Darcy had insisted on going immediately to the restaurant. He wasn’t sure what purpose he would serve. Supposedly he’d come to back her up, but he was having trouble giving his unconditional support to this fool’s errand.From what Troy had been able to piece together out of Darcy’s near-hysterical babble, this Raoul character, who, granted, sounded like a complete waste of oxygen, had—newsflash—been in Darcy’s office. Apparently, his cell had run out of batteries so he’d ducked in to use her phone, away from the kitchen noise, and this was somehow, in the logic of someone named “Ace,” akin to a terrorist act.Now they were risking a speeding ticket at close to midnight on a Saturday night when they should be in Darcy’s bed, wrapped in each other’s arms.Because Ace had a bad feeling.Troy relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, telling himself to calm down. Darcy knew Ace better than Troy did. Maybe he did have bad feelings. Maybe those bad feelings were legitimate sometimes.
