When I open my eyes, my vision is blurry. I try to push off the wall, but don’t have the strength.
My lack of strength soon doesn’t matter because Dylan peels me off the wall and starts to lead me in the opposite direction down the corridor from where I came, toward an exit door at the end.
“Wait. Hold on. Dylan, get Chelsea. I need Chelsea.”
He winds his arm around my shoulders and propels me forward, shushing me when I make a small cry of distress. I stumble again, losing my balance, but he catches me, grabbing me roughly and pulling me against his chest.
“Only a few more steps,” he coos into my ear. “We’ll get you home safe and sound, Shay. My car is right outside. I’ll take you there.”
Why can’t I feel my legs?
It’s the last thought I have before my vision goes black, and I fall forward into nothingness.
Cole
Staring at the video feed of Chelsea sitting alone at the table in the dining room, I check my watch again.
“What’s taking so long?”
Emiliano shrugs. “Women take forever to piss.”
“Only when they go to the bathroom together. Why don’t you have a fucking security camera in the back hallway?”
“I do. It’s out.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“What, you think I’m made of dough, ese? That shit don’t grow on trees.”
“You sound like my father. I’m buying you a new security system next week.”
He chuckles. “Could use a new truck while you’re at it.”
I mutter, “Why don’t you throw in a boat?”
“You can get me that for my birthday. I’ll send you the link to the one I want. It’s got purple lights underneath that make it glow in the water. Esta bien chido.”
Aggravated that Shay hasn’t reappeared on camera, I check my watch again. “What other angles do you have? Can we see from the other direction?”
He clicks around a few times, bringing up different views of the main dining room, the bar, and the entrance.
“Wait, go back to the bar. Yes, there. Stop.”
I scan the crowd at the bar, but Dylan isn’t among them. He got up a minute or so after Shay left the table, and I assumed he went back to the bar for more drinks. But he’s not there, and he’s not at the table either.
A familiar feeling raises the hair on the back of my neck.
It’s a heightening of all my senses at once. A sharpening. My surroundings come into brighter focus, my breath quickens, and all my muscles tense.
Shay might be talking with Dylan in the back. She could be flirting with him, or simply chatting about work. I have no way of knowing if they arranged to meet here for drinks, which is the most likely scenario given that they work right next to each other and have probably bonded over a mutual dislike of me.
But an animal that always slumbers beneath my skin has blinked open its eyes, sniffed the air, and started to growl.
When I speak, my voice is low and tense. “Show me the entry to the hallway again.”
He clicks to the view of a dark rectangle flanked by potted palms. The lighting is bad down the corridor that leads to the restrooms, but it’s enough to show that Shay isn’t on her way out.
“Show me the parking lot.”
“You think she ditched her friend?”
“No.”
He shoots me a glance, examines my expression, then changes the image on the screen to show the restaurant’s parking lot.
Stumbling over her own feet, Shay clings to Dylan as he drags her across the asphalt toward a blue sedan parked near the back.
I’m out the door before Emiliano can even blink.
I charge through the kitchen, burst out the door I came in through, bolt around the side of the building to the parking lot, then sprint at top speed toward the blue sedan.
Dylan has the back passenger door open. He’s trying to force Shay inside with one hand on the top of her head as he pushes her to a sitting position.
“Hey!”
Dylan looks up and around. Spotting me, he freezes. I skid to a stop two feet away from him and get into his face, breathing hard.
“Hi. Going somewhere?”
He swallows and glances down at Shay. “Oh hi, Mr. McCord. Uh, yeah, we were just…just leaving.”
I look at Shay. She’s sitting upright on the back seat with her eyes open, but she’s totally out of it. Damp tendrils of hair cling to her forehead and neck. Her breathing is rapid and shallow. Her pupils are dilated, and her head lists to one side as if it’s too heavy for her to hold up.
I’ve seen this before. Too many times to count.
When I look back at Dylan, a snarl of fury rumbling through my chest, he turns white.
“She asked me to take her home. She’s sick! Look at her!”
“Oh, I fucking know she’s sick, my friend. But you’re not taking her anywhere.”
Fear plain on his face, his gaze darts between me and Shay. I see the wheels turning behind his eyes, excuses and lies tripping all over each other on their way out of his mouth.
“Sh-she really had a lot to drink. I was just trying to be a good friend. I just wanted to help.”
“One more fucking word, and I’ll rip your tongue out of your mouth. Move.”
I shove him so hard, he falls on his ass. As I pull Shay gently from the car, he scrambles to his feet, then runs to the front of the car and crouches there, shaking.
Shay mumbles something incoherent as I gather her into my arms. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Lean into me.”
I carry her quickly across the lot to the restaurant. Her head lolls back. Her eyes slide closed. She’s boneless in my arms, like a ragdoll.
Fuck.
Kicking the door open, I carry her inside and back to Emiliano’s office. He’s already on his feet, spreading a blanket over the battered leather sofa against the wall.
“What do we got?”
“Spiked.”
“Doc?”
“Yes. Tell him to hurry.”
He pulls his cell from his pocket and jabs his thick finger onto the screen, dialing a pre-programmed number with one touch. As I lower Shay to the sofa, he speaks a few quiet words into the phone in Spanish. Then he hangs up.
“Here in fifteen.”
My relief is instant. Considering it’s a Friday night, traffic is worse than usual. The ten-mile drive to the beach from here could take an hour. “That’s fast.”
“Got lucky. He was on his way to see the Lakers at Staples Center.”
“They don’t call it that anymore.”
“Fuck if I’m callin’ it Crypto-dot-com center. That’s fuckin’ stupid. Need a bucket?”
“Yes. Then go get her friend.”
He turns, pulls a waste basket out from under his desk, and sets it on the floor next to the sofa. Then he leaves, closing the door behind him.
“Shay. Sweetheart, open your eyes. Can you hear me?’
She mumbles something about her head.
“I know, sweetheart. I’m going to help you with your head, okay? Let me roll you over a little bit.”
Careful to support her neck, I roll her to her side, adjusting her head on the cushion. Then I slide the bucket in range and gently grasp her jaw.
“You have to throw up now, baby. You understand? We have to get the bad stuff out of your system.”
“Bad stuff,” she whispers, her voice faint and scratchy. “’Kay.”
I’m encouraged that she’s responsive. Being as gentle as I can, I open her mouth and stick my finger all the way in.
She jerks and retches, grimacing.
“I know, baby. Do it for me. You can do it.”
Hating myself for hurting her but knowing it’s necessary, I shove my finger deeper.
This time, she heaves, makes a sound like she’s dying, and throws up. I pull my hand away and hold the basket in place as she vomits into it, coughing and spitting.
I focus on holding her steady as she continues to retch until there’s nothing left to come up. Then she collapses back against the sofa, groaning.
I pull off my suit jacket, use it to wipe off my hand, and toss it aside. Holding her wrist, I take her pulse. It’s fast and weak, but steady.
I go into the small bathroom attached to the office, wash my hands, and wet a hand towel. I use it to clean Shay’s face.
As I’m wiping off her chin, her lashes flutter. She opens her eyes and whispers my name.