Page 147 of My Dark Horse Prince

“What code did you give her on the phone?” he asks.

I explain the Polish sausages thing.

But recounting that gives me an idea. “Her phone records,” I say. “They may be our only real lead. I called her from a phone they had, and I don’t think it was a burner.”

“Why not?”

“Because it had his number, whoever he is, saved in it. That sounds more permanent, doesn’t it?”

He thinks about it.

“Aleksandr may have a contact that would be faster, but if he doesn’t, I can call her phone service and ask them to email me some records.”

“Good idea.” He rummages around in a bag and fishes out a phone.

“What’s this?” I ask.

The jerks either stole my phone or left it in a bucket of ice water somewhere. But as far as I know, Grigoriy never got one of his own.

“Aleksandr told me I have to have one, so this is mine. You can use it, until we get you a new one.”

“Thanks.”

I check to make sure it doesn’t need a code, and of course it doesn’t. And… his banking app is right there, on the second screen. “Grigoriy, when we find my sister, we need to talk about technology and how to safeguard your identity.”

He arches one eyebrow. “You sound like Aleksandr.”

“In this case, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I expect him to leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he circles the bed and sits down. Then he drags me over next to him and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

“You could have died.”

I can’t argue with him. I definitely could have.

“You were badly injured.”

Can’t argue with that either.

“You should have called me.”

“They wanted me to call Kris.”

His arm tightens on my shoulders. “You thought I was crazy, eyeing everyone like they could be a threat, but I knew. I knew you were exposed, and I knew I could only keep you safe if I could keep you in my sight.”

I thought he was being paranoid, but in the end, he was right. I’ve become so accustomed to thinking he’s a lunatic, ignorant about the modern era, that I may not have given him enough credit for his knowledge of the people we’re dealing with or the magic they possess.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever do it again,” he says.

“What?” I ask. “Follow two extremely handsome reporters for an exclusive interview?”

“Handsome?” His hand drags my chin around until I’m looking up into his face. “You thought they were—” He sputters.

I can’t help my smile. “In a pretty-boy, lightweight kind of way.”

Now he looks like he might choke.

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