Page 58 of Blackmail
I’m tempted to ask Lehman if he wants to take Lilliana home and look after her himself. I’m afraid he’d say yes.
“Honestly, I’ve had worse. You should’ve seen the time I fell off a treadmill. I closed my eyes to visualize myself running through a pretty landscape and flew right off the back. Broke my nose. Such a mess.” She giggles again, as if, LOL, broken bones are the funniest thing ever.
Everybody’s phone buzzes at once—the evacuation order I’d predicted when I last spoke to Simon. The entire county has been warned to be gone by noon.
“Guess it’s a good thing I’m in a hospital.” Lilliana chuckles again. “I hear they’ve got that big barrier thingy here.”
“An aqua wall.” Lehman’s nodding so fast his head might fall off. Jesus.
Lilliana’s insistent sunshine is like fingernails scraping down my spine. What I wouldn’t give for Simon’s salty snark.
Thinking of him isn’t productive right now.
I clear my throat. “If you don’t drink, how were you taken?”
Lehman slaps the back of my shoulder. “Are you fucking serious?”
“For God’s sake. I’m not victim blaming, I’m trying to understand the order of events.”
Lilliana rolls her eyes. “Someone spiked my drink, obvs. I’m a hundred percent a club soda girlie, with a twist of lemon or lime. Put a little stir straw in there, and it looks like I’ve got a mixed drink when I don’t. Nobody asks questions, and I’m fun without getting stupid. Except this last one, they were out of club soda, so they gave me tonic water. Which tastes like ass, by the way. I wouldn’t have been able to taste anything they added. Here’s the thing, though. Every female in the world knows you don’t leave your drink unattended. I always hold mine with my hand over the cup and the stirrer sticking out through my fingers like a straw.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“So nobody can slip anything into her drink even while she’s holding it. It’s a matter of seconds for someone to drop something in when they brush past in a crowded room. How do you not know this?” In all the years I’ve known Lehman, he’s never seemed this exasperated with me.
“I’ve never needed to know. How do you?” I’d bet my condo it’s been ages since Lehman attended any kind of party.
“Men can get their drinks drugged too, you know.” Lilliana rolls her eyes at me again. The perky influencer seems intent on cutting my ego down to size. Perhaps it’s why Lehman appears to like her so much.
Lilliana continues. “A friend of mine went with her boyfriend to this all-inclusive resort, and her boyfriend was on her like a long-lasting topcoat because she’s gorgeous, and guys are always hitting on her. Nobody held her drinks except him. And you know what? They both ended up drugged and taken to some weird private hospital where the people wanted, like, a billion dollars to let them go. She was careful, like I was. I think what happened to her is what happened to me.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Another eyeroll. “Duh. The bartender must have done it. I already told all of this to the police, but they sort of blew me off. Temporary workers are hard to track down, blah, blah.”
“Do you remember anything about him?”
She shrugs. “Good looking. Dimples. It was dark, and he had a hat on, so I couldn’t tell you hair or eye color, but he did have a tattoo of a fire-breathing dragon going down one arm.”
I glance at Lehman. “What are the odds we’ll be able to get any video?”
Lehman shakes his head. “The house where the party was held was a rental. No indoor cameras. We can check with the catering company and see if anyone remembers the bartender.”
I thank Lilliana for her help and prepare to leave. To my amusement, Lehman suggests he stay a bit longer “just to keep her company.” I remind him about the evacuation order, and he waves me off.
Good for him. All work and no play makes a man want to beat the shit out of someone. Ask me how I know.
Given the late hour, the emergency department is the only open entrance into and out of Belle Argo General. I’m following signs to the waiting area when a fleet of paramedics pushes past me with someone on a gurney. It’s one of those situations where propriety demands you don’t look. You’re meant to give the patient their privacy, but keeping your eyeballs to yourself is another matter.
I do a double-take when I realize the patient on the gurney is wearing scrubs with pink flamingos. And I recognize that blond hair.
“Simon?” I’m reaching for the gurney before I know what I’m doing. His face looks so different with his clever eyes closed and an oxygen mask covering his features, his wet hair plastered to his face. But it’s him. Seeing him this way feels as if I’ve been stabbed in the chest.
“Sir, we’ll have to ask you to move out of the way.”
My foot slips on the wet floor, but I grip Simon’s arm. His skin is cool and damp. Two rain-soaked paramedics and a nurse are glaring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“What happened to him?” My hand grips Simon harder. I know I need to pull away, but I can’t.
