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.
“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.
Emiliano returns with the blonde in tow. The second she spots Shay on the sofa, she drops her handbag on the floor and rushes over, pushing me aside as she sinks to her knees.
“What happened?”
“Her drink was spiked.”
She lifts one of Shay’s eyelids and examines her pupil. She takes her pulse at the vein in her neck. She adjusts the collar of Shay’s blouse, then kisses her forehead. Then she stands and turns to me with a thousand suns exploding into supernovas of hatred in her eyes.
“If you did this to her, I’ll lock you inside your house, set it on fire, and watch you burn. And that’s not a threat, motherfucker. That’s a promise.”
Emiliano and I share a glance. I can tell he’s as impressed as I am.
“I’d never hurt her, Chelsea.”
If she’s surprised I know her name, she doesn’t show it. She just stands there staring at me like some bloodthirsty Viking queen about to launch a war.
“Emiliano, check out the security feed for the last hour at the bar. Keep your eye on guero.”
“Sure thing.” He sits at the desk and starts clicking around on his computer.
Chelsea is still staring bloody murder at me. She shows no signs of panic or fear, or any of the other stress reactions people usually exhibit in these kind of situations. I think if she had a sword in her hand, I’d already be decapitated.
I say gently, “It wasn’t me. I’m her boss—”
“I know who you are,” she cuts in. “I remember you.”
“I remember you too. Shay called you a dangerous creature.”
“That’s because she knows what I’m capable of. And let me tell you, boss man, if me, you, and big papi over there get into it, I’m the only one who walks out of this office alive.”
Chuckling, Emiliano says, “I’m really starting to like this girl.”
Me too.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I hear you. Okay? We’re good.”
After a moment of narrow-eyed doubt, Chelsea decides she’ll let me live for a moment longer.
“Walk me through what happened. She left the table to go to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, big papi comes to get me and brings me back here. She’s passed out on the sofa, and you’re hovering over her like some psycho who wants to make a suit out of her skin.”
Emiliano chuckles again.
Ignoring him, I tell her everything that occurred since I came in the restaurant. When I’m done, she folds her arms over her chest and gives me a slow, calculated once-over.
“You watched us on the security cameras.”
The way she says it sounds really bad. Emiliano thinks so too, because he throws me an I-told-you-so look over his shoulder.
“Yes.”
“So you followed her here from work.”
Jesus, she’s sharp. I should hire her.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw her getting into her car in the parking garage. Because I wanted to know where she was going. Because I couldn’t help myself.”
She steps closer, demanding, “And because what else?”
“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about her since we met.”
“You like her?”
“I more than like her.”
She searches my face with the unblinking focus of a hawk in a tree searching for mice in the bushes. I let her look. I don’t have anything to hide.
At least where Shay is concerned.
Into our standoff, Emiliano says, “Got it. That pinche puto.”
Chelsea and I turn to see a slow-mo image on his screen of Dylan taking a tiny vial from the pocket of his slacks. He hides it in his palm. When the bartender sets two drinks in front of him, he passes his hand over one of them, tips it quickly, then picks up both drinks and turns away.
“Guedo’s done that before. He’s good at it.”
Watching the screen with glittering eyes, Chelsea says softly, “That wasn’t GHB or Rohypnol. It worked too fast. I’m thinking ketamine.”
I agree, but I’m interested in how she knows. “You in law enforcement?”
“I’m an ER nurse.”
That explains the battle-hardened nerves. “I’ve got a doctor on the way to take a look at her.”
“You have a doctor coming here? No, she needs to get to the hospital.”
“If she goes to the hospital, they’ll test her for drugs.”
“Exactly.”
“There will be a police report.”
“That’s what we want!”
“No, it isn’t. Let me tell you why.”
With thinned lips and flared nostrils, Chelsea stares at me for a beat. She glances at Shay lying quietly on the sofa, then looks warily back at me.
“I’m listening.”
“Dylan passed an extensive background check when he was hired. It’s a process everyone goes through. If HR discovers any hint of impropriety in your history, you don’t get the job. I’m talking criminal convictions, but also arrests that don’t result in a conviction. Charges that were brought but dropped. Lawsuits. Settlements. Liens. Credit. References. Education. Social media profiles. Everything.”
“What’s your point?”
“He’s squeaky clean.”
“He’s a scumbag! You saw that tape! We’ll give it to the police and get him thrown in jail!”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He has no priors. No criminal history of any kind. He’s a smooth-talking Caucasian male with a sympathetic face. The court system is historically lenient on people like him. And he can afford to hire a very good attorney. Best case scenario, he gets sentenced to a few years but probably doesn’t spend any time in prison.”
