By the time the car service arrived outside the hotel’s entrance, I was on my third cup of coffee.

When we pulled up to the brownstone, I jumped out and saw Penelope open the front door, wheeling a small suitcase behind her.

“Let me get that for you.” I picked it up, carried it down the steps, and put it in the open trunk. “How are you this morning?” I asked once we were both in the car and on our way to the airport.

“Honestly? Exhausted. I didn’t sleep very well.”

“No?”

“I was worried I wouldn’t hear my alarm.”

I chuckled. “Same. Around four, I finally gave up and got out of bed.”

She covered her mouth when she yawned. “Will it be rude of me if I sleep on the plane?”

“Not at all since I plan to do the same thing.”

I ended up staying awake the entirety of the five-hour flight after my Butterfly rested her head on my shoulder and fell asleep within minutes of takeoff. I’d spent endless hours imagining her curled up against me, and now that she was, I couldn’t bear to miss a single minute of it.

When the pilot announced we were about to land, she opened her eyes and stretched, exposing her bare midriff. God, how I wanted to feel her naked skin against mine. As many hours as I’d spent fantasizing about just being with her, I’d spent many more imagining what it would be like to make love to her.

“You didn’t rest at all, did you?” she asked, looking up at me.

“A little,” I fibbed.

She shook her head. “I know when you’re lying, Brand.”

I chuckled. “Is that right?”

“You raise your left eyebrow just slightly. You never do otherwise.”

“I don’t?” I attempted it, but could only raise the right one.

She laughed out loud. “See?”

“I guess I’ll never get away with trying to keep secrets from you.”

The smile left her face. “I hope you never feel as though you have to.”

“What if it’s a good secret?”

She shrugged. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

While we waited for the rental car, I stepped to the side and called Doc.

“How was the flight?” he asked.

“Uneventful.”

“My favorite kind. Listen, I was able to do some research on Hailey Watson. She uses an alias, which isn’t unusual for someone in her profession. However, I did find one interesting piece of information. She attended the same boarding school as my daughter, Penelope, and their other three friends—the Emma Stanley Academy in Dobbs Ferry. Even more interesting is Blair, last name Dumont, was there at the same time.”

“Same age?”

“Sure enough.”

“I take it she wasn’t friends with the tribe?”

“Unlikely. They were pretty tight-knit.”