Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says beside me. I turn to see Damien, his face etched with concern.
“What happened? Where are we?” I ask, my voice shaking.
Damien sits up and wraps his arm around me. “We’re in our suite on the yacht. We’re on a cruise. Are you okay? Did you have a bit too much to drink last night?”
“I feel like I’ve been drugged or something.”
“Drugged? What do you mean, kitten?”
“I don’t remember anything from last night. Nothing. My mind’s just blank. What happened?”
He raises an eyebrow, looking slightly amused. “I remember everything, and you were a total wildcat last night.” He leans in and kisses me, not caring about morning breath. “It was incredible. You were incredible, Francesca.”
I lock eyes with him, searching for clarity. “You remember what happened last night? We had the same food and drinks.” I think. “Didn’t we?”
“We did and I do remember last night.” He licks his lips, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recalls. “You were wonderful.”
That doesn’t help. “Damien! I woke up not knowing where I was, and I can’t remember anything after dinner. This isn’t funny!”
He kisses the top of my head, his tone steady. “Kitten, I’m not laughing. You probably just had too much to drink. It happens.”
I shake my head, the uneasy feeling growing. “No. This isn’t alcohol. It has to be something else. Damien, what if someone drugged me? What if it was meant for you?”
I can’t stop my mind from racing, trying to grasp onto details from last night, but everything’s a blur. I don’t remember being any kind of a wildcat.
“Are you okay? Do you feel like you’ve been drugged?” I ask, scratching the side of my head. “This doesn’t add up. Do you think someone was trying to get to me?” I stare at Damien and then a thought crosses my mind. “What if they were trying to get to you? Dammit, Damien!”
“Francesca, come on. You really think the killer you’ve been chasing is on this ship? You’re letting your imagination run wild.”
I want to argue, but what good will it do? “What if someone drugged me to rob me? Or worse?”
“You just need to relax and not jump to conclusions. We had cocktails last night. This is nothing to panic about.”
“Damien.” I reach for him. “Can you just believe me for a second? This isn’t normal. The way I feel isn’t normal. This is not a hangover. It’s serious. I really want to see the doctor, okay?”
“All right, if you insist,” he says, though he looks like he still wants to brush it off. In two quick strides, he’s beside the phone, dialing the valet. “We need a doctor in this suite. Now.”
His tone leaves no room for argument. I watch him, a mix of frustration and urgency swelling within me. I can’t afford to wait around when something feels off. “Actually, I’ll need a blood test, so we should go see the doctor.”
“Right,” he says, and gets the directions to the doctor’s office.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m perched on the exam table while the doctor conducts his examination. Damien hovers by the door, attempting to give me space but only increasing my awareness of his presence. It’s sweet, but a touch overwhelming.
“The symptoms you’re describing suggest either a date rape drug or benzodiazepines, both of which could explain the memory loss,” the doctor states, his demeanor calm and professional. “Benzodiazepines—often referred to as benzos.”
“I know what they are.” I try to keep my tone even, but I’m not in the mood for a lecture. “I’m a homicide detective.”
He nods, unfazed. “Of course. One of the key effects is anterograde amnesia. Unfortunately, you may not recover the memories you’ve lost, though it’s usually temporary.” His words do nothing to quell the dread curling in my stomach.
“Usually?”
“Yes,” he admits with a sigh. “We’ll know more once we get the results of your blood test.”
“I don’t want to wait days for answers.” My voice comes out more harshly than I intended, but the whole situation makes it hard to maintain composure.
“You won’t have to wait long. We have an onboard lab. You’ll have results within the hour.”
His efficiency should reassure me, but it only intensifies my anxiety. “So does this kind of thing happen often on cruises?”
“Not exactly this,” he replies, raising an eyebrow. “But things do tend to get lively on ships like this. I’ve had to test for various substances before, to provide proper treatment.” He flashes another professional smile, but it barely registers against the rising unease gnawing at me.
“Okay. Thanks, Doc.”
I’m doing my best to shove down my worry and anger as Damien and I head back to our suite. The moment the door clicks shut, he’s in full protector mode.
“Yeah, I want a chopper here in twenty minutes,” he snaps into the phone. “I don’t care. I don’t want excuses, Jess. I want a fucking helicopter.” His jaw tightens, his brows dip as he listens to Jess on the other end. “As soon as you can get it here, then. The sooner, the better.”