Carly didn't need to know what he already did. Immortality was worth killing for.

"Come home with me," he said abruptly. "Leave your SUV here. I'll bring you back in the morning. I don't want you to be alone."

She started to object, then saw the shadows and urgency in his eyes. Without a word she turned and started walking toward his truck.

Chapter 35

QUINTRELL RANCHLAND

THURSDAY NIGHT

THEY HADN'T BEEN ON THE ROAD VERY LONG, BUT CARLY KNEW SHE'D THROW UP IF Dan's truck hit one more icy rut. Frantically she lowered the window on the passenger side. They were on the winding part of the ranch road, where it dropped out of the valley to snake along the far side of Castillo Ridge. There was nothing below the vehicle but darkness and nothing above but stars.

Dan watched her closely. He knew how she was feeling. His stomach wasn't happy with whatever herbal concoction had been in those cups. He was feeling nauseated and light-headed. If it got any worse, he would pull over and get it all out of his system.

"Dan?" Carly's voice was ragged. The world spun crazily. Despite the rush of icy air over her face, her stomach heaved. "Stop."

Dan slammed on the brakes without asking why. He didn't have to. She was pale and sweating, her head wobbling unsteadily.

Carly managed to get her seat belt off but couldn't wrap her fingers around the door handle. He dragged her across the center console and out his door. She pushed him away, fell to her hands and knees on the ground, and threw up again and again. Finally she tried to stand. Her knees wouldn't cooperate.

"Easy, honey," Dan said, biting back his own nausea and light-headedness, wanting to help her. Then training kicked in.

Throw up, fool. You've been poisoned.

He went down in the snow next to her and vomited repeatedly, ridding himself of Sylvia's good-bye potion. His head spun but his stomach felt better immediately. He scrubbed out his mouth with a handful of snow, spit, and waited.

No more nausea.

Carly wasn't so lucky. She was retching again, swaying even though she was on her hands and knees. He steadied her, held her head, and did everything he could think of to help her throw off whatever had been in the small cup.

Opium or heroin was his bet. Part of his training had required taking various drugs so that he would know his own limits-or know what was happening if somebody had slipped something into his coffee. When he was finished with that part of his training, he'd wondered why people spent good money to screw up their brain and body.

Finally Carly stopped vomiting.

"Better?" he asked her gently.

She tried to talk. Couldn't. The world was turning around her. She tried to focus, but her eyes wouldn't work. She tried to hold on to Dan but her fingers wouldn't work. All her body wanted to do was sleep, right now, forever.

Dan's heart stopped when Carly went slack in his arms. He carried her to the truck, propped her up against the hood, and took her pulse.

Weak, slower than it should be.

Same for her breathing.

Shit.

Her head thunked against his chest. He grabbed her chin, lifted one of her eyelids, and saw a pinpoint pupil. He opened her mouth. Despite the recent vomiting, her tongue was dry. The color of her lips was tending toward blue rather than pink. She had all the signs of an opium overdose.

No point in making her throw up; there was nothing left in her stomach. Mother Nature's way of taking care of unwanted cargo. Traditional medical care was too far away and he was damned if he'd let anyone at the ranch house touch Carly.

Someone there had poisoned both of them.

But Dan was much bigger, more able to tolerate the drug without succumbing. Carly wasn't. It had hit her like a falling building.

She was going under.

Fear slammed through Dan in a wave of adrenaline that made him forget his own light-headedness, his own slowed reactions. He pulled Carly away from the truck, clamped his arm around her, and tried to walk and shake her awake at the same time. He had to keep her moving until her system could cope with whatever drug she hadn't already vomited.

She hung from his arm, sliding away.

"Carly!"

Her head lolled.

He grabbed her hair with his free hand, brought her face up to his, and shouted, "Carly! You have to wake up and move. Do it now."

Her eyelids flickered. Her head jerked unsteadily. "Dan?"

"I'm here, Carly. Somebody gave you an opiate. You threw up most of it." I hope. "Now you have to stay awake until your breathing is better. Walk, honey. I'll be with you every step of the way."

She heard someone talking to her at a distance. A long way away. A dream. After some effort she identified the voice as Dan's. No matter how many times she told him to go away, he wouldn't stop shouting at her so that she could sleep.

Finally, slowly, her legs started to get the rhythm of walking. She couldn't wholly support herself, but she at least could keep her feet under her some of the time.

"That's it, Carly. Good. Good. Much better. Hang on to me, honey. We're winning."

Slowly she became aware of her feet, icy, and her body, heavier than wet sand. She didn't see how she stood up. Then she realized she wasn't standing, not really. Dan was supporting her and at the same time forcing her to put one foot in front of the other.

"Walk, love," he said, rubbing his cheek on her hair. "Just walk. I'll take care of the balancing act for both of us. It's helping clear my head, too."

Carly opened her eyes and understood that it wasn't a dream. Dan was frog-marching her up one side of the frozen road and down the other. The truck jerked by her. No, the truck wasn't lurching. She was. But with every step, every heartbeat, every breath, she felt more in control.

"When I catch the fucking coward who did this to you," Dan continued, "I'm going to do the entire Colombian dance on him-necktie, cock and balls, the whole tortilla."

She licked dry lips with a tongue only slightly less dry. "Sounds painful."

Abruptly Dan stopped. "Carly?"

"I think so."

He swept her up in a hug that told her how worried he'd been. His face was buried against her neck and he held her with the strength of desperation. His skin was clammy against hers.

"What…" She swallowed against the dryness of her throat.

"Someone dropped an opiate in our toast-the-dead cup. I threw it up before it could really take hold. You were more susceptible, but you threw up enough to keep from going under."

"An opiate? You mean like heroin?"

"Yes."

She swallowed again. A bit of moisture was finally returning. Her head was only spinning some of the time. She felt like she'd been beaten with a sock full of sand. The taste in her mouth would have gagged a skunk.

"You're saying people pay to feel like that?" she asked in disbelief.

He grinned slightly. "Most people don't take enough to get sick. They just get woozy and nod off."

"I'm never getting close to that dog crap again."

"You didn't exactly volunteer this time."

She leaned against him. "I still feel fuzzy."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." He took her pulse and listened to her breathing. "You'll do fine."

"Because of you."

Dan had been trying not to think about that. If Carly had been alone when the narcotic hit, she could have driven off the road and died when her vehicle hit something hundreds of feet below. Even if she had realized something was wrong and managed to stop on the road and get out to be sick, she wouldn't have been able to climb back in her SUV afterward. She would have passed out and frozen to death before anyone even noticed she was gone.

She sighed and leaned harder on him. "Sorry to be such a wimp."