“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.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She mumbles something about riding a pony. I have no idea what she’s talking about, so I smooth my hand over her damp forehead and hope the doctor isn’t delayed.