"Do you realize how much I love you?" she said quietly. "Do you even understand?"

He caught her sense of unrest and leaned toward her. "What's up, sweetheart?" he asked, putting his arms around her. "Something bothering you?"

"It was," she admitted. "Although I'm okay now."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"I don't know," she said slowly. "It's just that I woke up this morning with a bad feeling."

"About what?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you."

"Knowing you, I'd be the last to find out."

"That's 'cause there's nothing to find out. I called everyone, and they're all fine."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You called everyone?"

"Just to make sure."

"You're something else," he said, shaking his head. "If something was up, don't you think they'd all be calling you?"

"You're right," she agreed.

And at that exact moment, the phone rang. And Lucky knew for sure it could only be bad news.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

"You're an extremely fortunate young man," the Indian doctor informed Bobby. He wasn't that old, probably late forties, with prematurely gray hair cut short and a wise expression. He wore a white coat, and had a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

When Bobby and M.J. had arrived at the emergency room and revealed what they were there for, a nurse had whisked Bobby into a curtained-off cubicle, asked him to put on a hospital gown, and taken his temperature and blood pressure. Then another nurse had drawn blood and requested a urine sample.

Now, after a long wait, Dr. Sanjay had appeared.

"Fortunate how?" Bobby asked, feeling ridiculous that he was stuck in a hospital bed like some kind of invalid. It wasn't necessary. All he'd wanted was for them to find out what he'd been drugged with.

"It seems that you were given a very large dose of gammahydroxybutyrate," Dr. Sanjay said, clearing his throat. "Or in layman's terms-GHB."

"I knew it!" Bobby exclaimed, shooting M.J. a triumphant look.

M.J., sitting in a bedside chair, nodded, as if he'd known all along.

"What is it normally used for?" Bobby asked.

"Sometimes a general anesthetic, or to treat alcoholism, clinical depression, and insomnia."

"Jesus!" Bobby said, shaking his head.

"And of course," Dr. Sanjay added, "it's well known as the date rape drug."

"Shit!" Bobby exclaimed.

"You must have a very strong constitution," Dr. Sanjay continued. "For I should warn you that such a large dose of GHB can be lethal."

"It can?" Bobby managed, experiencing a quick shudder of fear.

"Yes. It can cause unconsciousness, respiratory depression, and cardiac arrest," Dr. Sanjay said matter-of-factly. "In other words, it can kill you. And for your further information-if mixed with alcohol, it is even more dangerous. Had you been drinking?"

"A couple of vodkas, that's all."

Dr. Sanjay tapped the side of his nose. "Once again I must say that you are extremely fortunate." After a long pause, he added, "Are you aware of who gave you this drug?"

"No clue," Bobby said, shooting M.J. a warning look not to say a word.

"I should really inform the authorities," Dr. Sanjay mused.

"I'd prefer you didn't," Bobby said, mustering his most persuasive powers. "We own a club here, and last night was our big opening. It wouldn't be good for business if this got out."

"And I am sure that it wouldn't be good for business if something like this happened again and someone died," Dr. Sanjay said curtly, his expression stern.

Bobby wondered if the doctor was bribable, and decided he wasn't.

"Look," he said quickly. "I'll be honest with you. What happened was just a stupid prank my girlfriend played on me. It's something she would never do again."

"An extremely foolish prank indeed."

"I know," Bobby said with a sincere nod. "Believe me-she's mortified."

"As well she should be."

"We were ... uh ... experimenting," Bobby said, warming to his story. "Our experiment obviously went too far."

"Yes, it did," Dr. Sanjay said, his thick eyebrows knitting together to signal deep disapproval.

"I'd really like to get out of here," Bobby said. Now that he felt better, he was ready to go back to the hotel with more questions. Fuck it. He was desperate to know why this had happened to him.

"Very well, then," Dr. Sanjay said, nodding. "I suppose I can allow you to leave without taking this any further."

"Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it."

"Although I must insist that you drink plenty of liquids and rest up. It's possible that you could have a delayed reaction. If you feel anything unusual, you must return here immediately. Do you understand?"

"Got it. I'll be following your orders all the way," Bobby said, still thinking that he couldn't wait to investigate further, find out why he'd been chosen as a victim. A victim who could've died. Son of a bitch!

"Think of your body as a finely tuned machine that needs to take time to recover," Dr. Sanjay said. "Also, tell your girlfriend that if the authorities had been brought in, she would most likely be under arrest."

