Devlin opens the trunk again and just stares.

Today I feel like myself.

Uninterrupted ten hours of sleep after Agnes’ trained hands worked their wondrous massage on my back. It doesn’t beat a professional’s, but it isn’t far behind either.

I stand there. My trunk is popped open like Pandora’s box with a bow on top, and for the first time in my impeccably curated life, I feel a flicker of… what? Regret? Horror?

Kidnapping a low-quality Mata Hari with a penchant for designer bags ...