Keith had seen people look that way when they were venting their troubles. Sometimes, when fugitives were on the run, the families they’d taken advantage of for years couldn’t take the ongoing pressure and danger. They cracked, and they told Keith and his team everything. Usually, that relief came on more gradually, but Blake’s demeanor still rang a bell. He wasn’t faking it.
“Where to start?” Blake said, almost to himself. His gaze sharpened for a second. “Keith, do you want something else to drink? I know grapefruit can be sour sometimes—”
Grapefruit was sour all the time. That was just how it tasted.
Keith couldn’t keep dealing with this. He gulped down the rest of the juice, trying not to taste it.
“It’s fine. Delicious. Just start.”
“Yes, just tell us what’s going on,” Iris said.
There was something wrong with her voice. She was slurring again, but this time it wasn’t because of emotion or exhaustion. The words just came out sounding—thick.
Keith turned to look at her. As he did, she sagged further against his side, lolling there, her head loose and turned down. She looked like a top-heavy dandelion. She struggled upright again, blinking and obviously confused.
Everything crystallized all at once.
“You drugged her.” He looked at the few drops of pink liquid clinging to the bottom of his glass. “You drugged both of us.”
Blake Abbott, the eager host.
“You—”
He could already feel himself starting to sag too.
But he hadn’t drunk the whole glass.
Blake thought he had, but he hadn’t. He’d dumped half of it in the vase. He wasn’t as drugged as Blake meant for him to be, and that was his only advantage.
But it wouldn’t be an advantage at all if he lost Iris. Iris had drunk almost everything, all at once, and she was lighter than he was ....
Keith wanted to spring into action, but he had no springs. All his muscles were slack; his whole body felt like it was made out of sandbags.
If it came down to a fight with Blake, right now, he would lose. Blake could kill him before Keith could even make it off the sofa. He had to use his brain.
But all he could think was:Iris, Iris, Iris. He fumbled towards her and grabbed her hand.
“What did you do to her?” he demanded, forcing himself to mumble, like it was everything he could do to stay awake and keep himself moving eventhismuch. “Is she—” It was hard to get the word out. “Dying?”
“No, no,” Blake said. It was almost reassuring until he added, “Well, not yet.”
“Notyet?” Iris said.
The fear and anger in her voice snapped something inside him. He tried to surge forward, but he fell back immediately. Iris slithered further down his side, her head now resting on his thigh, and he had to help her back up. She was shaking.
He couldn’t fail her. He couldn’t let her die here. He couldn’t let her dieat all, but especially not here, in this place she’d wanted so much to escape.
Blake had tensed up as Keith had moved, but he clearly found Keith’s collapse reassuring. He leaned back again.
“The drug just paralyzes you. Eventually, you’ll pass out, but that’s all it does.”
Blake’s tone was condescending, but his actual words were such a relief that Keith could almost have kissed him. Then he would’ve beaten him to a pulp.
There was still hope. Iris could still be okay.
Then, of course, it got worse.
“I need you to die in the fire, you see,” Blake said.
