CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Travis clutches Emma in his arms, pushing through people, his brain boiling inside his skull.
– the FUCK, the goddamn ever-loving FUCK –
Then the door to the nightclub office is there, and he boots it open and angles his way inside, Emma’s sneakered feet bouncing off the door lintel. The office is bright, with a standard fluorescent strip light, and it’s beige-painted and looks normal. More than anything else in the world right now, he needs some normal.
He kicks a chair to face him, it’s a wooden chair with a padded seat and a horseshoe-curved back, and he eases Emma into it. She flops in his arms like a doll, her eyes only half-open.
‘Emma.’ He holds her upright with one arm, snaps the fingers of his other hand in front of her face.‘Emma.’
‘I can hear you.’ Jesus, her words are slurring all over the place. ‘Bell, Isaw him. Peter. His name is Peter.’
Travis wants to break something in half. ‘Goddammit, I know you saw him. Look at me. Focus.’
‘Did they catch him?’ He gaze swings wild. ‘He gave me … He gave me a drink of water …’
‘He gave you more than that.’ Travis tastes blood on his lip from where he bit it earlier, feels his anger threatening to spill over. He glances back toward the door. ‘We need a –Medic! Someone get us a goddamn medic!’
Emma – all pinned pupils and strange, beautiful hair – grabs his arm hard. ‘Take a blood sample. Then we’ll know for sure what he’s drugging them with. And there’s an Evian bottle—’
Travis drags his gaze away to holler at the door again.‘I need a fucking medic!’
Emma jerks, wincing. ‘Not so loud, Travis—’
But she’s interrupted when a SWAT guy barges into the office. Black riot gear, helmet, Heckler & Koch MP5 in a forward drop. The guy’s stance softens when he recognizes them, and Travis is mollified by the immediate response: the guy side-slings his weapon, sinks to one knee in front of Emma to check her over.
‘Are you feeling faint?’ Travis knows that SWAT officers have first aid training. He watches the guy examine her breathing, take a pulse reading at her wrist. With a penlight fished out of his vest pocket, the guy illuminates Emma’s eyes. ‘Follow the light for me. How are you feeling, ma’am?’
‘Dizzy … sleepy … a little nauseous.’ Emma’s still slurring, and her voice is throaty. ‘Tell me you caught him.’
‘We’re checking ID, but a lot of people scattered.’
‘That sounds like no.’ Emma sags, closes her eyes. ‘Travis, I’m tired.’
‘We don’t know what he gave her,’ Travis says through gritted teeth.
The SWAT guy nods. ‘Seems like a benzodiazepine.’
Emma shakes her head, stops when it makes her whole body reel. Travis keeps his hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s not Valium – I have a prescription. It’s not that. It’s different. Take a blood sample.’
The SWAT guy frowns. ‘Okay, I need to get some medical equipment from the truck. Son, can you look after her a second? Don’t let her lie down or fall asleep.’
‘I …’ The SWAT guy marches out of the room without waiting for a reply. Travis rubs a hand across his face, looks back at Emma. ‘Hey, stay awake. Look at me.’
‘I’m okay,’ Emma says, when she clearly isn’t.
Travis wants to burn down the world. ‘No, but you will be. We’re all right now.’ He examines her eyes carefully. ‘Don’t go to sleep on me.’
Emma seems like she’s in shock, her stare vacant. She grimaces, reaches an unsteady hand to her head. The fake hair spills from her shoulders as she drags off the wig, drops it to the floor. ‘That was crazy.’
‘I saw you fold under that crowd and I …’ Travis runs his other hand down Emma’s arms. ‘Did you get stepped on? Are you okay?’
‘My wrist is sore,’ she admits. She leans into the hand he’s using to steady her shoulder. ‘My mouth is dry. But I’m okay. I’m fine.’
‘I swear to god, you’d be saying that if you got shot.’ He looks over the rest of her. ‘Are you hurt? Look at me, Emma.’
‘I’m okay.’
