demanded.
“We can’t give it to a dying girl if it causes a reaction in me.”
His expression was thunderous. “First of all, you’re Elven, so its effect on you could be completely different from its effect on her. And second, what if you
She smiled. “You can stop worrying. I know what’s in it, and it can’t possibly do more than give me a stomachache. It
“But—”
“Trust me, Mark, please. Have a little faith that I know potions. After all, you’re the one who asked me to do this.”
He still looked grim. “It has to work, and we have to give it to her. If something from our world doesn’t save her—then she’s dead.”
He was right, she knew. And though she didn’t know the girl in the hospital and she didn’t feel the same desperation she did over Regina Johnson, she believed that all life was precious. She lived by that precept just as she honored the Code of Silence.
“I’ll carry the vials in my purse,” she said.
“I’ll put one in my pocket, just so we’ll be covered in case that big bird is flying around somewhere,” he said.
She smiled and leaned into him, kissing him. “Now let’s go,” she said as he groaned in arousal. “We have a girl to save.”
Twenty minutes later they reached the hospital. Mark pulled the Mustang’s replacement, a Charger, into a spot reserved for police so they didn’t have to spend another twenty minutes looking for a place to park.
His badge got them quickly through to where they needed to be. Outside Chelsea Rose’s room, a uniformed officer sat reading a paper. He stood up quickly when he saw Mark. “Detective Valiente.”
“Dave, hello. How is Miss Rose doing?”
Dave shook his head. “The doctors don’t give me reports, but, from what I’ve heard, she’s hanging in, yet with no real change. It’s a shame. Pretty girl. So young.”
He looked questioningly at Alessande and cleared his throat.
“Alessande Salisbrooke,” Mark said, “meet one of L.A.’s finest, David Robbins. David, Alessande.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dave said and shook her hand, staring at her. He seemed to be in awe. Probably because she was three inches taller than he was.
“I’m going to go in and take a look at Miss Rose, Dave,” Mark said.
“Sure. Except Miss Salisbrooke can’t go in. Only family, medical personnel, the lieutenant, you and Brodie— that’s what I’ve been told,” Dave said firmly. “She’s welcome to stay out here with me, though.”
Alessande watched as Mark casually moved directly in front of Dave and looked into his eyes. “Dave, she needs to come in with me.”
Dave stared back at Mark, a little glassy-eyed, and nodded. “She needs to go in with you.”
Mark quickly set a hand on Alessande’s back, urging her into the room.
Chelsea Rose lay in bed, an IV dripping fluid into a vein in her arm. Oxygen entered her system through a tube. She looked small and frail, so pathetic. She was a stranger, and yet she touched Alessande’s heart and left her feeling a little guilty that her passion to save her friend had been greater than her desire to save this girl.
They had to stop what was going on, and she realized now that she never could have done it alone.
Mark walked up to the bed. He touched the unconscious girl’s lips, parting them slightly.
“You’ll choke her,” Alessande said worriedly.
But Mark shook his head. “No, I’ll lift her head so that it rolls down her throat.” He drew out the vial and handed it to Alessande. “Pour it as far back in her throat as you can.”
She nodded and glanced nervously toward the door.
“Don’t worry. Come on. Your turn to have some faith,” he told her, offering her a wry smile.
She nodded. “I have faith,” she assured him.
“Then quit looking at the door.”
Alessande was impressed with the way he gently lifted and cradled the girl’s head. She parted the girl’s parched lips and tilted the vial, pouring the potion into Chelsea’s mouth. In an involuntary reflex triggered by the liquid’s passage, the girl swallowed.
“Perfect,” Mark murmured. He laid Chelsea’s head back down on the pillow, took the vial from Alessande and pocketed it.
“And now?” Alessande said, whispering.
“Now we leave—and pray it works,” he said.
Alessande hesitated, looking at the girl. So young, so slight...so sunken. She touched Chelsea’s cheek.
“Live!” she said softly. “Please live.”
She thought she saw the girl stir and a slight flush color her cheeks.
“Alessande,” Mark said.
As she turned and followed him to the door, she heard something like a deep breath. Perhaps a long sigh.
Maybe, just maybe, the girl was going to live.
They arrived en masse at the Snake Pit and were seated at a perfectly situated table along one wall. Mark positioned himself where he could see anyone entering the room. Alessande was next to him, with Brodie, Sailor, Mick and Barrie taking the other chairs. Declan was doing his duty as owner and host, and Rhiannon sat on the low dais, playing the piano.
An intriguing assortment of Hollywood royalty was present already, several of them involved with
They had just ordered drinks from a lovely young were-cat waitress when Brodie’s phone rang.
Mark watched across the table as he answered it. “That’s great,” Brodie said after a few seconds, then listened for a moment more and rang off.
“Edwards?” Mark asked him.
“Yep. He said Chelsea is still extremely weak, but she’s out of the coma. The last thing she remembers is that she and her boyfriend—Steiner—had decided to score something so they could have a fun night. Her mind is still fuzzy and she’s barely able to speak, but we can interview her tomorrow.”
“It worked,” Alessande breathed. “It really worked.”
Mark smiled at her. “Yes, you saved her life.”
“Don’t look now,” Brodie said, interrupting them, “but the plot thickens.”
Mark turned casually. The Hildegard family had just entered the room. Alan was the epitome of L.A. casual in a tan sports jacket and perfectly creased trousers; Brigitte was wearing a slinky blue cocktail dress, and Charlaine...Charlaine looked regal in a long spangled creation. He wondered if she was going to offer her hand to Declan so he could kiss it.
She refrained. Instead Declan greeted her with a kiss on each cheek, Continental style. Alan Hildegard said something to Declan, who indicated the group from
“Who is it?” Alessande asked softly.
“The Hildegards. Alan, his sister Brigitte, and their cousin Charlaine,” he explained softly.
“No Jimmy,” Brodie said.
“Who is Jimmy?” Sailor asked.
“The butler,” Mark told her.
“I was kidding,” Brodie said. “They’d never bring the butler.”
