“Oh, shit. Thazz no good,” Zan says, her tongue sounding thicker than it did before. “No good, not good.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Beatrice reaches over to pat Zan on the shoulder. She glances back at Thom, her brow furrowed with worry. “But I feel fine.”
“You must have ordered before the spiked batch,” Thom says, leaning down to peer at Zan around Beatrice. “But that little one is going, going…” He laughs and calls out, “Gone!” as Zan’s head dips toward the table.
Sucking in a breath, she drags herself upright again, mumbling something that sounds like, “Son of a snitch,” but I’m already shoving my chair away from the table.
Thom grunts as the wooden chair hits his generous gut. “Ow. Fuck, man, that hurt.”
“Sorry,” I toss over my shoulder, but I’m not sorry. I’m fucking enraged. I want to beat the shit out of Thom and whatever asshole decided mixing an opiate and alcohol was a funny joke.
“Don’t truss me, Nick,” Zan says, blinking up at me with heavily lidded eyes. “I’m a bad drunk.”
“Not surprising. You’re pretty awful sober,” I quip, making her scowl. “Just kidding, love, come here. We’ll get you into a nice, cold shower and clear your head.”
“Can I help?” Beatrice asks.
“No, I’ve got her.” I nod toward the rest of the restaurant. “You should contact the doctor on call for the hotel guests and have them come prepared to treat opiate overdoses.” I guide Zan’s arm gently around my neck and help her from her chair. “They’ll need to bring naloxone. A lot of it.”
“Got it,” Bea says, pushing her chair back.
Zan sags against me, her knees buckling before she stands straighter. “The floor is moving.”
“The floor isn’t moving,” I assure her, my focus still on Beatrice as I add, “Until the doctor arrives, everyone who was drugged should be monitored in case they have trouble breathing. See if you can find a few sober people to watch them and sound the alarm at the first sign of respiratory distress.”
“You need to relax, brother,” Thom says, glowering at me as he rubs his injured gut. “Shit like this happens when we’re on holiday. It’s just a prank. You know, fun? You’re usually good at that.”
I force a smile, but I can’t keep the bite from my tone as I say, “Nothing funny about manslaughter, Thom. If any of these people die of an overdose, it will be on that prankster’s hands. And yours if you don’t make an effort to help.”
Thom’s scowl darkens, and his lips part, but Beatrice breaks in before he can speak. “Of course, he’ll help. Won’t you, Thom? Will you go tell Stefano what’s happened? I’ll send one of the staff to call the doctor in town and then start matching people in trouble with caretakers.” She glances back at me as she moves toward the kitchen. “Call me later? When you’re sure she’s all right?”
“Will do,” I promise, sweeping my free hand under Zan’s knees and gathering her into my arms.
“I can walk, Dimples,” she insists as her head falls against my shoulder.
“I’m sure you can, but it’s more fun like this,” I say, humoring her as I hurry through the resort and back to our room.
So far, she seems to be breathing fine, but who knows what she’ll say when she’s wasted. For the sake of our cover, I need to get her locked behind closed doors until the drug wears off.
“Uh-un, not fun,” she says with a moan. “Too bouncy. My stomach is turning inside out.”
“Sorry, darling. We’ll be there in just a second, and all the bouncing will stop, I promise.”
“Darling.” She giggles. “I’m not darling. You’re darling.”
“Thank you,” I say, remembering what Sabrina said in the hot tub about Zan being sweet when she’s intoxicated. “I probably shouldn’t talk to you right now, should I?”
“No, you shouldn’t. Talking is stupid.” Her arms tighten around my neck as she adds in a too-loud whisper, “But we should make a plan. We have to get Bea out of here. It isn’t safe. These bad guys are bad. They overdose people for fun. Who does that?”
“Hush, sweetheart.”
“Bad people, that’s who,” she continues. “And I love Bea, Nick. I love her so much, and I need her to be safe.”
“I know, and we’ll make sure she is.” I catch the faint sound of men’s lowered voices from around a curve in the path, and I pick up my pace. We’re not close enough to hear what they’re saying—or for them to hear Zan—but I’m not taking any chances in her current condition.
When she starts to speak again, I dip my head, cutting her off with a kiss.
I expect her to freeze or push me away, but instead, she melts even faster than she did the last time my lips touched hers, murmuring, “Yes, kissing. Kissing is the best,” against my mouth.