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"Bri."
"Hmm?"
"Who are all these people?"
He laughed, nuzzling into her neck. "You've got me." The scent of her
had him hardening. Moving to the sinuous beat of the Lennon/ McCartney
number, he brought her against him. "What do you say we take a trip
upstairs and leave them the rest of the house."
"That's rude." But she moved against him. "Wicked, rude, and the best
idea I've heard in hours."
"Well, then ..." He made a halfhearted attempt to pick her up, sent
them both teetering. Wine spilled cool down his back as Bev giggled.
"Maybe you can carry me," he said, then heard Emma scream.
He rammed into a small table as he turned. Dizzy from drugs and booze,
he stumbled, righted himself, and rushed into the foyer. There
were people already gathered. Pus.h.i.+ng through them, he saw her crumpled
at the foot of the steps.
"Emma. My G.o.d." He was terrified to touch her. There was blood at the
corner of her mouth. With one trembling finger, he wiped it away. He
looked up into a sea of faces, a blur of color, all unrecognizable. His
stomach clenched, then tried to heave itself Into his throat.
"Call an ambulance," he managed, then bent over her again.
"Don't move her." Bev's face was chalk-white as she knelt beside him. "I
don't think you're supposed to move her. We need a blanket."
Some quick-witted soul was already thrusting a daisy afghan into her
hands. "She'll be all right, Bri." Carefully, Bev smoothed the blanket
over her. "She'll be just fine."
He closed his eyes, shook his head to clear it. But when he opened them
again, Emma was still lying, dead-white, on the floor. There was too
much noise. The music echoing off the ceilings, the voices murmuring,
muttering all around. He felt a hand on his shoulder. A quick,
rea.s.suring squeeze.
"Ambulance is on the way," P.M. told him. "Hold on, Bri."
"Get them out," he whispered. He looked up and into Johnno's shocked,
pale face. "Get them out of here."
With a nod, Johnno began to urge people along. The door was open, the
night bright with floodlights and headlights when they heard the wall of
the sirens.
"I'm going to go up," Bev said calmly. "Tell Alice what's happened,
check on Darren. We'll go to the hospital with her. She's going to be
fine, Brian. I know it."
He could only nod and stare down at Emma's still, pale face. He
couldn't leave her. If he had dared, he would have gone into the
bathroom, stuck a finger down his throat, and tried to rid his body of
some of the chemicals he'd pumped into it that night.
It was all like a dream, he thought, a floaty, unhappy dream. Until he
looked at Emma's face. Then it was real, much too real.
The Abbey Road alb.u.m was still playing, the sly cut about murder.
Maxwell's silver hammer was coming down.
"Bri." Johnno put a hand on his arm. "Move back now, so they can tend
to her."
