Page 11 of Take Me Under

She looked up, her eyes reflecting a mixture of helplessness and surprise.

“Anton,” she said warily.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, crouching down to her level.

“Nothing. I just think…I think I’m coming down with something.”

Her voice sounded strained, a stark contrast to the woman I’dleft inside at the gala. Absent was the natural blush in her cheeks, now replaced with an ashen pallor.

“You look pale.”

“Probably the flu combined with jetlag. I just need to get back to my room so I can sleep. I’ll be fine,” she insisted. She attempted to wave me off, but her arm fell limp to her side.

Christ. She’s so weak.

I didn’t know how illness had struck her so quickly, but there wasn’t time to debate it. She belonged in a bed—not on a dirty stone city bench.

“Where are you staying?”

“I’m at…” Her brow pushed together to form a V as if it hurt just to talk. Reaching down into her red satin purse, she pulled out a keycard. “That’s it. Midtown Motel. I couldn’t remember the name. It’s about twenty or so blocks that way.”

She angled her head to signal the direction.

“The Midtown?” I stated, although it came out sounding more like a question born from disbelief. I was familiar with the building. The motel wasn’t known for cleanliness or hospitality. In fact, it was just the opposite. I tried to imagine her inside the seedy urban motel wearing a formal gown and the sparkling ruby at her neck, and it was at complete odds. Not to mention, the contrast was nothing short of dangerous. She belonged in a palace fit for royalty. “Why in God’s name are you staying at a place like that?”

“The presidential suite at the Four Seasons was sold out,” she remarked, managing a weak, yet sarcastic smile. It was another reminder of how frail she looked.

I cringed at the idea of her having to walk or ride twenty or more blocks. She’d never make it five in her state.

“Let me help you.”

“I’m fine. I just sat down to rest for a minute. I can call a cab?—”

“You seem to think this is up for debate, princess,” I statedand pulled my phone from my pocket. Going to the recent contact list, I located Zeke’s number and pressed send. He picked up on the second ring. “Zeke, I need you to bring a car as close as you can to East 84thand 5th. Roads are blocked and I’m not sure how close they’ll let you get to The Met.”

“I can get to you. Right now?”

“Yes. I’ve got a…” I glanced down at Serena, trying to think of a way to phrase my relationship with her. “I have a sick friend here who needs a ride.”

I gave him a quick rundown, explaining where Serena’s motel was. Luckily, he’d still been at Club O going through applications. Assuming traffic wouldn’t be a huge issue, he estimated he could be here in less than fifteen minutes.

After ending the call, I looked down at Serena. She was leaning to one side, her head resting on the arm stretched across the back of the bench. Whatever argument she may have wanted to make moments earlier seemed to have died. Her eyes were closed, and her once radiant face bore the flush of fever.

I pressed my hand to her forehead.

Dammit.

She was burning up. I’d just been with her a short while ago, and she hadn’t shown any sign of sickness. Whatever she had seemed to be sucking the life out of her.

I began to pace, assessing the situation. She lived in Italy. Other than the gala, I had no idea what other business she had in New York—if any. If she had friends or family in the city, she’d most likely be staying with them over that sordid motel.

That led me to believe she was here alone. And sick.

New York would eat her alive if given the opportunity. Hell, that ruby necklace may as well have been a bullseye for street urchins and panhandlers. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of leaving her alone right now—especially when I thought about where she was staying.

I cringed again at the mere thought of her being there. Ididn’t know how she could attend the Met Gala, an event that cost over fifty grand a ticket, yet could only afford one of the cheapest hotels in Manhattan. Something didn’t add up.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Zeke pulled up in my newly acquired Volvo XC90. It was a recent purchase, made only at Zeke’s insistence for its ballistic protection. I looked down at Serena. She appeared to be sleeping.

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