Michael ran a hand through his hair, his expression slightly flustered. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Damned if I know. Want me to ask one of them to go in and check on her?”
Michael nodded. He’d been on the verge of heading in himself, but Jake’s suggestion was probably better.
Just as Jake left to deliver the message, Maggie emerged from the ladies room. She didn’t even glance his way, her expression one of extreme concentration. She moved slowly, her hand on the wall, as if she was feeling her way. Dread settled in the pit of Michaels’ stomach as he started toward her, praying that she’d just had too much to drink, but the feeling of unease that had been plaguing the back of his mind was now roaring in his ears.
Instead of heading toward the ballroom, Maggie moved uncertainly in the other direction, toward the exit. Michael wasn’t sure if that was intentional, and it scared him to death.
*
Maggie was trying so hard to put one foot in front of the other. With each passing moment, she felt increasingly worse. If she could just make it outside, she could text Michael and ask him to bring the car around. Or, better yet, she could ask the valet to call her a cab and explain everything later.
Without warning, a man came out of the men’s room and plowed right into Maggie. With quick reflexes, his arms shot out and caught her before she hit the ground, apologizing profusely.
“Maggie, is that you?” the man asked as he tried to steady her.
Maggie tried to focus, but it was difficult. Her vision was blurring rapidly, fading to splotches of color but no defined shapes. The voice was familiar; it definitely wasn’t Michael’s.
“Spencer?”
“God, Maggie, you look ... stunning.” Spencer Dumas, looking every bit the wealthy bad boy, held Maggie at arm’s length and looked her up and down appreciatively.
Maggie mumbled her thanks, trying to take a step back, but Spencer kept a tight grip on her arm. “I really should get back,” she hinted, but Spencer ignored her. She felt something warm trickling above her lip, and reached her fingers up self-consciously. When she pulled them away, the tips were stained a dark red.
“Get your hands off of her, Dumas,” said a deep male voice. Suddenly Maggie was weightless, feeling the warmth of a familiar hard male body, that clean, male scent that was uniquely Michael.
“Callaghan?” Spencer blinked, then narrowed his eyes at Maggie. “You’re with him?”
Maggie tried to answer, but somewhere between her brain and her mouth the message became garbled. She leaned heavily into Michael, grasping at his arm for balance. “I’ve got you, Maggie.” His voice sounded so far away, but she could feel the rumbles through his chest as he spoke.
She heard Spencer’s voice again, angry and insistent, then another voice - Jake’s, she thought -warning him off. It was all becoming harder to process. Suddenly they seemed to be moving quickly. Every now and then Michael would bark an order. There were bright flashes of lights, then darkness.
Chapter Eighteen
Maggie felt like she was trying to swim in mud. Nothing was working the way she wanted it to. She tried to open her eyes, but she couldn’t see clearly. Everything was dark and murky. Every now and then there would be a slight hint of light – like someone shining a flashlight through dirty water, but no clear shapes or images. Sounds, too, were muffled. Low ones, high ones, even rhythmic ones. Maggie had the vague impression of voices and machines – all constant, and all unintelligible.
She wasn’t warm anymore; she was very cold. Her body might have been shaking, it was hard to tell. Beneath her was something flat and hard. Cool air blew over her skin – where were her clothes? She was moving – no, someone was moving her. There was intermittent pressure on her arms, her legs. Something cold on her chest. Then the horrible feeling of someone putting something in her mouth. She began to fight it.
“I think she’s coming around.”
Whatever it was being shoved into her mouth was pulled away. Incredible warmth flooded her shoulders as two large hands rested over them. “Maggie, can you hear me, sweetheart?” That was Michael’s voice. She wanted to answer, but she couldn’t. Nothing was working. Why wasn’t anything working?
There were several murmurs; she couldn’t understand much. Someone was sticking something into her arm. She started fighting again. “Maggie.” Michael’s voice, more urgent this time. “Don’t fight this, baby. I’ve got you. Everything is going to be alright.”
She calmed for a moment at the sound of his voice. Her head turned slightly in his direction.
“She hears you, Doctor,” said another voice. “Keep talking, maybe I can get a line in.”