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told to keep it in a pile until Simon got back. I usually put it on his desk at the end of the day.
    “My thumb?” He looked up with a frown.
    “Your thumbnail. It’s missing.”
    “Yeah. The rest of it’s in Afghanistan.”
    Now that was not the answer I was expecting. “Why there?”
    “That’s where I was.”
    Holy Mother of God, the man was impossible. “And your thumbnail liked it so much it decided to stay?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
    “Why don’t you answer? It seems like a simple question. Why is part of your thumbnail not attached to your body anymore?”
    “You want a simple answer, do you?” He tossed Simon’s mail back on the pile, keeping one envelope with him.
    “If possible.” With Ethan, who knew?
    “Simple answer, then. I didn’t have a spoon.”
    What? I gaped after him as he loped to the door. For the first time, I noticed he had the slightest, teeniest of limps. “How’s your knee?”
    “You want to play doctor, is that it? Stretch me across an examining table and test my muscle response?”
    No fair. The leer he left me with was positively thigh-tingling. I sat back in my chair. How the hell had a question about a thumbnail veered into Afghanistan and spoons? And playing doctor? Now my mind buzzed with curiosity about Ethan Cowell. I didn’t dare nose around his office. I’d had a bad experience with that kind of thing when I first started my training. I didn’t bother with Google. I’d done a search for both my bosses early on and found nothing beyond surface information.
    But maybe I didn’t have to resort to espionage. On impulse I picked up the phone and dialed Simon’s cell. “Was Ethan really in Afghanistan?” I didn’t even give him a chance to say “hi”.
    “I’m in a meeting right now.”
    A meeting. Right. Work. I kept forgetting that part of my job. “Sorry. Call me later?”
    “I’m having dinner with the CEO later.”
    “Fine. Maybe tomorrow.”
    “Don’t be sad, sweetheart. I have to go now.”
    “I miss you,” I whispered.
    “We’ll talk tomorrow. And the answer is yes. For two years. In a prison.”
    Way to end a phone call on a cliffhanger. Ethan was in an Afghanistan prison? Did he try to dig his way out with a spoon, except he didn’t have one? What the fuck? And how was I ever going to get to the bottom of this, since my access to British military records was bound to be non-existent.
    When Ethan came back from lunch, reeking of dirty martini, I took advantage of his drunken state.
    “Simon said you were a prisoner in Afghanistan. Is that what happened to your thumbnail?”
    “You talked to Simon? How is the lad?” Ethan might be buzzed, but he handled it well, crossing the room without a single stagger.
    “The lad’s—I mean, Simon’s fine. Lots of meetings and stuff.”
    “Packed schedule for the boy-o.”
    “He’s not a boy-o.” For some reason, I didn’t like hearing my Simon referred to like that.
    “Don’t get your panties in a huff. You are wearing panties, aren’t you?”
    “Why?”
    “I’d be curious to see how stained they are from this morning. I’m willing to bet you’re still wet. I thought about your pussy all during lunch. I kept picturing it with a diamond stud.”
    My face got hot. “Forget it. No piercings. I can’t handle it.”
    “It would be tough, I imagine, feeling something hard against your clit every time you sat down, or crossed your legs, or touched yourself.”
    I felt faint. I still had my Dr. Pepper from lunch, and I took a swig to steady myself.
    “That tattoo parlor where you go. They do piercings too, don’t they?”
    “No,” I lied. My determination to avoid piercings matched my need to stay away from hard drugs. I have what they call an addictive personality. I’ve got to choose my addictions carefully.
    “Sure they do. I took a trip over there after lunch and chatted with a gentleman named Bobby O.”
    “ What? ” Bobby O was my tattoo guru and former