Page 35 of Perfect Order
The first inclination when I come to is to vomit.
The second is to reach for the knife I had strapped to my thigh before I sauntered into Snowy-T’s dumpster fire last night. I find it missing.
The third is panic because I don’t remember how I got back to Kylie’s, nor do I remember someone unzipping the leather boots I was wearing which have a stiletto hidden inside. Blindly, I slide my fingers down and reach for the quick release. The thin blade pops into my hand like it was custom-fit to be there. Which it was.
How can I get so sick from drinking a club soda with a twist of lime?The thought passes through my mind quickly as I hold my hair back before retching again.
After having relayed the information, it was agreed I should attend, but, “Use caution,Q?za.I’ll have you passively monitored through your personal cell. Authorization?”
I immediately recited my authorization code, bypassing his need to get a warrant. Ah, the freedom we enjoy that is in no way free. How many citizens would be horrified to know the handy little devices they carry to make their lives simpler actually can be used not only to track their every movement, but can be flipped around to actively listen in? Computer cameras that can be turned on with a few keystrokes?
I can only pray that’s how I was extracted.
Feeling marginally better, I rinse my mouth. I crawl back to bed and reach for my phones.
The unsecured one has a million texts. I don’t focus in on them other than to determine the majority of them are from an enraged Beckett Miller. “Later,” I whisper, feeling dread in the pit of my stomach when I realize somehow “I” texted Beckett to get me out of the party.
Because I didn’t.
I fumble around to unlock my secure one. Choosing each letter with precision, I type,Tell me it was you.
Seconds later, it buzzes in my hand. I answer immediately. “I have a doctor on standby. She’ll be there in minutes to take a blood sample,” I’m informed brusquely.
“All I had was a club soda!” I exclaim.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” His fury, barely leashed, explodes. “I turned on the camera when you didn’t respond. Screw authorization. And there you were—just lying there. I thought you were… You were just lying there.” His lack of words makes me appreciate his anger more.
I open my mouth to speak, but I end up racing back to the bathroom. I toss the phone on the counter while I dry heave over and over. Finally, I sink down onto the cool tiles and whisper, “I’m okay.”
“For the first time since your sister died, I have zero doubt which of you they were trying to kill.”
His words send a shiver down my spine. Before I can answer, a peal rings out. “That will be Chief Petty Officer Orhan. Let her in once she verifies where her sister’s husband’s restaurant is located at.”
After validating the response with both of them, I fling the door open. The young woman of Irani descent nods efficiently before stepping over the threshold. “Just a quick blood draw, Ms. Miles?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Keeping the line open, I let her draw the blood and show her out. The moment the door closes, I sag against the door. “How long until we know?”
“Just a few hours. Get some rest and some fluids.” The call is disconnected in my ear.
A few hours later, I almost want to find a rabbit hole to hide out in.It was gamma-hydroxybutyric acid.GHB. My eyes pop when I see the amount per blood volume. The odorless, tasteless concoction was just short of enough to kill me. And I still don’t know who the target was—Kylie or me? I keep scrolling through the rest of his message, my insides chilling with every word.
They likely thought you were drinking, Q?za. Had you been, you’d be dead. The fact you didn’t have alcohol in your system was the only thing that saved you.
I quickly type,You trained me better than that.
At least you listened.
His response would normally draw a reluctant smile, but I can’t even work one up. A shiver racks my body. I tuck my knees beneath Kylie’s Vanderbilt sweatshirt and type,What the hell am I supposed to do now?Track down everyone at that party?
Leave that to us. You do what you do best. Go hunting.
And what will that do except expose me more?
He doesn’t answer for a long moment. When he does, his words don’t reassure me.Then we’ll deal with that when it comes.
That’s when a trickle of fear begins to seep into my mind. What if it’s not an enemy who’s out to get me, but someone who’s supposed to be an ally?
Or possibly worse, a friend?
