Pausing between the points she'd outlined-as her speech coach had taught her if she needed a quick break-she took another drink of her water, letting the cool liquid soothe her throat and hopefully settle her queasy stomach.
She continued, first thanking all the various businesses for their gracious contributions to the silent auction, which included signed artwork, designer jewelry, autographed sports memorabilia, and a plethora of other coveted items. She assured the crowd that there was something for everyone, and encouraged them to bid generously, and often, since every dollar they spent went directly toward the foundation.
Her head began to spin, as did the room and the occupants, and when she glanced back down at her notes the words on the page were blurred and disjointed. She blinked to clear her vision, took another drink of her water that finished it off, and tried not to panic.
Clutching the edge of the podium so that she didn't sway, or God forbid pass out from the light-headed sensation enveloping her, she explained the bid sheet that accompanied each donated item, and how each person interested in an item would be assigned a bid number so as to keep their identity private. As she went over the rules for the silent auction, her dizziness increased as did the heart palpitations, adding to the growing pressure in her chest.
A wave of nausea churned in her stomach, and knowing she wasn't going to last up at the podium for much longer without embarrassing herself, she wrapped up her speech sooner than she'd intended, then tried to remember where Ben said he'd be waiting for her, but couldn't think beyond the desperate need for fresh air.
The crowd around her started to disperse, which only added to her confusion and her feeling of disorientation. She couldn't breathe. She only knew she had to get out of the room before she either collapsed or threw up.
Where was Ben?
She stumbled off the platform to the left, and somehow Craig was there, his expression filled with concern. Suddenly, the room started to spin in earnest.
"I've got to get out of here," she rasped, and nearly lost her balance as her legs seemed to grow weak. She felt so lethargic, her mind so muddled-like no other anxiety attack she'd ever had. "I need fresh air."
"Come," he said, and with his arm supporting her around her waist, he guided her through the throng of people and toward the double doors leading outside.
"Where's Ben?" she asked.
Craig didn't answer.
She looked around for Ben, but her vision was so unfocused and everything around her seemed to be moving in slow motion, and she hated the helpless sensation sweeping over her. She felt so tired. So sluggish as she tried to put one foot in front of the other. Craig was talking to her, but she couldn't decipher what he was saying because his voice was so garbled.
And then she felt a rush of cold air on her bare skin as they stepped outside to the front of the hotel, but it wasn't enough to snap her out of her stupor. It was as if she were drunk, yet she'd only consumed one cocktail a few hours ago. Was she still walking? Or was she standing still and everything around her was moving? She no longer could tell.
She wanted Ben. She needed Ben. But when she opened her mouth to tell Craig to go and get him, only a soft moan escaped. And somewhere in the back of her fading thoughts she knew that when Ben did find her he was going to give her hell for not staying put.
Chapter Nine
AS Ben stood off to the side and kept an eye on Christine up at the podium during her presentation, he instinctively knew that something was wrong. She'd explained how nervous she was about public speaking, but she wasn't showing the typical signs of anxiety. Rather, she seemed increasingly out of sorts and confused, as if she couldn't think clearly even though she had an outline right in front of her.
He watched her take another drink of her water, emptying the glass of the clear liquid, and then to finish her spiel on the silent auction. Her breathing grew labored, and a frown furrowed her brow as she stared out at the crowd with a dazed look on her face. Abruptly, she finished her speech and headed down the platform away from him.
He called out her name, but she didn't seem to hear him.
"Son of a bitch," Ben bit out furiously and moved fast, but as the thick crowd around him started to separate and head in different directions, men and women inadvertently cut him off in his attempt to get to Christine. It was like swimming upstream through a sea of mud, and it was all he could do not to push and shove his way through the mass of people getting in his way.
Ben's gaze never left Christine as a man he realized was Craig ushered her toward the exit. He swore again, and once they disappeared through the double doors and Ben could no longer see them, a swift kick of adrenaline surged through his entire body. As he ran out of the ballroom, he resisted the urge to grab the semiautomatic he'd holstered beneath his jacket, because he knew that would cause a huge scene and chaos, and until he saw an actual threat he had to keep his weapon secured.
He burst through the main doors of the hotel that led outside, and he immediately caught sight of Craig guiding a wobbling-on-her-high-heels Christine along a path leading around to the far side of the building-where it was dark and very secluded.
Ben reached Craig before the other man had a chance to realize he was even nearby. He stepped in front of him and Christine, bringing them both to a stop. Craig looked startled by his sudden appearance, while Christine appeared bewildered and confused.
Instantly, Ben gently took Christine's arm and pulled her away from Craig. Once he had her safely by his side, the fury that had been building within Ben exploded in a blast of outrage. "Stay the fuck away from her, Crosby!"
"What the hell, man!" Craig retorted just as angrily. "She was obviously dizzy and sick, and I was just taking her to the courtyard right over there so she could sit down and get some fresh air!" He waved toward an area sectioned off by plants and trees, with benches to sit on.
Ben clenched his jaw. While Craig's story was completely plausible and most likely true, Ben wasn't about to back down from his stance. "Stay away from her," he said, enunciating each word.
Craig narrowed his gaze. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'm getting damn tired of your continual harassment."
Before Ben could respond with a scathing remark, Christine fell against his chest, and he caught her around the waist to help keep her upright. She looked up at him, her eyes glassy and a semblance of a smile on her lips.
"Ben," she sighed, drawing out his name on a slur of sound.
It was as though she was drunk, yet Ben knew for a fact that she'd only had one cocktail, and that had been before dinner. The only other explanation for her uncharacteristic behavior was that she'd been drugged somehow. Had someone put something in her food or her soda at their table? And what about the water at the podium? It could have easily been tampered with before she'd arrived to make her speech.
Ben was beginning to suspect the latter, and he automatically glared at Craig. "What did you do to her?"
Craig visibly bristled. "I didn't do a damn thing to her, and I don't appreciate your accusations!"
He didn't give a shit what Craig did or didn't like. But ultimately, Ben didn't have proof of anything, let alone that Crosby was responsible for Christine's current state. Or Leanne, who was easily Ben's second suspect.
However, with over two hundred people attending the charity event, there was no way to nail any one person. Not only were there supporters of Nathan Delacroix at the party, but undoubtedly there were others who might hold a grudge against the man for his political views. Someone angry enough to issue threats against Delacroix to drop out of the race for governor, and bold enough to slip something to Christine to let Nathan know just how serious they were about his daughter's safety.