"Bri."

"Hmm?"

"Who are all these people?"

He laughed, nuzzling into her neck. "You've got me." The scent of her

had him hardening. Moving to the sinuous beat of the Lennon/ McCartney

number, he brought her against him. "What do you say we take a trip

upstairs and leave them the rest of the house."

"That's rude." But she moved against him. "Wicked, rude, and the best

idea I've heard in hours."

"Well, then ..." He made a halfhearted attempt to pick her up, sent

them both teetering. Wine spilled cool down his back as Bev giggled.

"Maybe you can carry me," he said, then heard Emma scream.

He rammed into a small table as he turned. Dizzy from drugs and booze,

he stumbled, righted himself, and rushed into the foyer. There

were people already gathered. Pushing through them, he saw her crumpled

at the foot of the steps.

"Emma. My G.o.d." He was terrified to touch her. There was blood at the

corner of her mouth. With one trembling finger, he wiped it away. He

looked up into a sea of faces, a blur of color, all unrecognizable. His

stomach clenched, then tried to heave itself Into his throat.

"Call an ambulance," he managed, then bent over her again.

"Don't move her." Bev's face was chalk-white as she knelt beside him. "I

don't think you're supposed to move her. We need a blanket."

Some quick-witted soul was already thrusting a daisy afghan into her

hands. "She'll be all right, Bri." Carefully, Bev smoothed the blanket

over her. "She'll be just fine."

He closed his eyes, shook his head to clear it. But when he opened them

again, Emma was still lying, dead-white, on the floor. There was too

much noise. The music echoing off the ceilings, the voices murmuring,

muttering all around. He felt a hand on his shoulder. A quick,

rea.s.suring squeeze.

"Ambulance is on the way," P.M. told him. "Hold on, Bri."

"Get them out," he whispered. He looked up and into Johnno's shocked,

pale face. "Get them out of here."

With a nod, Johnno began to urge people along. The door was open, the

night bright with floodlights and headlights when they heard the wall of

the sirens.

"I'm going to go up," Bev said calmly. "Tell Alice what's happened,

check on Darren. We'll go to the hospital with her. She's going to be

fine, Brian. I know it."

He could only nod and stare down at Emma's still, pale face. He

couldn't leave her. If he had dared, he would have gone into the

bathroom, stuck a finger down his throat, and tried to rid his body of

some of the chemicals he'd pumped into it that night.

It was all like a dream, he thought, a floaty, unhappy dream. Until he

looked at Emma's face. Then it was real, much too real.

The Abbey Road alb.u.m was still playing, the sly cut about murder.

Maxwell's silver hammer was coming down.

"Bri." Johnno put a hand on his arm. "Move back now, so they can tend

to her."