she sucked in a breath and fainted. Jonathan caught her as she fell. He pulled her close and stroked her damp face.
First his brother and Lisa, now Cynthia.
“The ambulance is on its way,” Stryker said, crouching next to them. “How’s she doing?”
“She collapsed. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I have a bad feeling it has something to do with everything going on here tonight.”
He looked at the detective and knew the other man shared his sense of dread about the situation. The hell of it was there was nothing either of them could do except stay with Cynthia and wait for help to arrive.
Chapter 3
“There has to be something you can do,” Jonathan insisted, even as he knew that losing his temper wasn’t going to make the situation any better.
“Right now our goal is to keep her stable while we wait for test results,” Dr. Noah Howell said calmly. “Once we know what is causing the problem, we can start treatment. Until we’re sure, we’re at risk of doing the wrong thing by acting without knowing what’s really wrong with her.”
Jonathan had never felt more frustrated in his life. He’d spent the last several hours dealing with situations he couldn’t control and now he was faced with one more. He knew if he could just do something, he would feel better. But he wasn’t a cop and he wasn’t a doctor. He hated feeling like this.
“Is she still unconscious?” he asked.
Dr. Howell nodded. “However, under the circumstances, that’s not surprising.”
It might not be surprising, Jonathan thought grimly, but it also wasn’t very good. Since fainting at the hotel, Cynthia had not regained consciousness. He’d accompanied her to the hospital where Noah Howell had examined her. For reasons that weren’t clear to anyone, her entire body was in the process of shutting down. If they didn’t figure out what was wrong soon, she was going to die.
A sense of powerlessness filled him. What was the point of being one of the richest men in Colorado if he couldn’t save Cynthia’s life?
“I have to get back to her,” Dr. Howell said. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change.”
“What about when you get the test results?”
Noah’s blue eyes regarded him steadily. “I know you’re concerned about Ms. Morgan. We’re doing everything we can to save her. I’ll be sure to keep you informed of her condition and any test results. If you or the detective come up with anything from your end, let me know.”
Jonathan sank into one of the green plastic chairs that filled the small waiting room and swore under his breath.
“Hell of a day,” Stryker said sympathetically. “First your brother and his wife, and now this.”
Jonathan nodded, then leaned his head against the white wall. “I hate hospitals,” he said, taking in the nondescript linoleum flooring and the television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. It was on but mercifully silent.
Noises filtered in from beyond the confines of the waiting area. The squeak of soft-soled shoes, the clank of a piece of equipment being moved. He could smell the lingering scent of antiseptic and the previous evening’s dinner. It was nearly two in the morning and the waiting room was deserted. There was still chaos downstairs in the emergency room—people being treated in the aftermath of the hotel blackout and the subsequent panic. But up here was relative peace. At least he didn’t have to worry about making small talk with anyone. Except Stryker.
He glanced at the detective. “I don’t think you’re waiting with me because you’re concerned about Cynthia Morgan.”
“I wouldn’t mind knowing she’s okay,” Stryker told him. “But I’m here because I need to ask you some questions.”
Jonathan rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if he could erase the weariness that filled him. “It feels like it should be some time next week,” he said. “Instead of just early Sunday.” He drew in a deep breath and figured there was no point in ignoring the obvious. “You want to know if there was some reason David could have wanted to get to me through her. Did he hurt Cynthia because it would bother me.”
“The thought has crossed my mind,” the detective admitted. “Your brother obviously wanted to screw you any way he could. The doctor said they didn’t know what was wrong with her. They’ve ruled out appendicitis. Once the tests come back we’ll have a clearer picture, but until then I can’t rule out the suspicion that David was involved.”
Jonathan looked at Stryker and shook his head. “Not possible. I just met her tonight.” He told the other man about literally running into Cynthia at the ball. How he’d planned to leave, then had surprised himself asking her to dance.
Without wanting to, he found himself caught up in the past, in the pleasure of her in his arms. How she’d looked and felt as they moved together. The sweet scent of her skin and the way she’d tasted when he’d kissed her.
“David couldn’t have known about her because I didn’t,” he concluded.
Stryker loosened his shirt collar, then jerked his head at the purse lying next to him. “There’s nothing in there to give us a clue, either. I’ve notified her family. They’re on their way here. Maybe they’ll know something. Although her mother said Cynthia is perfectly healthy. Never had a medical condition.”
Jonathan didn’t want her to die. Not that he wished anyone dead, but his desire for Cynthia to live was strong and growing. He willed strength to her, as if he could send the power through the corridors of the hospital and help her hang on until the doctors got it all figured out.
The detective pulled out his notebook. “Start from the beginning and tell me again what happened.”
“I was speaking with my brother,” Jonathan began patiently, prepared to go through the sequence of events as many times as it took. “We’d just finished and I knew that if I was going to die that night I didn’t want it to be at that ridiculous party. So I started to leave. When I turned I ran into—”
“Mr. Steele?”
He looked up and saw a young nurse standing in the doorway of the waiting area. Jonathan was on his feet in a heartbeat. “What? Do you have news?”
She nodded. “Dr. Howell asked me to tell you that the preliminary toxicology reports suggest that Ms. Morgan was poisoned. He wanted to let you and the detective know.”
The news shouldn’t have stunned Jonathan. After all he and Stryker had been talking about David being involved. But David couldn’t have known about Cynthia. “Poisoned?” he repeated blankly.
She nodded. “He said that it would be helpful if you could figure out how and then find the poison.” She gave him a quick, impersonal smile and turned to leave.
“Wait,” he called. “How is she?”
“I don’t know. The same, I think.” And then she was gone.
Jonathan sank back into his chair. He looked at Stryker. “Poison? Does that make sense
