She quickly pulled Rick’s jacket off his arm and down to expose his shirt underneath. “There’s no way. Not with all these layers of clothing.”
It was only a tear in his shirt and…oh.
“Well…okay,” Lana hedged. “It’s maybe a teeny bit of a flesh wound.”
Graham groaned. “Of course you shot him.”
“I didn’t shoot him. I nicked him. Nicked isn’t shot.”
Zoey tilted her head. “I think we may need to get him to the hospital. Nicked or not, that’s a powerful combination of—” Lana tuned her out as Zoey began to list the ingredients of the tranquilizer dart.
“Rick, dear. Zoey’s right, we need to call for an ambulance.”
“Nope, no hospital.” Rick shook his head. “I’m fine, I’m…whoa.”
“—and it’s going to stay in his system for up to thirty days, so no one should eat him.” They all turned and looked at Zoey. “What? I’m just saying. I do my research, okay? If you didn’t want research, you shouldn’t have involved me in this.”
“No hospital.” Rick’s voice was a low growl. “It’s only a scratch, and they’ll use this against her.”
“Rick,” Lana said softly, touched by his concern.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You two are both tanked.” Graham poked Zoey’s shoulder, and she wobbled. “We can smell it on your breath from here.”
Well, that wasn’t very attractive.
Zoey wasn’t buying it. “But it’s only Mr. Lockett’s eggnog. It’s cinnamon-y. There’s no alcohol. I tasted it to check.”
“Yes, which is why it’s deadly. I would have mentioned that if you’d told me you were bringing it out here.”
“Don’t call anyone,” Rick repeated, then he took a step and stumbled. “Don’t call Jonah. He’ll cause her problems.”
Now, it was possible Lana wasn’t at her best, but she certainly wasn’t hammered. She definitely knew prioritizing Rick’s health was much more important than a little thing like the law.
“Well, it was an honest mistake,” Lana said. “It’s not like we’ve never been incarcerated before.”
“Lana, do not tell him that,” Zoey hissed.
“You’re going to have to let Graham in on at least a few of our secrets one of these days. Rick, we need to get you to your house. Graham, would you be willing to help him on the other side?”
“Immookay.” Rick’s voice was starting to slur. “Graham—”
“Yeah, yeah, no cops.” Shaking his head, he said, “You’re a loyal SOB, aren’t you?”
“What are we going to do?” Zoey asked as they helped him walk back the way he had come.
“About what?”
“You shot Rick,” Zoey said in a hiss.
“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Lana tightened her hold on Rick’s waist. “There you go. Lean on us.”
“And yet he still has dangerous chemicals coursing through his veins,” Zoey said. “You can’t drink and tranq.”
“You gave me the eggnog. I didn’t know it was alcoholic.”
“Well, I didn’t know either,” Zoey argued back. “All I could taste was the thousand cups of cinnamon Mr. Lockett poured in there.”
“You didn’t ask him if it was spiked?”
Zoey drew herself up, indignant. “Lana, that is Easton’s grandmother’s recipe. Of course I didn’t ask.”
“What else did he put in here? I’m feeling all paranoid.”
“You’re paranoid because what’s left of your collective sobriety has realized one of you just committed a crime.” Graham grunted as Rick leaned more of his weight against Graham’s shoulder. “Come on, Rick. One foot in front of the other, buddy. We’re almost to the porch.”
“My nana liked cimmanon.” Rick cocked his head and tried again. “Mininmon. Cimmimmim?”
“Close enough,” Lana said. “Come on. Let’s get you up the steps.”
They weren’t the quietest in their approach, especially with Rick staggering every step. Now, for the record, if Diego wasn’t expecting them to all come stumbling through the door, he certainly covered it well. A single eyebrow rose, followed by a low curse.
“What did you do this time?” he asked, taking Rick’s arm away from Lana.
The extra help was a relief, because she might be tall, but Lana wasn’t quite in shape for helping carry a 180-pound, muscular adult man through the woods.
“I…There was a dart.” Rick paused halfway to the couch, staring blearily at the wall. “Roger’s judging me. Roger, stop judging me.”
Lana followed Rick’s line of sight to where a massive tabby cat perched on a bookshelf, flicking his tail.
“Yeah, he’s messed up,” Diego said with amusement.
“We’re going to call an ambulance for you, okay?” Lana told Rick.
Rick weaved unsteadily on his feet. “Imma…imma good.” Good enough to give her the most drunken, happy smile she’d ever seen on his face. “You’re cimmomin.” He took a strand of her hair, inhaling deeply. “Is my favorite. Cimmonin and apples. You’re my favorite.”
“This isn’t happening.” Zoey took Rick by the shoulders, shaking him. “Don’t, okay? Do not profess your innermost secrets. Rick, no secrets.”
“Imma lay down.”
At which point Rick stretched out on the couch, pulling Lana down with him. He put his head in Lana’s lap and began to sing. For a man under the influence of dangerous chemicals, Rick had quite a pleasant singing voice. One ambulance, two paramedics, and an IV later, Rick was still lying with his head on her lap, although he’d stopped singing around the time he announced the room had stopped spinning.
Zoey hustled back into the living room. “They said to go to the emergency room if you start feeling heart palpitations. But the dart only scratched you. They think the chemical exposure was minimal compared to what it could have been.”
“Go. I’ll stay with him.” Lana adjusted the blanket around Rick’s shoulders. “It’s my fault.”
“It’s our fault,” Zoey said stubbornly.