Page 22 of Doctor's Surprise Twins

“Ally? Are you okay?”

“Dr. Cole? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Did you pocket-dial me or something?”

“Shoot, I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.” She sounds so panicked that I start to stress for her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I came out with some friends. I was up dancing, and when I came back to the table, everyone was gone, and my purse was just sitting there, open. Someone took my wallet and my personal phone. I have no way to call anyone, and I don’t have any money for a cab.” I can tell by the tightness in her voice that she’s one the verge of tears.

“Alright, calm down,” I tell her. “What club are you at?”

“I… I don’t know. All I know is that it’s new and on the south side.”

“Alright. Go to the bar. Sit there and wait for me. I’ll pick you up. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t drink anything. Understand?”

“Yes,” she says, hiccuping.

“Go now.” I hang up the phone and push myself up. I haven’t bothered undressing yet, so all I have to do is shove my feet into my shoes. I grab my wallet and keys and rush out to my car.

I drive through the city, to the southern side of the south side, past the neighborhoods to the business district. There’s a coffee house, restaurants, smaller grocery stores, several bars, and the newest addition: Club Rossi—a club owned by a famous Major League Baseball player who got his start in this area. He’s become a spokesperson for underprivileged youth in the city, trying to bridge the gap between race and class.

I pull up to the curb and kill the engine, locking it so the horn honks. I look around, finding people moving in and out of the club. Others are just loitering on the sidewalks. I find the biggest one and walk up to him. “You looking to make some money?”

He frowns at me. “Whatchu got in mind? I’m on probation, and I ain’t lookin’ to go back to jail.”

I pull my wallet out of my pocket and take out a hundred-dollar bill. “Watch my car. I won’t be long. If I come back out and it’s still in perfect condition, I’ll give you another hundred.”

He takes the money from my hand and gives me a nod. “You got yourself a deal,” he says, walking over to the car.

I push forward, moving past the line of people waiting to get into the club. They all yell at me, but I ignore each one until I get to the doorman and pass him a twenty. “I’m just picking someone up.”

He takes the cash and removes the rope, letting me pass, and the people in line bitch some more.

I step in, hit by the pulsing bass and dancing neon lights. The smell of sweat and stale alcohol wash over me, making my throat tighten to hold back my gagging reflex. I move deeper and deeper through the crowd and sweaty bodies, looking for the bar. Finally, the space before me opens, and I’m able to sort through the areas. I find the dance floor, the tables and booths, and finally, the bar. I glance over the barstools, moving down to the last one where she’s sitting, just like I told her. I breathe a sigh of relief. That’s when I see the guy beside her. His eyes move lazily down her body and back up. That’s when he leans toward her. His left arm is on the back of her chair, and his right elbow is on the bar. He touches her shoulder with his left hand, and when she turns to look over her shoulder for who touched her, I see him use his right hand to drop something into her drink.

I rush toward her just as her back straightens from realizing that he’s the one who touched her. My hands shoot out in front of me, pushing the guy back several steps.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I hear, several guys closing in around us.

“Dr. Cole!” Ally says, grabbing my arm because she doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Hey!” the bartender yells at us. “I’ve already called a bouncer. Don’t fucking start.” She points at me. From the untrained eye, it looks like I’m a jealous boyfriend who walked in to find my girl with another guy. She didn’t see this douchebag put anything into her drink. I hold up my hands, showing them to her. “I’m not starting anything,” I say, but my words fall away when a man twice my size steps up.

“What’s going on over here?” he asks.

“I’m Dr. Ethan Cole, head of the pediatric cardiology department at the Children’s Hospital,” I tell him. “I was coming to pick up a colleague, and as I was walking up, I saw this dipshit drop something into her drink. I’d call the police if I were you.”

“Dr. Ethan Cole? I’ve heard of you,” the bouncer says, shaking my hand. “You operated on my nephew a few years back. Saved his life.”

I force a smile. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You say this guy is drugging people?” He looks around me at the guy whose eyes are darting around as he tries to figure out what’s going on.

I nod. “Yes, this drink right here. Give it to the police.”

The loser guy finally understands what’s going on and makes a run for it, with the bouncer chasing after him. I don’t stick around to find out what happens, I just grab Ally and steer her toward the front doors. She’s wobbly on her feet. If I hadn’t been holding her upright, she’d have fallen over. We’re almost to the doors when I drape her arm over my shoulders. “Come on. Stay awake,” I tell her as her head lulls to the side.

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