Chasing The Rogue - Chapter Three
Chapter Three: The Hitchhiker’s Guide To Prague
When Scott and Jean reported back to the President, they were both surprised that he wasn’t furious with them.
“How does he go from over-zealous protectiveness to ‘don’t worry about it, I’m sure she’s fine’ that quickly?” Scott wondered aloud as he and Jean were summarily dismissed from the President’s temporary office at the Embassy.
“If he’s not worried about her, I’m certainly not going to lose any sleep over it,” Jean replied. She was relieved that they weren’t being officially disciplined for essentially botching their assignment. Babysitting Marie was degrading enough; having a black mark on her employee record would’ve been adding insult to injury.
Even though the ruby quartz lenses of his special glasses always shielded his eyes, she never needed to see them to know what he was thinking. So when he wrinkled his brow and pursed his lips - as he usually did when he was contemplating something, she continued, “Stop over-thinking it.”
“You don’t find it weird that he isn’t worried she’s out there with some stranger?” he asked.
“Yes, I think it’s a bit odd. But I’m just going to do my job and not second-guess my boss. You should try it.”
~*~*~*
Meanwhile, Marie was in a tavern in Prague 5’s Central Quarter of Smichov - getting thoroughly drunk courtesy of her knight in beat-up leather.
She stood up, raised her glass and yelled in salute to the agent who’d carelessly let her slip through his fingers -“To ‘Butterfingers Summers’!” and then downed her latest shot of vodka.
When she went to sit back down on the barstool and missed, winding up on the floor, Logan reached down, hoisted her back up onto her feet and said, “Okay, you’re done.”
“You’re a party poo … poopie,” she slurred and attempted to signal the bartender for another shot.
“Let’s go,” Logan insisted as he gently wrapped his hand around her upper arm and started to steer her out of the bar.
“Buh-bye,” Marie told the other patrons who ignored her and continued drinking.
“Well, they were no fun,” she said once they were outside - and poking him the chest with her finger, added, “And neither are you, by the way.”
“Can I drop you off somewhere? Home? An AA meeting?”
Marie dropped to the curb and started laughing. Then she made a gagging noise, leaned over and threw up. Luckily Logan’s quick reflexes allowed him to jump out of the way and avoid having his boots splattered.
“Sorry,” she offered weakly.
“It’s okay. You missed,” he replied - fighting the urge to laugh. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a roll of mints which he handed over to her.
“Thanks,” she said as she gratefully popped one into her mouth.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Marie nodded in the affirmative - even though it wasn’t completely true. She still felt nauseous and slightly dizzy. Why had she indulged in the really hard, rock-gut stuff instead of something less toxic? Being defiant suddenly seemed a lot less appealing. She just hoped that Logan would take her back to the Embassy like he’d offered, because crawling all the way back would be really humilating.
Extending his hand out to her, he said, “Come on, your highness - let’s get you home.”
Marie placed her hand in his and let him pull her up. Even though she was well beyond tipsy, she did have the cognizance to notice that something important was missing. The motorcycle wasn’t where they’d left it.
“Where’s your bike?”
Turning to the now empty spot by the curb and then glancing up at the sign attached to the street lamp, Logan recognized the international sign for ‘no parking’. His bike had been towed away.
“Damn it!” he cursed.
“This is not my fault,” Marie pointed out.
He knew there was no way he was going to be able to reclaim the bike until the next morning, so with a resigned sigh he instructed, “Start walking.”
“Not in these heels, buster,” she said as she tried to lift her foot up to show him her sparkly Louboutins - but just succeeded in wobbling and pitching towards him.
“Take them off,” he suggested as he caught her in his arms.
“The ground is dirty,” Marie complained as she straightened up and pushed away from him.
“If you want blisters … suit yourself,” he replied and started walking down the street.
Marie relunctantly took her shoes off and moved to catch up to him.
“This is so gross,” she complained as she gingerly tip-toed to avoid bits of trash.
“Do you want me to carry you?” Logan asked.
Apparently she hadn’t caught the sarcasm in his voice because she responded, “Would you?”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head.
Marie let out a sad sigh. One and a half blocks and a handful more pitiful sounds later Logan swept her up in his arms.
“Thank you,” she whispered softly as she nestled herself against his broad chest.
“I’m finding a 24-hour convenience store and buying you a pair of flip-flops - ‘cause I ain’t carrying you all night,” he warned playfully.
Marie just smiled and pressed her face into the side of his neck - comforted by the heat of his skin and the smell of the battered leather jacket. She didn’t notice, but Logan was smiling as well.