set his e-reader aside, and stretched out in the tub. “We have so much to bring you up to speed on.”

“Almost nine months.”

Bradley worked his arm around me and pulled me closer to him. “It’s pretty remarkable, really. You literally vanished without a trace. We’ve been searching for months, and nobody had been able to find a single clue about your whereabouts.”

“They had an illusionist.”

“A good one, apparently. I just don’t understand why. And to do so much work on your foot?”

I thought about that for a few minutes, relaxing against Bradley and lifting my battered right foot out of the bubbles so I could admire it and all of its scars. “I remember there being an infection, before they operated and fixed the whole thing. I went through at least two different rounds of antibiotics, and I guess whatever meds they were giving me did an even better job of disrupting my magic than the bracelet, since I turned that off whenever I tried to look at my foot. It was just something I couldn’t fight. I guess the only way to fix the infection was to cut my foot open? And at that point, if it was the group behind the murders, they had the right people needed to work a miracle, right?”

“It disturbs me that it’s entirely possible that’s the case—or you’ve been kidnapped multiple times without knowing it.”

“I only remember the one place.”

“But if an adept illusionist was working on you, they could have moved you around a lot and tricked you with illusions. A skilled illusionist can overwrite reality.”

I winced, as I hadn’t considered having been moved around. “They would have had to move all of the books, too. Those were real.”

“They were probably real,” he conceded. “Still, I resent I am somewhat grateful right now. You’re walking without a boot, and while I caught you limping, I think it was more out of habit than pain. You didn’t look like you were in a lot of pain. You looked like someone who had been on your feet a little too long and needed to take a load off, not like before.”

I bobbed my head in agreement. “I also resent my general gratitude. How dare these kidnappers make me be at all grateful?” I pointed at my foot. “I have new scars, and they’re beautiful.”

We spent several long minutes staring at my foot. Finally, Bradley nodded. “They do have a certain charm to them, don’t they?”

“I bet it’s going to hurt like a fucking bitch in the winter.”

“While I don’t want you to be in any pain, I look forward to being able to carry you around like you’re a princess. Our new apartment has a fireplace, so I will enjoy cuddling up with you in front of the fire while your feet warm up.”

“Wait. Our apartment has a what?”

“Fireplace.”

“Who did you rob to get an apartment in New York with a fireplace?”

“I didn’t rob anyone.” Bradley laughed. “Why do you think I robbed someone to get us an apartment with a fireplace?”

“We live in New York, and I have apartment hunted in New York before. I’d have better luck finding a unicorn. The unicorn is probably cheaper.”

“I will not dispute the cost factor. Our apartment is not cheap. It’s spacious, there’s a tub a lot like this one in it, and there is a fireplace. That tub is why I have this e-reader. I can read in the tub, and I’m looking forward to many a night of you reading in the tub with me.”

I gasped. “Don’t you be telling lies, Bradley Hampton.”

“We have a tub a lot like this, and there is a fireplace,” he repeated, and he grinned. “Once we are out of the tub, I’ll even show you pictures. I have some on my phone.”

I escaped from his hold, scrambled out of the tub, wrapped a towel around myself, and headed for the vanity to grab his phone, although I dried my hands off before picking it up. I figured out how to turn the display on after a bit of fiddling to discover I needed a code to access it. I walked over, dripping every step of the way, and held out the device. “Open.”

Laughing, he cooperated, tapping at the screen. Then he touched the screen a few more times and swiped. “There. That’s the album dedicated to our new home.”

I sat on the ledge and checked out the photographs, which showed a kitchen my mother would appreciate, a dining room with the kind of table his mother would like, a bedroom with a rather large bed, dresser, two desks, and a badass walk-in closet, two different offices, one of which resembled the study of a book-crazed scholar, a ridiculous living room with a stone fireplace gobbling up an impressive section of wall, and a bathroom with a tub larger than the hotel’s. “There is no way that’s an apartment.”

“I told people it was an apartment.”

“It’s a condominium, isn’t it?”

Bradley refused to look at me. “It could possibly be a condominium, but I’m calling it our apartment.”