"I see her," Paris stated, gazing through her binoculars.

He brusquely took the binoculars from her, ignoring her protests about how expensive they were.

He could see Rory clearly. She had a troubled look on her face as she spoke to some hair-dying rich boy dressed in clothes that Jess would just as soon have burned. The guy looked smooth, in control. He watched as yacht boy stroked Rory's check and he ground his teeth angrily.

"I wish I could hear what they're saying," he commented offhandedly.

Paris immediately produced a large listening device and held it up. She turned the dial up and Rory's voice was now with them in Paris' luxury BMW.

"Logan, I can't do this anymore."

Yes! his mind cried.

"Rory," the yacht boy said. "This was nothing. If you want, I'll try to explain it to your mother and your grandparents. I've done a lot worse and everything always works out fine."

Jess wanted to hit him. Not that he could have from where he was. Rory was on the deck of the yacht, along with Logan. What kind of a name was Logan? His parents didn't like the name Alfred, or Buff, or Preston? Pretentious name for a pretentious jerk.

"Hey, wanna quiet down on the teeth-grinding? I can barely hear them over it," Paris complained.

"No kidding," agreed a voice in the backseat.

"Did we really have to bring your boyfriend, Paris?"

She shushed him and gave a stern glance to Doyle, who pouted in the back like a child.

"I don't want people to bail me out because I stole a yacht. I was being stupid and ever since I've met you, I've been doing stupid stuff, Logan."

"But having fun." The arrogance of this uppercrust J.Crew model!

There was silence for a moment. "Yeah, yeah I had fun. But I need to get serious now. Right now, I just need to stay out of trouble. I don't need my grandparents turning me out because I got caught up in the moment with you."

"Rory, you're grandparents love me."

It was sickening to hear the smooth, persuasive tone. It was haughty, knowing and just plain aggravating. This guy thought he was above it all. And since when did Rory have to try to stay out of trouble? The answer came quickly: since Mr. Flashy Car and Fancy Yacht appeared in the picture.

"What is she doing with this guy!"

Paris shushed him this time.

"You know what? No. I've heard enough. Doyle, grab the other stuff."

"Do you really think that's the way to go?" Paris asked as Doyle obeyed his orders.

He swung open the door. "Words aren't gonna work right at this moment. Let's go. You know what to do."

As covertly as possible, the three of them made their way to Logan's yacht. Once they came upon the two, Doyle and Paris jumped on Logan. Surprised was an understatement for the expression that crossed the blond's face.

"Jess, what are you do--" Rory said. He mercilessly grabbed her wrists and used plastic twist-tie handcuffs to restrain her arms behind her. He tugged the black hood from his waistband and covered her head with it.

"Jess, stop it!" she demanded, her voice muffled. He didn't oblige. Instead, he dragged her to the BMW and threw her in, then called for Doyle and Paris to run as quickly as possible. Logan chased after them, and almost caught the little runt called Doyle. They were all in the car, Jess driving, Paris in the passenger seat and Doyle sat next to Rory in the back. Logan had Doyle's door open, trying to reach inside.

"WhatdoIdo?What do I do!" Doyle screamed like a girl.

Jess didn't have time to answer, as Paris slammed her foot on top of his and floored it. Logan had no choice but to let go and be left in their dust. Paris whooped and laughed shortly thereafter and he looked at her in a new light. She had a wild side just itching to get out. She had seemed so reserved and uptight when he had first met her, but clearly college agreed with her. She was breaking out of her tiny box of rules and "it has to be this way" attitude. Good for her.

"Please tell me you didn't run Logan over," Rory said beneath her hood.

No one answered and he delighted in it. Let her think whatever she would about that turtleneck wearing freak.

"Can you at least take off my hood? It's hot and smells like peanuts."

He looked back at Doyle suspiciously.

"All this espionage makes me hungry," Doyle protested.

"You had peanuts and you didn't share any with me?" Paris accused.

"You didn't ask."

"I shouldn't have to. Peanuts should have been offered to all of us. Is this what kind of man you are, Doyle? Selfish, greedy--"

"They're my nuts, Paris!"

"Oh, but it's Paris' plates to wash when you eat off them--"

"Please, just stop the car, Jess," Rory pleaded.

"And dump them out? Gladly."

The mindless bickering continued right up until their passionate kissing, with Paris leaning into the back of the BMW and over Rory.

"This is torture," Rory commented in a huff.

"You're tellin' me," he agreed.

Thank God they were almost to their destination.

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There is one more chapter to come. Will update soon. Feedback appreciated.