Page 27 of The Great British Bachelor Chase

“The famous bloke. I remember,” she nods. “Nice lad. Not up himself, like some of those Hollywood types.”

“He is nice,” I agree. “And also… Late, for work. I’m trying to track him down. You didn’t happen to overhear him make any plans last night?” I ask hopefully. “Say, calling a cab, or booking a plane ticket?”

The woman shrugs. “No, sorry.”

Of course, it couldn’t be so easy.

Then the bartender looks behind me. “Forget something too, mate?”

“My credit card. MacKenzie.”

The Scottish burr is unmistakable. I brace myself and turn. Fraser’s standing there stiffly, eyeing me suspiciously, like I’m about to launch myself at him.

When, of course, it was the other way around.

“Jole—” he stops himself. “JJ,” he says instead, with a curt nod. I should be happy he’s finally listening to me and not saying my name like a damn prayer, but instead, I feel a pang of disappointment.

Down, girl.

The bartender retrieves his credit card, and hands it over. “Here you go, mate.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s right,” I mutter. “You left in such a hurry last night, it’s no wonder you forgot your card. How careless of you.”

Fraser narrows his eyes, assessing me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say immediately. “Why would you say that?”

“You look tense.”

“Well, gee, I wonder why that could be,” I shoot back. Fraser looks away. Good. As long as he thinks my major stress levels are from being near to him, and not, say, accidentally risking the entire movie, our cover story is safe.

Because the minute Suit Guy the penny-pincher discovers our Darcy is gone…?

It’s game over. For everyone.

“A pleasure, as always,” I call back to him, already hurrying out of the pub. “Have a great day!”

I speed back to the hotel as fast as the golf cart will carry me. Which is all of fifteen miles an hour. Hopping off, I rush into the lobby, and corner the desk clerk who gave me the note earlier. “Hi there,” I beam, waving the letter at her. “Do you remember what time Hugo left this for me?”

“It was waiting when I arrived this morning,” she replies. My disappointment must show, because she flags someone down. “Hang on, Kyle was working the night shift. What time did Mr. Chambers leave that note?” she asks a guy in uniform, yawning his way towards the door.

“Around one a.m. Right before he jumped into the car.”

“A car? What car?” I perk up.

“Just the hotel car service.” He yawns again.

“Do you know where he went?” I demand eagerly, but he just shrugs.

“Sorry, no.”

Still, it’s a lead. “Thank you!” I say gratefully. “And I would find this car service where, exactly…?”

“Round the side exit, by the begonias,” he replies.

I follow his directions, feeling more and more like I’m on some twisted treasure hunt. Except the prize is a little more valuable than some gift basket.

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