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Nadine ducked under his arm, shoved through.
“Julian.” She rushed across the room, dropped to the floor beside him. “Call an ambulance!” She turned him from his side to his back as the security man crouched beside her. But even as he felt for a pulse, Julian stirred.
“Julian! Wake up. Talk to me. Julian.”
“Tired.” He slurred it out. “Too tired.”
“Julian, what did you take?” She saw the wine bottle, the broken glass. “What did you put in the wine?”
“Wine. Sleep.”
“No. Stay awake.”
“Let’s prop him up.”
Nadine shook her head, reared back, and cracked her palm across Julian’s face. “Stay awake!” She slapped him again.
“Go ’way. Tired. Sick. Didn’t mean t’do it.”
“Don’t touch that,” Nadine snapped at the manager as she crossed toward the broken glass. “Don’t touch anything. This is a crime scene.”
“That’s my line.” Eve strode in, laid a hand on Nadine’s shoulder as she checked Julian’s pulse, then peeled up an eyelid to check his pupils.
“OD’ing. Keep him talking, get him on his feet, try to make him walk. Roarke, start looking for the drugs. They’ll be somewhere we can find them without too much trouble. He’s got a better chance if we can tell them what he took. You were right to get the field kit. Saves a trip back down. You—” She pointed at the white-faced manager. “Go down, get the medics up here quick and fast—and don’t come back.”
She shoved the woman out the door.
“Sleeping pills—in with the wine bottles. Empty. K.T. Harris’s prescription.” Roarke glanced back as Eve bagged the wine bottle. “He didn’t miss a trick.”
She brought over an evidence bag. “Seal up if you’re going to touch stuff.”
“How bad is it?” Roarke murmured as Nadine and Security dragged a nearly unconscious Julian around the room.
“His pulse is weak, barely there, and his pupils are the size of Pluto. It’s pretty damn bad, but it would be over if Nadine hadn’t tuned in. Where the hell are the MTs?”
Determined, she marched back to Julian, shoved her face into his. “Walk, goddamn it. Don’t you fucking die on me. Where did you get the pills? Where did you get the wine?”
His head fell forward; Eve shoved it back. “Stay awake,” she ordered as Roarke stepped over to take Julian’s weight from Nadine.
“Sleeping pills.” She glanced at Roarke. “Somnipoton.” She considered options, went with instinct. And plowed her fist into Julian’s belly.
“Dallas!”
“I’m not sticking my fingers down his throat unless I have to.”
He coughed, gagged, slumped. She hit him again. And nipped back to save her new boots when he doubled over. He vomited heroically.
“Lovely,” Roarke muttered.
“It’s one way to pump a stomach. Keep him walking.”
He moaned now, staggered a bit, as she took a sample of puke into evidence.
“The MTs are coming,” Nadine called out.
“About damn time. Walk him into the bedroom—and Roarke, stay with him. They can work on him in there, keep clear of my crime scene.”
She pulled out her communicator. Time to call in the team. As the medics rushed in, she pointed to the bedroom door, shook her head at Nadine.