"I think she knows that. And, uh ... maybe I can make a donation to the hospital, or one of your favorite charities?"

"Not necessary," Dr. Sanjay said.

"Okay, then," Bobby said, sliding off the bed. "Thanks for everything." He glanced quickly at M.J. "Well, I guess we're outta here."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Sleep was impossible, so as soon as light began creeping into the apartment, Max jumped up, hurriedly dressed, and shook Tim awake. He was quite a sight with his lank mousy hair and pale complexion, still clad in Athena's leopard-print Dolce & Gabbana pj's.

"Wake up," she hissed. "We've gotta get him out."

"What time is it?" Tim groaned, opening his eyes.

"Never mind the time," Max said impatiently, brushing a lock of dark hair back from her forehead. "Put on your clothes."

"Oh God!" Tim complained. "I knew it was a mistake staying here. You American girls are so damn bossy."

"I try, only it's not doing me much good," Max lamented, wishing that Athena were around to take care of things. Athena would kick everyone's ass. It was her way of getting things done, and it always worked.

"What about my hot breakfast?" Tim demanded, reluctantly sitting up.

"As soon as you've removed the problem," Max promised, although she still had no intention of cooking him anything.

Tim threw her an alarmed look. "I'm not becoming involved in anything physical," he warned. "That sort of stuff is not for me."

"You don't have to," Max assured him. "Simply tell him you're my boyfriend. That should be enough to shift his Italian butt."

"Very well," Tim said, acquiescing. "Is he awake?"

"Not yet. We'll catch him off guard. He'll probably be sober and mortified."

By the time they reached Max's bedroom, Carlo was neither of those things. He was lying on top of the bed, eyes open. He stared up at Max and Tim-who was now fully dressed-and gave a pleased smirk. "Buon giorno, bellissima," he said, zeroing in on Max. "Bene, s? We will kill. Yes?"

"What?" Max said, a frown spreading across her pretty face.

"I came here last night to tell you," Carlo offered, raising himself onto one elbow. "Perhaps I maybe overstayed my welcome."

"What welcome?" Max spluttered, thinking that Carlo was totally delusional. Or maybe he was simply an idiot.

Carlo yawned, acting as if everything was totally normal.

If only he wasn't such a dick, Max thought, he'd be kind of attractive in a down and dirty brooding kind of way.

She could almost like him. Only almost. He was no Billy Melina.

"You rolled in here last night-pissed out of your mind-and fell into my bed," she informed him, in case he didn't remember. "You told me nothing. So now you can shift your ass and get out."

"Out!" Tim repeated, a frantic tick taking over his left eye.

"Who is he?" Carlo asked, favoring Tim with an unfriendly scowl. "Your pet dog?"

"My boyfriend," Max said firmly. "And he wants you out even more than I do, so you'd better move it before he totally loses it."

"You have a boyfriend?" Carlo said, obviously not thrilled with the information.

"Don't sound so surprised," Max answered sharply. "And oh yes-I should tell you that he has a black belt in judo."

Tim took a step back and shot Max a glare-as if to say, What the hell-I told you no fisticuffs for me, young lady.

Carlo sat up. Tim took another cautionary step back.

"Too much tequila," Carlo announced. "My weakness. Scusi." He jumped off the bed. "Now I must take a piss."

Before Max could object, Carlo was heading for the bathroom.

She and Tim exchanged looks.

"Judo?" Tim said, quite horrified. "Black belt?"

"It sounds threatening," Max said, defending her words. "I think it made him nervous."

"It certainly made me nervous," Tim snorted, a red flush creeping up his neck. "Him-not so much."

"When he stops peeing," Max said, all business, "you'll throw him out."

"I'll do no such thing," Tim objected. "I'm going home. He's all yours."

"You wouldn't leave me," she said, attempting to appeal to Tim's better nature. "You wouldn't do that to me."

"That's exactly what I'm doing," Tim stated. And with those words, he made a hurried dash for the front door.

"Thanks a lot," Max yelled after him. "You suck."

Carlo emerged from the bathroom. "Your boyfriend take off?" he asked, scratching his balls.

At least he's fully dressed and sober, Max thought. And if Tim can't shift him, I certainly can.

"Yes," she said stiffly. "He took off, and that's exactly what I'd like you to do."