Season Of Strangers. Kat Martin

all right. All she could take and more. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, felt her soft little breasts pressing into his chest. Her nipples were hard and distended. She was slick and hot, gloving his erection neatly.

      “Hand me a popper,” he said as he flexed his hips, moving in and out with a slow rhythm that had her panting and squirming. She picked the drug up off the end table, neatly broke the capsule in half, and shoved it under his nose.

      God, what a rush.

      He ground himself deeper, thrust into her harder, fought to hold his climax in check. He liked it this way, being in control, setting the pace.

      Doing something to please somebody besides himself.

      But then he liked it just about any way he could get it. Not very personal, he supposed. Not very meaningful. Just more kicks to keep him going, something to help him tolerate the empty, vacuous days.

      Something to distract him from the money he was losing, the father he’d disappointed, the mess he had made of his life.

      

      Coming in from the parking lot, Julie walked in the back door of the office just in time to see Patrick walking out the front.

      “Patrick! Patrick, wait a minute! I’ve got to talk to you!” She was late getting to work. She’d gone by to see Dr. Heraldson, Laura’s psychiatrist, who had asked for a meeting to discuss Laura’s childhood, hoping he might uncover something that would help him understand what Laura was going through. Dr. Marsh, their family physician, had found nothing physically wrong with her, but Laura’s paranoia had continued to increase, and her nightmares were getting worse. Julie wished she knew what to do.

      She glanced ahead to Patrick’s tall retreating figure. “Damn it, Patrick!” She raced down the sidewalk in pursuit, but didn’t catch up with him until he’d reached the corner. “Where the hell are you going in such an all-fired hurry?” Panting with exertion, she leaned against the lamp post, watched Patrick’s long dark fingers punch the button on the light so he could cross the street.

      “I’ve got a lunch date with Anna.” He turned to face her, winked, and flashed her a cocky, wicked grin. “Want to come along?”

      It was the first time today that she had actually seen his face, and something clenched hard in her stomach. “My God, Patrick, what in the world have you done to yourself?”

      His fine black brows drew together in a frown. “Give me a break, will you? So I’m a little washed out. I haven’t had a chance to catch any rays lately.”

      He started across the street, but Julie caught his arm. “This is serious, Patrick. Your face is so pale it’s practically blue. Something’s wrong. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

      “I’m fine. What did you want to talk to me about?”

      “More problems with the Rabinoff closing. I thought maybe you could help.” She stopped him the minute they reached the curb on the opposite side of the street. “Patrick, your health is more important than any closing. Something is seriously wrong with you. For once in your life, please, will you listen?”

      He stopped in the alley outside The Grill, a nearby restaurant that was a local haunt for movie higher-ups: producers, directors, agents, a few hopeful starlets and a lot of hangers-on. “I’ve got a little heartburn, okay? I’ll be fine just as soon as I eat.”

      Julie’s face turned nearly as pale as Patrick’s. “You’re having chest pains?”

      “Heartburn. That’s all it is. I took some Maalox tablets. In a few more minutes, they’ll kick in and I’ll feel great.”

      “Patrick, listen to me—” She took a deep breath, terrified he wouldn’t, since he never had before.

      Before she could finish, Patrick swayed and leaned against the wall, one hand flat against it, the other sliding up the lapel of his coat, stopping somewhere near his empty breast pocket. His breath seemed to catch on a heavy gasp of air, and his eyes looked suddenly frightened.

      “Julie…” The words passed through lips that were dry and the same pale color as his face.

      “Oh, my God!”

      His legs turned to rubber. He swayed and slid down the wall, coming to rest slumped over at the bottom. Beads of perspiration popped out across his forehead and dampened the black hair at his temple.

      “Somebody help us!” Julie looked frantically toward the people passing by on the sidewalk just a few feet away. “Please…somebody call 911!” A few heads swiveled in their direction, but no one ran into the alley or even started walking their way.

      Julie fumbled with her purse, finally found her cell phone and made the call herself. She was shaking by the time she finished.

      She forced a note of calm into her voice. “Take it easy, Patrick. Help is on the way.” She didn’t know if he could hear her, but it gave her a feeling of being back in control. Up ahead, the valet in front of The Grill had just hopped into a big white Mercedes-Benz and driven away.

      No help there.

      She didn’t know CPR. For years she had been going to take a class, but there never seemed to be enough time. Leaving Patrick on the sidewalk, she raced to the shiny brass doors of the restaurant, pulled one of them open and rushed inside.

      “Please, you have to help me,” she said to the dark-haired maître d’. “Patrick Donovan’s on the sidewalk outside. I think he’s having a heart attack. Is there someone here who can do CPR?”

      “I know Patrick,” the man said. “He’s too young to be having a heart attack. It’s probably just gas or something.”

      “It isn’t just gas! You’ve got to help us! Patrick may be dying!”

      He went into action then, telling her not to worry, hurrying toward the paging system and asking if there was a doctor in the house. Julie raced back outside. By now a small crowd had gathered. She shouldered her way toward a man in a navy blue suit leaning over Patrick’s now unconscious form.

      “A-are you a doctor?”

      “No.” The slender man stood up and backed away. “I’m a stockbroker. But I checked for a pulse and I couldn’t find one. I don’t think he’s breathing.”

      Julie swallowed past a growing lump of fear. “Do you know CPR?”

      “I’m afraid not.”

      “Is there anyone here who does?” When no one in the small, worried crowd answered, she steeled herself. She had seen it done, but she had never tried it. Still, someone had to do something and fast. “Well then,” she said, forcing a note of authority into her voice. “Get out of my way so I can get to work.”

      

      They wouldn’t let her ride with him in the ambulance. She wasn’t his next of kin, after all, and he still wasn’t breathing on his own. His heart had not responded to her clumsy efforts at CPR and the ambulance seemed to have taken forever to get there.

      Julie drove like a woman possessed all the way to Cedar Sinai Hospital. She hadn’t called Patrick’s father yet, afraid the news might cause Alex to have another stroke. Better to wait, see what the doctors had to say.

      Better to pray that Patrick was still alive when she got there.

      On trembling legs, she shoved through the glass doors into the reception area and hurried toward the information desk, stopped at the counter, afraid to ask, afraid she already knew the answer.

      She had called Babs on her cell, had found her at the office, which wasn’t too far away. Now the sight of her friend’s purposeful, no-nonsense strides as she pushed through the front doors into the lobby gave Julie a shot of courage. She took a slow, bracing breath and worked to calm her thundering heart.

      With a small silent prayer, she turned toward the desk and spoke to the gray-haired