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“Return her phone. Suggest she stay at a hotel until she can get her locks changed. I’m going to talk to Tom—he’s the head of security over at Harcourt Alabaster—and see if they can get information blasted out on the socials, letting everyone know Amanda Harcourt isn’t in the country.”

“Take the target off Piper’s back?” Pickeridge asked.

“If Amanda was the target. Yes, sir.”

“It was a Harcourt party. And Piper does look the part. It fits.” Pickeridge let his voice trail off. “Okay. Keep me in the loop. Hopefully, you’ll get some answers when you see Piper.”

“I hope so, too, sir.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Piper

Piper lay on the hospital bed. A blanket circulated warm water over her torso.

Chanti arrived with a grocery bag, holding a pair of sweats and a pair of clogs—Piper’s heels looked like they’d been through a cheese grater. Chanti slung the bag onto the chair and stood at the end of the bed. “What are they saying? How long are you staying here?”

“They’re having trouble getting my temperature up.”

“Unsurprising. You are a cold-hearted beeyoch.”

“Funny.” Piper pulled her legs to the side, making room.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I’m warming up to it,” Piper said with a half-smile.

“Funny again,” Chanti said, climbing on the bed to sit at Piper’s feet, crossing her legs, looking for all the world like they were back in high school reporting on their dates. “While they had me in the waiting room, I got to see you from all angles on the socials. Your underwear was completely see-through when wet. People have to blur out your body so they don’t get pinged for going against community standards. Quite the exhibitionist.”

Piper exhaled.

“The pink dress was dramatic in flight. Memes are being made. Did you know that flamingos fly? For some reason, I thought they were like land-lubbers like ostriches.”

Piper pulled the blanket up and held it under her chin.

“The hero guy was most excellent,” Chanti said.

“He is, isn’t he?” Piper asked. “The river plunge might have seemed like an extreme way to catch a guy’s attention, maybe a little presumptuous on my part, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”

“Go ahead, spill.”

“His name is Ethan Osbourne.”

“Yummy name. Yummy body,” Chanti said. “Not sure I understand all the cuts on his shoulders. He looked like he was glued back together when I did a close-up.”

“I didn’t see that,” Piper said.

“Well, you should know that he’s the new heartthrob on social media. But everyone’s also saying, ‘Hands off, ladies. He’s not on the market—look how in love they are.’ They’re agog over how he risked his life for you.”

Piper frowned.

“The hero-type.” Chanti propped her elbow on her knee and settled her chin comfortably in her palm. “I haven’t seen you go for that before. But obviously you two clicked.”

Had they? Had she and Ethan clicked? Or were they two people trying to survive?

Maybe it was a bit of both. Certainly, if there was a Mrs. Osbourne, knowing how many phones were filming, Ethan would have made other choices. “Heroes are too few and far between for me to snag one in the wild,” Piper said, pressing the button to adjust the head of the bed higher. “But he was there at the lunch, so I took my shot.”

Chanti dropped her voice to a whisper. “That was so dangerous.”