Ambushed by M.E. McAndrews
Chapter 27
Austin
as she stumbles into my arms.
She's pale and unsteady, a look of terror in her eyes. I move quickly to her side, taking her arm and leading her away from the small crowd on the terrace.
“What's wrong?” I ask. “Are you feeling okay?”
She shakes her head, sweat beading on her forehead. I quickly lead her to a quiet corner, helping her to sit down in the chair at the edge of the terrace. Something is seriously wrong.
She shakes her head, her eyes wide with confusion. “I don't... feel well,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, as she pulls her mask from her face.
“Can you look at me?”
Her head bobs up and down sluggishly, her gaze meets mine through the tiny slits between her eyelids. Her face is pale as a sheet, and her hands tremble. She nods her head again, a tinge of color returning to her cheeks.
“You... you... drugged me,” she murmurs.
“Alright, let's get you out of here. Somewhere safe,” I say, unsure if she'll be able to stand. As I watch her eyes flutter and her body go limp, a sense of urgency rushes through me. Something is very wrong. I move quickly, lifting her into my arms and ignoring the whispers and stares from the other guests. I make my way toward the exit, my heart pounding in my chest. Her staggering limp body is a dead weight, and I need to get her somewhere quiet and warm.
The other guests gasp and whisper as I pass by them. They can mind their own damn business.
I push through the immense foyer doors, which are now closed because all the guests have arrived. A blast of cool night air hits my face, and I pause for a moment, trying to get my bearings. Looking around, I spy my limousine parked under a large oak tree on the near side of the guest parking lot. As I turn to rush toward the limo, a large man in a light blue tuxedo steps in front of me, blocking my way.
“Sir, is everything alright?”
“Why don't you mind your own business,” I say, my eyes cold and hard.
“Sir, this is really not a—”
“Make way. Now.” I push past him, adrenaline and panic pumping through my veins. I arrive at the side of the limo, my arms wrapped around Olivia, waiting.
“Open the door!” I bang on the window and shout to my driver, who had dozed off behind the wheel, not expecting us for at least another two hours. The driver nods his head, frantically getting out of the car and whipping open the backseat door. I climb into the back seat, gently placing Olivia inside on the soft leather seat.
“Hang in there, Livvy. We're going to take care of you.”
She nods her head, her eyes half-open. “Take me home.”
I grab my phone from my pocket and dial the number of my personal physician, Thomas. It rings only twice before he answers. I never call him just to chat, so he knows this is an urgent call.
“Hi Tom. Meet me at my house ASAP.”
“What happened? Is everything alright?” he asks, panic in his voice.
“I don't know, but get your ass over here, now. Bring your medical kit. A friend of mine may have been poisoned.”
I hold the phone to my ear, waiting for Thomas to respond.
“I'm on my way.”
The twenty-minute drive to the house lasts an eternity. When the car pulls up outside my house, I quickly climb out, carrying Olivia, and rush to the main door. Thomas is already waiting at the entrance, and he rushes to meet us.
“Who is this?” he asks, following behind me as I rush through the front door. His eyes are fixated on the barely conscious Olivia.
“My neighbor.”
She groans as I lay her onto the couch, her head swaying almost uncontrollably from one side to the other. Tom moves quickly, grabbing his medical bag and placing it on the living room table.
“Where were you?” He asks, gently pressing his fingers against her neck as he checks her pulse.
“At a charity event sponsored by my company.”
The doctor’s fingers move quickly across Olivia’s skin as he probes for any detectable clues to reveal what might have happened. “What happened?” he quizzes.
“Nothing. We were just outside on the terrace having cocktails when she started slurring and stumbling. One minute she was perfectly fine, and the next she was acting confused and could barely stand on her own.”
“Did anybody give her anything to drink, or did she get it directly from the bar?”
“Oh, no. She only had one glass of champagne. Which I got for her myself from the bar.”
After a few tense minutes, Thomas looks up from his examination.
“I can’t be sure, but someone may have drugged her,” he says quietly, his face solemn but calm. “Most likely a strong sedative. Perhaps Rohypnol,” he says. “The date rape drug. It's extremely potent, and based on the timing and the symptoms you describe, plus her slightly depressed blood pressure, it’s very possible.”
“Date rape drug,” I repeat, my voice catching in my throat. “Who the hell would do that?”
“It's given to women to make them compliant. It disables them,” he says. “shuts down their protective barriers. But, again, I can’t be sure. Unless the bartender put it in her drink.”
I shake my head, a surge of anger rushing through me. “There’s no way. I ordered two glasses, one for each of us. No way would he know which one she would get.”
“Like I said. I’m not entirely sure that’s what it was. Do you think she might have taken something herself? Voluntarily, I mean?” he asks.
“What? No way. She just collapsed in the middle of our conversation. She was rambling about something being wrong, but she wasn't making sense.”
“In any case, she’s going to be fine. I don’t see anything critical with her vitals,” he continues. “She’ll need to sleep it off. At least she’s in excellent hands here.”
“Who the fuck would do such a thing?” I sit down on the couch next to her. Her head lolls from side to side and she sighs softly with each slow, drawn-out breath. I reach over, gently brushing some hair from her forehead. Her skin is like fire.
“What do I need to do?” I ask.
“I've given her fluids. Make sure she stays hydrated. I can stay here if you need me too, but she should come out of it in a few hours.”
What the hell happened? I don’t remember running into anyone who would’ve caused us any problems. But there were so many hidden faces and bodies moving throughout the hall.
“Okay. Thank you.”
Thomas nods his head and packs up his medical bag. “We'll talk more in the morning. You know where to find me if she looks like she might be getting worse.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling sick.
“She's probably going to have a massive headache when she wakes up, maybe some nausea, too,” he says. “It's not going to be pleasant.”
After the doctor leaves through the front door, the room goes silent. I sit next to Olivia, watching her until I finally drift off to sleep.