The Playboy Prince's Baby: Royal Heat, #4 by Layla Valentine & Ana Sparks

Author:Layla Valentine & Ana Sparks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Layla Valentine

When I finally arrived in Chicago, I felt better rested—courtesy of sleeping almost the entire trip—and anxious beyond belief. Partially because this was Erika’s city, and partially because getting off the train meant I was officially at the end of Isabelle’s itinerary.

Even though I hadn’t actually read it.

I was now on my own. In a city I didn’t know well, and without any idea of where I was going. I didn’t remember the name of Erika’s bar. I remembered the outlines of the neighborhood, but I didn’t know how to get there, or even what the street was called.

I didn’t know where her apartment was. I’d never had to memorize the streets when I was here before, because I’d had Roger, and then Erika, to tell me where to go. And now that I was here by myself, we got to the enormous, gaping hole in my plan.

I knew I needed to get to Erika. I just had no idea how I was going to do it.

I wheeled my suitcases up out of the tunnel and onto the streets, though, and looked around, trying to figure out the easiest, most straightforward way to get to Erika. I had plenty of money, but no idea where to start looking. I knew only that she worked in a dive bar in a rough area of Chicago. A bar that had allowed the customers to eat peanuts and throw the shells on the floor. And a bar that had looked, based on the stage I’d seen, like they sometimes hosted live music.

Furrowing my brow, I forced my brain to wake up and move into action. A dive bar on the rough side of Chicago. Peanut shells.

I pulled out my phone—a burner, and one of the other things I’d bought specifically for this trip—and started searching the web. A quick bit of typing, a moment of waiting, and I grinned down at the phone.

Because right there, fifth from the top, was a name I recognized. I never would have thought of it on my own, but now that I was looking at it, I could actually see the picture of it flashing above a barred wooden door.

The Nifty Peanut. It was a stupid name for a bar, I thought, though I supposed it probably meant something to the person who owned it. And, given the peanuts, it did check out.

But the name didn’t matter. What mattered was the address. Because once I was there, I knew, I’d be able to find someone who would give me Erika’s address.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I had her number. I could have called and asked for her address. But I couldn’t be sure that her phone wasn’t bugged. After all, the cops had found me at her apartment.

It stood to reason that Javier had decided to bug her phone, just in case. And I couldn’t take the chance of calling her if it meant it was going to blow my cover.

Besides, I wanted to surprise her with my presence on her doorstep.

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