Trey pointed toward the staff cabins. “You go too.”
The guy went. I could see heads peeking out of other cabins. Trey ignored them. I did too. Something else had me concerned.
“Trey? I watched Portia all night. Not one drop of alcohol passed her lips. And that liquor bottle was almost full.”
He looked puzzled. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe she’s not drunk. Remember what Bree told us? About her overly enthusiastic use of herbals? There’s a chance she’s been overdosed too. According to Bree, she keeps tons of that stuff.”
Trey exhaled in exhaustion and frustration and who knew what else. “I’ll alert medical.”
The second he finished radioing in the request, I heard a door slam. Then Quint came stomping toward the fire pit.
“What in the hell is going on?”
Trey explained. A nanny goat ambled over and snagged a wayward marshmallow. Quint raked a hand through his hair.
“One goddamn fiasco after another,” he said.
Trey remained calm. “Mr. Talbot. Your wife—”
“I know. I’ll take care of it.”
“No, sir. She needs to be examined by a doctor. She could have been overdosed, like your brother was.”
“I’ll get our doc to check her out.”
“I’ve already sent for the on-call physician.”
“Then he can turn his ass around.” Quint practically spat the words. “There was no overdose, it was Nicky trying to get attention. You had one job, to keep him from fucking everything up, and you couldn’t even do that. Now there’s yelling, drama, freaking animals running everywhere. It’s got Nicky written all over it.”
Trey didn’t say anything, but I knew what he was thinking. There was an operative watching Nick and Addison. If either of them had left their room, we’d know about it soon enough. But Quint was just getting started.
“I’m going to bed. Here are your orders.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Stay away from my wife. No doctor but our own. Get these people back inside.” He stepped closer to Trey, dropped his voice. “And if my wife gets one mention in Buzzfeed or the National Enquirer or a single goddamn tweet, I am suing you, and Finn, and anybody else I can get my hands on.”
And he stomped back to his cabin. Trey watched as Quint rounded the shrubbery. Soon we heard the slam of his cabin door, and the soft footsteps of his personal protection detail step into place. Other cabin doors stayed open, however. For the scandal-ravenous hordes, we were presenting a buffet of screaming, adultery, and livestock behaving badly.
Trey pulled out the radio. “Op one, body check on your targets, please.”
A crackle and hiss. Then a voice. “Ten twenty-nine, sir.”
“Both subjects?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He kept the radio in hand, contemplating. Nick and Addison were in their cabin, safe. Quint too. Portia was still unaccounted for, however.
“Are you putting somebody on Portia?” I said.
“I don’t have anybody. But I’ll alert the resort’s team. They can locate her, keep her monitored.”
“So you think she might have been overdosed too?”
“I think it’s a reasonable concern. In the meantime, I need to check the barn. And call for a…what was the phrase you used?”
“Donkey wrangler?”
“Yes. One of those.”
I was impressed. The Trey of a year ago would have been so discombobulated at being caught barefoot and barely post-coital that he would have retreated behind the wall. But not this Trey. A moment’s befuddlement, but now he was back in charge. His radio chirped, and he pressed the call button.
“Seaver here.”
The voice was scratchy. “Sir, there’s been a…complication.”
“What kind of complication?”
“You’d better come see for yourself. It’s…complicated.”
Trey sighed. “Copy that. Responding.”
He stared at the radio. His eyes were tight, probably from the first throb of a headache. It was going to be a long night.
“You handle the complication,” I said. “I’ll go check the barn.”
“That’s not—”
“You need my help. You said so yourself. And I know you had ideas about what that might look like, but kiss ’em good-bye. Take some headache meds, get your shoes, then go to the check-in station. I’ll find out what happened at the barn.”
He shook his head. “Not alone. And before you argue, that is not an overprotective concern, it’s a tactical one.”
At that moment, the door to one of the other cabins opened, and a bedraggled Rico peered out. He spotted me, shot me a quizzical look.
I patted Trey’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t be alone.”
Chapter Forty-six
Rico fiddled with his flashlight until it finally lit up. “I remember now why I don’t hang out with you more often.”
“Sorry. It’s an emergency.”
“Old MacDonald run amok is not an emergency.”
We’d taken one of the club carts. He’d made me drive. Dante had offered us coffee to go, as if we were setting out on an all-night mission, but I assured him we were just going to check on the animals. That was all. No need to treat this like a wagon trail over the Donner Pass.
Rico splayed the beam ahead of us while I sent mine around the periphery. I was hoping to spot runaway livestock, but it also seemed a good idea to make sure we weren’t walking into a trap. Though I wondered what kind of trap involved setting loose a bunch of farm animals. Rico had ideas.
“Abandoned barn,” he muttered. “At night. This has slasher movie written all over it.”
“Chill, dude.”
“Wait and see. Some maniac wearing a mask is gonna come out from behind a tractor and then swack!”
Rico mimicked an ax slicing into the side of his neck. He’d never had a high opinion of my ability to stay out of trouble.
“Why the hell are you and Trey messing around out here?” he said. “Is this one of his corporate security assignments?”
“No.”
“Because if it is, he and I are going to have a serious talk about letting you—”
“I said, it’s not.” I sent the beam into the treetops. “And Trey doesn’t let me do anything. That’s some sexist bullshit right there.”
My flashlight caught a
