“What’s this?” he said.
“Red Drink.”
“What’s in it?”
“Water, grape juice, pomegranate juice, cranberry juice, protein powder, birch bark, a bit of citrus, some other stuff.”
He held it up to the light and stared at it. “What’s it for?”
“It’s full of antioxidants, and prevents you from getting sick. But if you’re already sick or get hurt, it heals you quickly.”
“This some sort of family potion?”
“No, it’s Kevin’s recipe.”
D’Augie abruptly put the cup down and silently cursed himself for being so stupid. He must have been reeling from the effect of the drugs they’d given him to have considered drinking this red concoction in the first place. He looked at the puzzled expression on her face. Then again, if Creed wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead. He wouldn’t have sent this girl to poison him.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel said.
Unless she was one of Creed’s assassins.
“D’Augie?”
But if she was one of his assassins, would she be so stupid as to tell him the drink was Creed’s recipe?
D’Augie looked her over carefully, while thinking about the events from the night before, the events prior to landing on the fire ant hill. Such as watching Creed and Rachel at dinner, their tender scene on the porch, and the way she stomped off into the night cursing like a sailor. D’Augie had seen women act like that before, but they weren’t assassins. They were angry girlfriends.
“Kevin told you to give this to me?”
Rachel laughed. “No, silly. I made it. It’s Kevin’s recipe, but I make it for him all the time.”
D’Augie looked at the liquid in cup. “You ever try it?”
“We drink it almost every morning. It’s really good for you. I wouldn’t have brought it if it wasn’t.”
“Show me,” he said.
“What?”
He handed her the cup. “Show me how good it tastes.”
Rachel took it and shrugged. “Seriously?”
“Unless there’s some reason you’d rather not.”
Rachel made a face that would have been adorable had she not been trying to poison him. Then, to D’Augie’s surprise, she drank half the cup, paused, then placed the cup carefully on the table and smiled.
“See?” she said. “Delicious, nutritious, and healthy.” She suddenly made a face, grabbed her throat and said, “Wha…what…Oh, my God, I…I don’t feel so good…I—” then she fell to the floor.
D’Augie jerked himself to a sitting position and peered over the edge of the bed. Rachel jumped up, yelled “Boo!” and nearly scared the shit out of him.
“Sorry,” Rachel said, “but you deserved that.”
She seemed to study his face a moment. “You’re pale,” she said. “Hey, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you okay?”
He nodded.
Rachel moved around the side of the bed and, to D’Augie’s utter amazement, she kissed his forehead. Then she stroked his hair a moment before reclaiming her seat. She picked up the cup and drank some more and said, “You sure you don’t want some?”
“I’ve got...” she looked at the plastic bottle on the hospital table. “Half a bottle left. You want to watch me drink that too?”
“I’ll split it with you.”
D’Augie drank while Rachel talked. She told him that she and Creed were on vacation, and had traveled the eastern sea coast for two weeks. That wasn’t news to D’Augie, since he’d been hunting Creed for months, showing his photo to all the private jet operators and airports around the country. A couple of weeks ago a Louisville baggage guy remembered a man who fit Creed’s physical description, who had demanded strict secrecy. But he said the man used a different name and the photo was all wrong. The guy he’d seen looked like a movie star and didn’t have a jagged scar on the side of his face. D’Augie decided Creed must have changed his appearance. He’d heard Homeland Security assassins could do that, but D’Augie’s informant gave him a critical piece of information: the guy who might be Creed was traveling with a young lady named Rachel Case. So regardless of the name Creed was using on the manifest, Rachel was using her real name, and they had left Louisville for Atlantic City a few days earlier. D’Augie had Googled Rachel Case, from Louisville, found her photos, learned her background information. Then he scoped out the nicest hotels in Atlantic City until he saw Rachel lounging at the pool drinking Kashenkas with a guy that had to be Donovan Creed. Sure enough, when he called the front desk, they confirmed a Donovan Creed was registered there.
So D’Augie began following them, and had followed them ever since.
As Rachel talked, D’Augie allowed himself to wonder if the “Red Drink” could be one of Creed’s secret weapons. He’d heard all his life about how Creed seemed impervious to pain, and how he had a miraculous ability to heal after receiving the most savage blows and wounds. His father had known Creed, and had considered him
