TALL DARK AND HUNGRY Page 0,58

scared the spit right out of him.

"Oh. A tracheotomy." Vincent nodded. "That could be necessary."

"Don't worry, Chris." Terri patted the editor's arm in an effort to soothe him. "We won't let you die. We'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive."

Though the man didn't say anything, Bastien got the impression that Terri's reassurance was more ter¬rifying to Chris than the fact that he was starting to have definite difficulty breathing.

As the elevator doors opened onto the parking garage, Bastien raced to his Mercedes.

"How are you feeling?" Terri asked as Bastien set Chris back on the couch several hours later.

"Let me die in peace," he said. At least that's what Terri thought he said. It was difficult to tell with his voice as garbled as it was. The editor's face was swollen and an angry red. It looked as if he'd been in a bad fight--and lost. She simply could not believe that the hospital had released him. He looked like they should have kept him at least a week. And his la¬bored efforts at breathing were not reassuring. Yet the doctor had pumped him full of something, made them all sit about for hours so they could "observe" C.K., then assured them he would be fine; he'd got to the hospital in time to save his life.

Well, if C.K. died, his family should sue and Terri would be willing to testify for them. She was positive the place really should have kept him at least overnight for observation. Since they hadn't, she'd keep a close eye on him herself.

"Terri?"

"Hmmm?" She straightened away from Chris to glance at Vincent, who dropped wearily into a chair.

"The next time we have an emergency and you want to drive, remind me to say no."

Terri grimaced. She had insisted on driving when they'd got down to the parking garage. Bastien had set Chris in the backseat of his car and climbed in, saying, "One of you get in on his other side in case I need help."

That had been all she'd had to hear; Terri had snatched the keys from a startled Vincent, handed him the pen, and jumped in the driver seat. Then she'd had to slide across to the other side, because she'd forgotten that the driver side was on the left in America, while it was on the right in England.

"Speaking of which," Bastien said idly, moving to the bar to fix a drink. "Do you have an international driver's license, Terri?"

"Er... no." She shifted uncomfortably, knowing that she really shouldn't have driven. But when faced with the choice of driving, or possibly having to help Bastien cut open the editor's throat, driving had been her choice. Terri wasn't very good with blood and stuff. That was why she'd grabbed the keys and hopped in the car, leaving Vincent no option but to climb in the back with Bastien.

Noting the exchange of glances between the two cousins, Terri felt it behooved her to point out, "But I got us there pretty fast."

"And even in one piece," Vincent added dryly. "I feel I should point out to you that the speed limits in England are higher than here."

Terri bit her lip to keep from smiling. She would never forget glancing into the rearview mirror to see Vincent's blanching face, and the way he clutched the backseat in horror as she swerved in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds, trying to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. All while Bastien had shouted di¬rections to her from the back seat. "Right at the next corner! Left here!" She'd been going so fast, she would swear she had taken a couple corners on two wheels.

"You did a fine job," Bastien said reassuringly, pouring whiskey into a glass. Then he ruined the ef-fect by downing the glass in one toss.

"I could use one of those, too," Vincent decided as Bastien poured another.

"Well..." Terri glanced at Chris. The poor man was sound asleep, which made her hesitate. She'd been about to ask him if he needed anything to make him more comfortable. That wasn't necessary.

"I suppose I should call the publisher he and Kate work for," Bastien said, walking back from around the bar with two glasses. "I'll have to call and leave a message on the answering machine, informing them that Chris won't be in any shape to go into the office tomorrow as he'd planned."

The editor had decided yesterday that he could work just as comfortably in the office as in the