I’d toweled my hair, but it was a frizzed disaster and still damp (hair didn’t dry very fast in England, just sayin’), and I’d changed into a knit lounge set to keep warm.
I’d had four cups of tea.
But it wasn’t those that made me revved.
Phantoms in the ballroom.
Someone chasing me through the night.
And I knew, down to my soul, those phantoms were dancing to warn me to get to the house.
Do not ask how I knew that, but I knew.
They were a beacon to guide me to safety.
I just hadn’t noticed them until too late.
What I did notice was that they went away when I was in the house and safe.
That was why I was revved.
Outside the good news that the men had caught whoever-the-fuck was dicking with me, when Fitzy went out to see if he could find the cats, he didn’t have to go far. They were wet and cranky (cranky because they were wet) and loitering by the door off the ladies’ lounge.
So they were in there with us, along with Soot, Greystoke and Floofy.
Chassie, at the window waiting for Christian, abruptly turned to the room.
“They’re back.” Her attention came to me. “Battie is with them.”
Battle?
It’d been hours, but…
He was in London.
How was he here?
“I called him, luv,” Fitzy told me.
That explained that.
But…shit.
Battle was going to be flipped out, and I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
About a minute later, I would find I was right when he stalked into the room appearing homicidal.
He did a head count but landed and stayed on me.
“Are you all right?” he asked tersely as Chassie ran to Christian, who came in behind him, followed by Harry.
“Were you at the police station?” I asked in return.
“Are. You. All right?” he gritted between clenched teeth.
I went to him and put my bandaged hands on him. “I’m all right, baby. Now tell us what’s happening.”
He didn’t tell us what was happening.
