Page 41 of The Perfect Deception

“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 thememories 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.”

He shoots me a glance, and I see the worry etched into his face. I force a smile, even though my heart’s pounding.

“So much for our weekend getaway, huh?”

His smile is strained. “Not exactly what I had planned, but we’ll figure it out once we’re off this damn boat.”

I nod, starting to pack up. If this were a normal trip, my clothes would still be in my suitcase, but in the world of the one percenters, someone’s already unpacked for me. “It’s fine, Damien. Maybe this is a sign it was a bad idea to begin with.”

“It wasn’t. Last night was perfect. You were perfect.” He grabs my arms, his grip tight, his expression fierce. “Whoever did this, I’ll find them. And I’ll make them pay.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but honestly, getting off this ship sounds great right now.”

“Next time we’ll charter a private yacht, just for us.” His lips brush softly across my own. “That’s a promise.” A knock at the door interrupts us, and the phone rings at the same time. “I’ll get the phone. You grab the door.”

He nods, hesitating before finally pulling away from me.

I answer the phone. The doctor confirms it—benzos in my blood. Someone drugged me. Intentionally. But why? The doctor has no answers for that, so I thank him and hang up.

Damien closes the door behind the valet and turns to me. “The helicopter’s here. Ready to go?”

I nod before doing one final sweep of the suite to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind and then grab my bags.

“I got them,” Damien says in a soft voice like he’s talking to a scared kitten.

“I can carry my bags, Damien.”

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