Page 65 of Booked for Kidnapping

“Entirely possible, especially since Mickey was researching alternative treatment methods to see if we could do anything to help you heal.”

I showed off my foot. “I’m confused. Do I send chocolate, cards, or flowers? Do I have to thank them while informing them their methods might have scarred me for life?”

“No,” both men stated.

I could understand Bradley’s father refusing, but I didn’t understand why my fiancé rejected my idea to show some gratitude. “Why not? If you’re right, they were doing a really good deed in a somewhat traumatic fashion. Except beyond being really lonely, it wasn’t really traumatic. Excluding the part that was so traumatic I seem to have completely blocked it out.”

“That part is the reason why,” Bradley’s father replied. “That could have killed you.”

“But it didn’t.”

“You were gone for almost nine months,” Bradley added. “I definitely didn’t appreciate that at all.”

“Well, I can’t say I liked it.” I pointed at my foot again. “But I appreciate this.”

“She makes a good point, Dad. I mean, I’m forced to appreciate it, too. She’s not hurting every time she takes a step. It’ll hurt when the weather changes, and it’ll hurt and get sore because it was so extensively injured, but she’s not going to hurt all the time anymore.” Bradley sighed. “And even if we could prove it, why would we? I still don’t understand the motive. The expense for this would be huge. That many specialists on that complicated of an operation? Who paid for it? Why?”

Mr. Hampton shrugged. “It’s not that expensive, outside of the machines, when all of the specialists are doing the work because they want to. You’re assuming they paid for anything. Dr. Castor is a researcher. She surely owns her own lab equipment. Other specialists of that tier are wealthy enough to own their equipment. All they’d need is a matching blood type for transfusions as needed, and an illusionist could easily just steal some from a blood bank without anyone being the wiser for it. Blood gets tossed with unfortunate regularity. All an illusionist would have to do was flag the blood they needed for her as tainted or spoiled when it wasn’t.”

Turning, I wiggled out of Bradley’s hold, threw my hands up, and marched towards the beach. “I am going to steal a seashell from state property. There, a crime you can actually solve.”

“I don’t have any handcuffs. I don’t like this game,” Bradley complained.

Bradley’s father snickered. “You might not, but I do.”

I halted, spun around, and gaped at Bradley’s father. “Take that back!”

“Why?”

“You do not have handcuffs.”

“I always put a pair of handcuffs in my luggage. There might be someone I wish to cuff during my trip. Of course, that someone is usually my wife, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Dad!”

“What? I’m old, not dead.”

I raised a brow, looking Mr. Hampton over. “There’s a name for men like you, Mr. Hampton.”

“What’s that?”

“Silver fox.” I smirked at Bradley. “I’m a lucky woman. Just steal your father’s cuffs and don’t question it. Just pray they’re new.”

“They’re new,” Bradley’s father said with laughter in his voice. “There are some things a man just doesn’t share.”

“Thank heavens for that,” Bradley muttered, and as he could sometimes be wise, he fled towards the beach to escape from his father’s insanity.

I admired the view.

“Sometimes, that one isn’t the brightest crayon in the box. I swear I gave that boy the talk when he was fifteen. I even told him how to safely use handcuffs for entertainment purposes. They’re fuzzy, they’re new in box, and there are two pairs. It’s more fun that way.”

“Not four pairs?” I asked, unable to keep from raising a brow.

“There are better cuffs for that, and they’re made of leather. I even acquired a gag so you can shut him up if he protests too much.”

“On the outside, you look all refined and dignified, but here we are, discussing bondage on a beach.”

“I don’t recommend bondage on a beach. The sand gets everywhere.”