She mulls it over silently for a moment. “Community service, not conviction.”
“Yes. Which means he’s free to do it again.”
She turns away, props her hands on her hips and stares silently down at Shay on the sofa. Then she turns back to me.
“I assume you have an alternative.”
“Yes.”
“Which is?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
She scoffs. “What, you’ll demote him to the mail room?”
“No. That isn’t what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
I gaze at her steadily but remain silent.
She lifts her brows and looks at Emiliano. “Is he serious?”
“As a heart attack, mami.”
She reassesses me, looking me up and down. Then she folds her arms over her chest again and cocks her head. “You’ll take care of him.”
“You heard what I said.”
“How will I know? Will it be on the news? Local Business Mogul Buries Scumbag in the Desert?”
“It won’t be on the news. And it won’t be in the desert.”
After a moment, she laughs. “You’re joking.”
“You know I’m not. But if it helps you feel better, you’re welcome to think that.”
When she only stands there staring at me in disbelieving silence, I say, “Let me ask you a question, Chelsea. How many girls have you seen pass through your ER in Shay’s condition?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“And how many rape victims? Assault victims? Domestic violence victims?”
Her jaw works. She swallows. Her voice comes out low. “You know the answer to that too.”
“And how many of the men who abused all those women got the punishment they deserve?”
“A few.”
“Too few. Most of them walk, and the abuse escalates until somebody’s dead.”
Anger flashes in her eyes. Her voice rises. “So what? You’re some kind of billionaire vigilante who crunches numbers during the day and fights crime by night?”
“I don’t fight crime. I solve problems.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Oh, for God’s sake, this is ridiculous.” She turns to Emiliano. “Are you listening to this lunatic?”
He turns in his chair and gazes at her, thoughtfully turning his gold crucifix over in his fingers. “Not everybody who does bad things looks like a bad person. Same as not everybody who looks good is good. Nothin’s black or white. Whole world’s just shades of gray, mami. We’re all on the spectrum.”
She says flatly, “Great. I’ve got a nutjob rich dude on one hand and a gangster philosopher on the other.”
“Former gangster. But look at you, for example. Eres muy bonita, like a Barbie doll, pretty smile and perfect hair. But you got some claws on you, don’t you? Under all that pretty there’s a savage little beast who’d slit a man’s throat for hurting her friend and sleep just fine at night after.”
She slowly turns and looks at Shay. A strange look crosses her face. “I might not sleep fine. But I’d sleep.”
Emiliano’s cell rings. He answers it, listens, then disconnects. “Doc’s here. Should I send him in?”
Chelsea and I look at each other.
“It’s up to you.”
“If I say no?”
“We take her to the hospital.”
She stares at me for a long time, then exhales and nods. “Okay, boss man. We’ll do this your way. But if her condition worsens, she goes straight to the ER.”
“Agreed.”
Sitting next to Shay on the sofa, she rubs her arm gently. I motion for Emiliano to bring the doctor in. He leaves the office, closing the door behind him.
Her attention still on Shay, Chelsea speaks in a low voice.
“My little sister had a Dylan once. In college. Mr. Popularity, everyone thought he was so great.” She pauses to brush a strand of hair off Shay’s pale cheek. “But she didn’t have someone like you to look after her. She woke up the next morning bleeding, covered in bruises, with only a vague memory of the night before. Thank God she couldn’t remember everything. With the condition she was in, he brutalized her in ways she didn’t want to know.”
Her voice drops even further. “Of course, no one believed it wasn’t consensual. She was the bookish little scholarship girl. He was the star athlete. He wouldn’t have to force himself on someone like her, right? He could have his choice of girls. But the thing with guys like him and Dylan is that they don’t like choice. They like force. They don’t give options, they take them away, and they get off on it. So whatever you plan on doing to that piece of shit Dylan…”
She turns to look at me. Her eyes glitter with unshed tears.
“Make it hurt.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good.”
After a moment, I say, “How’s your sister now? Did she make a full recovery?”
“Ashley killed herself on the anniversary of the assault.”
“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. She was eighteen years old. A kid. He stole her innocence, he stole her reputation, then he stole her whole life. Her whole future. And he walked. He’s married now. Has two girls of his own.”
She turns back to Shay. She takes her limp hand and tenderly squeezes it. Her voice hardens. “I’ll wait until they’re grown to pay him a visit.”
Silent, watchful, and moved, I stay until the doctor arrives and says Shay will recover in a few hours.
Then I head back to the office to look up Dylan’s address.
