Page 70 of Stolen Vows
“I’m not sure.” Moving forward, I slowly take in the empty car, scanning for a note or other sign of distress. “Frankie’s supposed to be bringing the?—”
My shoes cross over the threshold, and I instantly regret breaking the buttons last night. I can’t close the doors now. So, when I spot my right-hand man slumped unconscious in the elevator’s corner, beneath the electric panel, Stella follows me.
I try to shield her from the view, but she peers around, a small gasp escaping when she sees Frankie.
“Oh my God! What the hell happened?”
With my foot, I press against his leg, inspecting for any evidence of wounds or other trauma. I crouch, noting a distinct lack of blood surrounding him, and fit two fingers to his neck. “Idon’t know, but I don’t like this. He’s alive, although his pulse is pretty weak.”
Getting back up, I fish my phone from my pants pocket and step back out of the elevator. When I dial Genevieve, she doesn’t answer, and an uneasy sensation settles deep in my gut.
“Cyanosis,” Stella says.
I whip around, glaring at where she’s now kneeling by Frankie’s side, squinting. “Get out of there, Stella. It isn’t safe.”
She scoffs. “Please, he’s unconscious. What’s he going to do?” With one hand, she gestures toward his face, drawing a circle in the air around his mouth. “Look at the blue ring around his lips and his fingers… He’s definitely experiencing methemoglobinemia.”
My grip on the phone tightens. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a condition that develops from changes in hemoglobin. Basically, his blood isn’t getting enough oxygen, and he probably passed out from that.” Pursing her lips, she glances over her shoulder at me. “Does he have any health conditions? Something he hasn’t treated maybe since you came to the auction?”
“No. As far as I’m aware, he’s completely healthy.” It wouldn’t do to keep him around otherwise. I suppose there’s a possibility that he’s been lying to me, but I have to believe for my own sanity that he wouldn’t jeopardize our entire operation like that.
“Okay, well…you’re probably not going to like this.” Stella cringes. “I’d say someone’s poisoned him.”
I blink at her, then look at his form again. The tips of his fingers are a light purple, the same color as the outside of his lips, and the color seems to be spreading.
Shit.
There are only a few people who could have been at this party and would be willing to risk the event organizers’ wrath bypoisoning another attendee. I had Frankie extensively review the invite list before we arrived to ensure Ranolfo and Gino weren’t on it, but I suppose they could’ve taken someone else’s invitation and slipped in unnoticed.
After all, I did the same when I asked Valerie Van der Vorm to give her invite to Stella. The workers were aware, but the patrons had no clue who was really among them.
Which means we’re probably in deep fucking shit.
“Stella”—I keep my voice steady so as not to alarm her, but every fiber of my being is suddenly pulled tight, primed for action—“exit the elevator.”
She makes a face, getting up and walking to the doors. Only, she doesn’t come out. Instead, she just crosses her arms over her chest and narrows those beautiful brown eyes.
“This is never going to work if you just plan on ordering me around all the time,” she says. “I will not be some silent, docile puppet that you keep on retainer to warm your cock whenever you’re bored.”
“That isnotmy intention with you.” I redial Genevieve’s number, trying to rein in the anger boiling just under the surface of my skin when it once again goes to voicemail.
“Well, you’d better be prepared to?—”
A sudden whirring sound cuts off her sentence, and then there is a deafening mechanicalclick. Before either of us blinks, the elevator doors start to slide closed. I dive toward the entrance, and at the same time, she tries to wedge her body in the way to keep them open.
“Stella, move!”
My arm extends, and for a split second, I consider yanking her through to me, but there isn’t enough time. The doors aren’t stopping, and she’s not close enough for me to grab. I shove her backward to keep her from getting caught and pull my arm out just before the doors shut.
Phone in hand, I move to slam the Open button on the panel, but it’s broken.
Fuck.
My chest heaves, and I brace my arms against the doors. Anxiety races through my limbs, constricting airflow as I choke out, “Stella? Can you hear me?”
It takes a moment for her to respond, but finally her voice comes through. “Yes.”
