"Hey, hey," Adam said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm just teasing. I didn't mean to offend—I'm sorry."

"Whatever," Catherine said.

​​

She put her glass of water down on the table and grabbed her purse from the back of the chair. She could just as easily wait for Sean in the hotel lobby as in the ballroom. She started to stand, but Adam grabbed the back of her chair.

"Really," he said. "I'm sorry. It seems like we got off on the wrong foot, and I feel really bad about it."

"You're about fifteen years too late," Catherine snapped.

A wounded expression flashed across Adam's face, and she felt a stab of guilt.

"Listen," Catherine said. "That was unfair of me, but I do have to go."

"Please don't," he said, wrapping a giant, rough hand around hers.

"What the hell?" she shouted. "Let me go! Get your hands off me!"

Catherine jerked her hand away from Adam's, grabbed her purse, and ran toward the lobby. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, but she didn't care—she couldn't spend another minute pretending to be calm and cool in front of everyone. Heels clicked on the marble floor behind her, and she turned to see Sophia.

"Wait," Sophia said. "I want to come with you. These people are truly horrible."

Catherine nodded.

"And what the hell is Adam doing here?" Sophia continued. "He may be cool and polished now, but he still gives me the creeps. I bet he's just as much a pervert as ever."

"Probably," Catherine agreed. "Hang on, though. I really need to use the bathroom. Please wait for me in the lobby. If Sean comes, tell him I'll be out in a second."

Catherine raced toward the lobby bathroom and found an out of order sign taped to the door. Cursing under her breath, she jogged to the concierge desk and asked for the nearest restroom. The same concierge from before directed her down a hall back toward the ballroom. Catherine nodded and rushed toward the bathroom. In the last few minutes, her need to pee had become urgent.

Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw several women leave the ballroom and head down the hall. She risked another glance and recognized Susan, Lily, and Ivy. She wondered if they saw her or if it was just a coincidence. She went into the bathroom, locked herself in a stall, and waited. Moments later, the door slammed open, and several pairs of high-heeled shoes clicked across the floor. The doors to the stalls next to her opened and closed, but she didn't believe anyone was in there.

Catherine took a deep breath, flushed the toilet, and stepped out of the stall. Susan, Ivy, and Lily were waiting for her, leaning against the marble sinks. She braced herself for a fight, but the girls just stared at her. Moving slowly without turning her backs to them, she walked toward the bathroom door. She expected them to pounce, but they didn't. Instead, they seemed to be waiting for something.

Growing nervous, she opened the bathroom door and slammed into Jimmy Stewart's chest. Jimmy reached out as if to steady her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of turquoise fabric. Instinctively, she ducked, and the fabric whooshed past her head. Jimmy reeled, and she snatched the cloth from his fingers and threw herself at him, pressing the fabric hard against his face. His eyes watered, and he shook his head back and forth.

She held the cloth in place, waiting for him to breathe. His warm breath blew against her hands, and then his knees crumpled beneath him, and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. She kicked him, and he groaned quietly—he wasn't completely unconscious.

"What's wrong, Jimmy?" she asked. "Can't drug a girl half your size?"

She kicked him in the ribs, and he groaned again.

"You were bad at your job at Feather, and you're bad at this too," she said. "Tell me, is there anything you're good at?"

She bent over and picked up the handkerchief, pressing it against his nose and mouth again. He mumbled protests, and she pressed harder until his eyes rolled back in his head and his head went slack to the side. She looked at the cloth with disgust—it was damp to the touch. Clearly, Jimmy had soaked it in some sort of drug.

She knelt down and rummaged in his coat pockets, looking for more evidence. The first pocket held only his wallet, but the second pocket had a small pill bottle filled with tiny white tablets. She shook the bottle and squinted at the label; a neat hand had written "Rohypnol."

Catherine's blood ran cold—that was a date rape drug. Besides the bottle, she found a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it and found a picture of the waitress who had spilled fondue all over Geoffrey.

Her heart hammered in her chest. It was all part of a plan, and she'd played right into the trap. Her hands trembled as she looked at Jimmy. If my reflexes were slower, that'd be me on the ground right now, she thought. No doubt the girls are waiting in the bathroom to torture and humiliate me. I need to get out of here before they realize their plan has gone wrong.

A sharp pain shot through her scalp as someone tugged at her hair. She struggled, but the person had a good grip. Slowly, they dragged her across the hall and back into the bathroom. She screamed, but no one seemed to hear.

The burning pain in her head stopped, and she saw Susan close and lock the bathroom door. She staggered to her feet and dropped into a defensive crouch, wishing she'd chosen more practical shoes. The heels on the sandals threw her balance off and made it harder to fight.

"What's the matter, girls?" she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "Don't you remember the last time you were alone with me in a restroom? Pretty sure it was the bathroom on the third floor at school—I beat the shit out of you."

"You think you're so tough, don't you," Susan sneered. "You think you can drive our families out of England, ruin our futures, get us expelled from uni. Think again."

"Fine," Catherine sighed. "If you want a fight, I'll give you one."

"Oh, we know that you like to fight," Susan sneered. "But this time, we've come prepared. You see, this time, I brought a knife."

Susan reached into her purse and pulled out a wicked-looking serrated blade. Though the knife was small, it was designed to do maximum damage. It gleamed bright silver in the bathroom light, and Catherine forced herself to take a deep breath.