Page 18 of Newly Tied

“Well, I guess because I was a bit wobbly, Mr. Al—Quentin—walked me to the game room, and now I’m sitting in here with him and a few of his friends.”

A terrible thought occurred to me, but I was naturally suspicious. “Any women in there?”

“No, and I—I mean, I’m not stupid, but Quentin and I, we work for the same company, but I don’t feel like myself and⁠—”

“I’m comin’,” I told her, “but I think I’m gonna go on and send CPD ahead of me, so⁠—”

“No. Ohmygod no. I will die of embarrassment, and what would Quentin think of me for even insinuating that he⁠—”

“Fine, then do me a favor and make barfy noises, get your ass back to the bathroom, and lock the door.”

“The room is spinning a bit.”

“Do it now. Right now and keep me on the phone.”

Her pretend-vomit noises were pretty convincing, and I heard voices that sounded worried, probably about the carpet, and then everything was muffled, and when she spoke to me again, she sounded like she was in an echo chamber.

“How big is that bathroom?” I asked, stepping into a pair of Converse sneakers, grabbing my keys, and going out the front door.

“It’s huge in here. Would it be bad if I lie down in the tub? I’m really dizzy, and my face feels hot.”

“You can sit down on the toilet and wait for me. Do not open that door for anyone, you understand? I don’t care who’s outside.”

She made a noise of agreement.

After checking the address she’d texted me, I realized I was even closer than I thought, about three minutes tops by car. I could have taken a cab, but my adrenaline was pumping at that point, and I knew I needed to get there. Plus, with Chicago traffic on a Friday night, merely a bit after eight, I was better off running.

For the second time that day, I flew down the city blocks, my feet eating up the pavement. This time, though it was still very hot and sticky outside, I was in shorts and a T-shirt, and that, along with my sneakers, made it much easier.

Once I reached the lavish, secure building, the guard at the desk stood up to say something to me, but I flashed my badge and told him I was there to get a friend.

“No worries, Marshal,” he said kindly and walked me quickly to the elevator, using a card to get the doors open for me.

“Do I need that to get to the penthouse?”

“You certainly do,” he confirmed and passed me the card. “Do you want me to call up to the penthouse for you? There’s two of them. I can let either know that you’re on your way.”

Hard to know what would be best. Tell them I was coming or not. I decided on not. “No, that’s okay. But thank you.”

He nodded. “If you’re going to the northwest penthouse—that’s penthouse number two—Mr. Alcott is having a party, so the front door will probably be open.”

“Great. I appreciate the help.”

The elevator whooshed me up, and just as the guard said, the penthouse door was open.

Inside, the place was packed. A bartender was working behind a well-stocked bar, and several servers walked through the crowd. I was completely underdressed, as the men were all in suits and the women in everything from long and short dresses to pantsuits, looking ready to hit the town. I stood out, and some people probably thought I was crashing, but I was too busy looking for the bathroom.

The first one was empty, and the second one, farther back, was occupied by several people doing coke. As a rule, drugs didn’t concern me unless minors were involved, and they were all of age. I didn’t really get the man in the bathroom—he looked to be in his late fifties, and the three women with him were all in their midtwenties—but that was not my business.

Down a long hall, there were double doors, and through that, I heard the sound of pool balls clinking and knew I was close.

“Where’s the girl, Quent?” someone asked.

“I think she might be having an allergic reaction to the drug,” came the answer. “I’m going to give it another couple of minutes, and then I’ll use my key to open the door. If she’s sick or passed out, we need to move her. If not…” There was laughing then.

Turning, I almost plowed into a young woman who’d apparently come up behind me.

“Sorry,” I whispered.