“Meg went to the bathroom without me?”
Val didn’t want to tell his sister that it wouldn’t be hard with all the attention she was drawing to herself on the dance floor. “Some time ago, tesoro.”
Gabi waved him off and headed toward the ladies’ room. When his sister returned without Margaret, the itch inside Val’s left eye started to twitch.
Michael and Ryder were talking to some of the hotel guests at a stand-up table.
“Stay here,” he instructed his intoxicated sister.
Val tapped Michael on the shoulder. “Would Margaret return to the villa alone?”
Michael looked over Val’s head. “No. Not without saying something.”
“What’s going on?” Ryder asked.
“Margaret’s missing.”
“Seriously?” Ryder’s smile fell.
Michael nodded toward the outside. “You check outside,” he told Ryder.
“I’ll start in the back.” Val headed toward the ladies’ room, felt Michael close on his heels.
The hall to the restrooms didn’t house a petite blonde . . . or at least not the one he was searching for.
He pushed back out into the fray, looked over the heads of the people in the club. He and Michael split up and returned back to the bathroom less than five minutes later.
“She’s not in the club,” Michael said.
Val stepped back into the hall with the bathrooms, noticed the service door, and walked through it.
“She wouldn’t have come this way.”
“She’s been drinking.” Val thought of his sister, the gloss in her eyes. “Margaret!” he yelled. He rounded the corner to the back of the restaurant, knew the corridor well, and started to turn back.
Michael stopped him with a firm hand to the chest.
A soft thump hit a wall, repeatedly.
Both of them ran.
Val felt part of him die when he saw Meg slumped over herself, hitting the wall with a weak hand.
“Cara!”
“Jesus, Meg.”
They fell on her in unison.
Val placed a hand on her face, made her focus.
“Purse.”
What? “What happened?”
“Inhaler. Purse.”
It took Val a moment to process her words. It took Michael half that time. The other man ran from the hall, back the way they came.
Val panicked. Knew he was even when he was doing so. His cell phone was out of his pocket in a nanosecond.
“Good evening, Mr. Masini.”
“I need the nurse in the corridor between the lounge and the restaurant . . . now.”
“Right away, Mr. Masini.”
“Call an air ambulance.”
Margaret shook her head.
He didn’t listen.
“Right away, Mr. Masini.”
He dropped the phone to her side, heard how little air was moving inside her lungs.
Michael burst through the door, her purse in his hand. Ryder, Gabi, and several employees trailed behind.
Michael fished out her medicine, shook it, and placed it to her lips. “Deep breath.”
She sucked in a pathetic breath and Michael repeated the process.
“What happened?” Gabi cried behind them.
“Someone call an ambulance.”
Val focused on Margaret. Her eyes found his as she sucked in another shot of the inhaler.
He didn’t realize he was squeezing her hand until she squeezed it back.
“I’m here, cara. You’re going to be OK.”
“You were lucky, Miss Rosenthal.”
She was still wheezing, her lungs not completely right but so much better than when they’d landed at Miami General.
When the second hit of the inhaler didn’t do squat, she knew she was in trouble.
Val kept talking. Helped her take slow breaths and control the panic that threatened.
She couldn’t remember it ever being this bad.
“When was the last time you saw a pulmonologist?” Doctor Stick Up His Ass asked.
“My general sees me every year.”
“You need a lung doctor. You should know that.”
She did, but had ignored the need every year she visited her general. The meds she was on controlled her asthma well enough. At least until today.
“Know anyone in LA?”
The ER doctor shook his head. “I have a friend, Dr. Eddy. I’ll call him and ask if he knows of anyone close by.”
“Thanks.”
“In the meantime, there are much better drugs out there.” He told her what he was prescribing before she left his hospital. There was a daily pill, a daily inhaler, and a different rescue inhaler she’d not used before. Seemed the meds she’d taken from early high school were obsolete.
Who knew?
The doctor started to leave the room. “Doctor?”
“Yes?”
She sighed, adjusted the tube of oxygen that sat inside her nose. “Thanks.”
He pointed directly at her. “Thank me by not coming back. Do you know how many young women like you die every year from an asthma attack by ignoring their symptoms?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t be one of them.” He glanced at the monitor above her. “You’re going to be here for a while, Miss Rosenthal. Might as well try and get some sleep.”
She closed her eyes and felt her pulse beating too fast, even her breaths were too short. But at least they worked. Good God, she knew what a fish out of water felt like.
“Miss Rosenthal?” The nurse woke her. How was it possible she’d fallen asleep?
“Yes?”
“There are some very anxious people outside who want to know you’re all right.”