"It's Irish single malt whiskey. Keep going to liquor stores until you find it. Don't bring me back any of the Jack Daniels shite or any blended whiskey."

The black bloke shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm not supposed to…"

"Feck that. You want to keep your job, you'll do what I say," Brogan snarled. "Gio will be back—when?"

He shrugged. "Two hours."

"Make sure you're back long before."

The bloke turned on his heel and walked away. The guy didn't care. At this point, Brogan didn't care either. He just wanted to get wasted and forget it all, forget—her. Thing was, did he mean Tarrah or Abbie?

Carly managed to chip off the two layers of makeup, brush her teeth, and climb into her favorite pair of silk pajamas. Going to sleep right now would be a blessing. Exhaustion made her eyelids heavy and raw to the touch. She'd hated babysitting ever since she was twelve years old, but it was her job in essence. As an only child in a house lacking in family warmth and love, she'd learned early on to hide and mask her emotions if she wanted to keep the peace. "Calm and even-keeled" was a credo she lived by. Keeping cool and detached came in handy in her job, though Byrne made it a challenge.

Earlier she could hear the yelling across the hall—no doubt Byrne and his girlfriend slicing each other to ribbons. She cringed as it reminded her of her parents and their many heated arguments. It seemed quiet now. Carly didn't want to know, hence turning the TV up really loud. The theme from the Rockford Files nearly blew her out of her seat. She gazed in the mirror and ran her tongue over her teeth. Minty fresh, ready to go.

Rinsing her hands, Carly smiled when she thought of the concert that night. They'd kicked ass. If only she could keep Byrne clean and sober for the rest of this tour, they might receive a good write-up in Rolling Stone. She didn't trust the hunk of an Irishman, however. He was in his room earlier pacing like a caged lion. To his credit, he kept the histrionics to a minimum, which made her suspicious to the extreme.

What did concern her was Byrne hadn't been eating or sleeping much as far as she could tell. Should she bring in a doctor as his brother had suggested? Perhaps force-feed the handsome bugger? She would throw a pizza in a blender and make him drink the concoction if she had to.

Carly recognized the heavy knuckled rap at her bathroom door. "Come in, Gio."

"Ah… boss. I went for a break to get some burgers, and well, I left Charles in charge, and…" Gio babbled incoherently.

"Spit it out, Gio."

"I don't think Byrne is breathing."

Her hands still wet, Carly ran across the hall with Gio right behind her. There was Byrne sprawled on his back on the floor surrounded by booze and pill bottles.

"He must have got Charles to get him some stuff. I'm so sorry, Carly."

Carly froze. Was he even breathing? His sculpted-in-marble chest wasn't moving. The headlines flashed through her brain. Byrne Dead of Overdose. Oh, shit.

Even in her panicked state, her Red Cross course kicked in through the morbid thoughts and sensational headlines. She quickly moved to his side, dropped to her knees, and began CPR. Were the compressions right? It had been years since she took the damned course. "Breathe, you selfish fucker—"

"Want me to call emergency? Get an ambulance? How do we handle this…?" Gio prattled.

Byrne choked up a huge wad of puke on the carpet. He almost asphyxiated on his own vomit. The obstruction now cleared, he began breathing again. Oh, my God, think of the headlines then: Byrne Chokes on Puke. Just like Hendrix. What a way to go—it was almost as bad as dying on the toilet. Carly's concern soon turned to irritation. What was wrong with this idiot?

"Gio, take him into the bathroom. I don't think he's done," she snapped.

Gio tucked Byrne under his arm as if he were a lightweight mannequin and walked to the bathroom. Carly followed them. The room was soon filled with the noise of Byrne retching and the fetid odor of rancid bile. Carly stood with her hands on her hips glaring at Byrne's muscular, bare back and tight, leather-clad ass. Even sick as a dog, he was gorgeous. There couldn't have been much food inside him, but still he heaved and gagged.

"Guess I am going to have to sleep in the same bed as this bastard, chain our legs together, and hold his cock so he can piss," Gio snarled in annoyance.

"It's obvious he can't be left alone, not for the rest of the tour."

"Should I fire Charles's ass?"

"No, Byrne probably threatened him, but I do want to see him tomorrow. I should get his side of the story. See it done." Carly exhaled. "I know of a doctor here in New York, Cascade has used him before. He's very discreet. I'll give him a call. Byrne should be checked over."

"Blarrrgggghhhh—" Bryne gagged.

"Gio, you should've told me you were leaving Byrne. I had no idea you were gone. Don't leave him again. If we have to take shifts staying with him, we will. I want no one else handling him but you and me. Got it?"

Gio nodded. "Yeah, I got it. As soon as he's done puking, do you want me to kick his ass?"

Brogan was practically kissing the porcelain. Never had he been so sick, and the horrid smell lingering in the air wasn't helping his nausea. His head swirled, and his eyes couldn't focus. He could hear them talking, and he could make out a few words. They weren't happy, and he couldn't blame them. What was he trying to pull? Was he trying to kill himself? No feckin' way. Brogan heard the last part of their conversation, and he retched some more. Trickles of vomit oozed through his fingers.

Carly glanced at Gio and laughed softly. "No ass kicking tonight, but I don't rule it out for later if needed. Let's get him cleaned up and back into the bedroom."

It was the height of embarrassment. He was being washed by another man. He appreciated that Gio didn't look at him with disgust. The man went about his duties, and then helped him back into his suite.

"Can you stand?" Gio said.

"Aye, I think so."

Gio gently released him from the grip of his huge paws and stepped back.

Brogan's knees suddenly gave out, and he was flat on his back staring at the stucco ceiling.

Carly and Gio once more rushed to his side. "Did you hurt yourself? Are you okay? Are you going to be sick again?"

He didn't hear anger in her voice nor did he hear the nails on a chalkboard cadence for once. Carly's soft, feminine voice sounded concerned and compassionate. She got on her knees and pulled him to lean against her.

He reached up and wiped the burning, unshed tears from his eyes. "She left me. She hates me—"

"Do you want Gio to put you on the bed?" she asked gently. He wasn't used to this caring tone from her. In the short time of their acquaintance they had usually argued.

Suddenly the bed seemed like a great, unreachable height. "No. Just let the room stop spinning first."

"Look, Byrne, there can't be any more drugs, booze, or broads, or it will kill you. It almost did tonight." Carly smiled at him slightly and nodded her head in the direction of Gio. "Besides, next time I'll have Gio perform CPR and mouth-to-mouth on you." She chuckled softly, and the Volkswagen snarled and crossed his huge arms.

"Love, that's just bloody great," he muttered.

"Gio, go down to the restaurant—I know it's late—ask for some chicken broth and toast, and pay them anything."