Page 84 of A Whim and a Prayer

“No, I tell you! I don’t sleep with women who are out cold.”

With a roar of hate, Beck yanked him up hard, fingers gouging deep into his shoulders. Nose to nose, his words were pure acid as he spit them into the half-wit’s face. “Well, lucky for you, I don’t kill people who are out cold.” And hurtling an iron fist to McCarthy’s jaw, the lowlife hit the wall and slowly slid down, out for the count.

Just like Winnie.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

“Winnie, wake up, babe.” Beck pressed a soft kiss to Winnie’s temple, silently praying that she’d be all right. Not only physically—he shot a deadly glare over his shoulder at “Slugger,” who was still out, then back at Winnie—but emotionally as well, given the situation. Gently easing her onto her back once more, he cradled her face in his hands. “Dennehy,” he said again, louder this time, then gave her shoulders a quick shake, “wake up!”

“Go … ’way,” she groaned with a pained look, her voice raspy and slow as she listlessly waved him off before attempting to roll on her side again, an effort apparently too much for her when she flopped on her back once more with a tiny snort.

His exhale fairly quivered with relief that she was not only able to be roused and actually speak, but did so with that familiar sass that was so Winnie.

Collecting her clothes that were strewn on the floor, his anger rose with each item he picked up, making him want to coldcock the slimeball all over again. Grateful Winnie was asleep, he redressed her with lips clamped tight, pretty sure she’d be mortified if she knew he’d seen her in her birthday suit, but tough luck. She’d find out soon enough and he hoped she’d turn bright red for a solid month. Unwilling to tackle the bra, he shoved it in her purse and buttoned the cardigan clear up to her neck.

Satisfied she wasn’t in immediate danger—unlike the frat rat on the floor should he wake up—Beck headed for the pay phone he’d seen in the hallway. Fishing change from his pocket, he inserted it and dialed Abby’s number.

She snatched it up on the first ring. “Beck?”

“Yeah, Abs—”

“Is she okay?” she said in a rush, voice breathless.

He scratched the back of his neck as he shot a fierce look toward the room. “She’s safe. Not so sure about ‘okay.’”

“What do you mean?”

“The lowlife gave her a Mickey Finn—”

Abby gasped.

“So she’s sleeping, Abs, but a bit sassy, so I think she’s okay. I want to take her to the hospital to make sure—”

“Oh, Sweet Mother of Mercy!”

“Can you give me Alex and Gabe’s number?”

“What? Why?”

Beck kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Because I need to have her checked out at the hospital, Abs, and I’d like a relative to be there. And I sure don’t want to call her parents at this hour. They’ll find out soon enough.”

Another gasp. “Oh, Beck, no! Do we have to tell them? Can’t you just have her checked out and bring her back here?”

“No, Abs, I can’t,” he snapped, wishing it were that simple. “Gabe’s number, please?”

“Hold on.” He waited while she apparently flipped through their address book, drumming his fingers on the wall. “Okay, it’s WINthrop 8-4512.”

“WINthrop 8-4512,” he repeated, committing it to memory. Okay, gotta go.”

“Beck, wait! Will you”—he could hear her gulp—“call me from the hospital? I want to make sure she’s okay and”—another hard swallow—“my parents will want to know too.”

“Sure, Abs. Bye.” He hung up, pretty sure this would fix Abby’s tendency to give in to all of Winnie’s harebrained stunts, once her mom and dad caught wind of it.

He deposited his change into the phone and dialed Gabe’s number, hating to wake them up at this ungodly hour, but he had no choice.

“Hello?” Alex answered, thank God, which meant he wasn’t on call and could handle this sticky situation from start to finish.

“Alex? This is Beck Campbell, and I apologize for calling at this hour, but Winnie’s been drugged with chloral hydrate and accosted at a frat party, so—”