Page 60 of Shots Fired

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I guess this can only go one of two ways …

Me: What if I took you out for dinner?

Doll: Are you kidding? You’ll be recognized, and our cover will be blown.

Me: I have that issue figured out.

Me: Let me take you out. Spoil you a little.

It’s five minutes, two anxious bathroom breaks, and one attempt to delete the message later when Darcy finally replies.

Doll: You’ve got yourself a deal, Thigh Boy.

Don’t dance in the hotel room, Archer.

Me: Perfect. Stay pretty, A, x.

CHAPTER TWENTY

DARCY

The exhaustion I was feeling a little over a week ago has not improved at all, and neither have the headaches that started a few days back.

When I said yes to dinner with Archer, I really hoped I’d be feeling much better than I currently am.

I’ve dragged myself into work all week, and when Sienna unexpectedly asked me out for a cocktail two nights ago, I passed it up, not even wanting Chinese since the thought of food left me feeling wretched.

I’m sitting at the breakfast bar in my kitchen, thinking over what to do about tonight with Archer, when my phone starts vibrating next to me.

“Hey, Mum,” I say when I answer, head dropped between my shoulders.

“Okay, you don’t sound good. What’s the matter?”

I switch the call to loudspeaker and lean forward, resting a cheek on my granite worktop. “I’m really not sure. All I know is, I feel like shit.”

Mum blows a soft breath down the phone before speaking to someone I assume to be Jon. “How long have you been feeling this way?”

“I guess since the infection.”

“But you finished your course of antibiotics, right?”

“The whole ten days.”

“Hmmm,” she muses. “You should be feeling better by now. Maybe there’s something low grade going on. Why don’t you call the doctor?”

I groan; I hate going to the doctor. For starters, I have an irrational fear of needles, and you can bet they’ll want to take blood. “I really don’t want to.”

“Yes, well, sometimes, we have to do things we don’t want. Take me right now, for instance. I have Jon talking to me about the correct amount of time to heat pasta—from spaghetti to fusilli to lasagna. I don’t particularly want to engage in said conversation, but I’m nodding along agreeably.”

I snort a laugh when I hear Jon grumble something in the background. He’s likely updating the menu at Luigi’s, the Italian restaurant he jointly owns with his best friend and former Scorpions teammate, Zach Evans.

“Go to the doctor, Darcy.”

“I have work.” I try one more time to wriggle out of making an appointment.

“Call him and schedule something in. Tell the receptionist you’ve been feeling unwell for a while. Dr. Hughes will want to see you quickly. He’s never let you, me, Jon, or your brother down when we need him.”

“Okay,” I relent. “I’ll call him when I get to work. Or rather drag myself to work.”

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