"Oh my God, James!"
"Are you all right?" He made a move toward Isobel and slammed into the conference table. Pain rocketed through his thigh. "Shit!"
"I'm fine. But Dorothy!"
Rubbing his leg, he sank to his knees next to the older woman and checked her. "She's breathing."
"Quick, give me your phone."
He grabbed it from his coat pocket and thrust it at Isobel.
"Stay with her while I call the police," she said. "I have to check on Katrina. She's knocked out in the kitchen."
"What the - ?"
But Isobel was gone. He shifted into a sitting position, his stomach clenched in knots. Even though Dorothy was alive, he was afraid she might still cross to the other side just to spite him. He wouldn't have blamed her.
Her eyelids fluttered and drooped again. "You," she moaned.
Isobel returned a few moments later, still speaking into the phone. "Yes, Detective O'Connor. This is his case... And an ambulance!" She handed the phone back to him. "Katrina's still out. Dorothy drugged her."