What the hell had she been doing?

Lena and Suzette were seated at the table when Drew arrived. He was a little bit late, but they had waited for him and Doug. Both women had ordered a glass of wine, but didn't seem to mind that they'd waited to order dinner.

"Hey, for a redhead, you're getting a nice tan," Lena approved.

He grimaced, taking a chair and waving to their waiter, motioning for a beer. The fellow grinned and nodded.

"Thanks. You are a kind woman, Lena, to call this rosy hue a tan. But I thank you. Maybe if I nurse it along, I can look good and buff by the time we finish our run." He frowned. "Did Doug say he was coming?"

"Oh, yes, he intends to join us," Suzette assured him.

The waiter brought Drew's beer. He drank it slowly, idly chatting with the girls about little improvements they could make in the shows, now that they'd gotten their feet wet and had a better idea of how it would all go. "We'll have to check these ideas out with Stephanie, though," he said.

Lena waved a hand in the air. "Of course! But she loves it when people come up with ideas. I think that's why she's so good—she isn't afraid to let others have artistic opinions."

Drew shrugged. "Yeah, she's cool. She can even give up control to be able to get in a smoother flow with the rest of us as an ensemble. So… hey, what do you all think the story is between Liz and Clay?"

"They're sleeping together. Definitely," Suzette said sagely.

Lena arched a brow. "Hmm. I don't know. He has an interest in Stephanie."

"Well, we all have an interest in her," Suzette argued. "She's the boss."

"No, no, no, the way he watches her… he has an interest in her," Lena said.

"Ah, but there's Grant!" Suzette said.

"Um," Lena agreed.

"Did you have to make that sound as if the man were a rare filet?" Drew said, wincing.

"Sorry. There's something about him," Lena said, grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, and Clay, too, and I'm adorable. I don't know why I get into these conversations," Drew said. Then he frowned. "Doug really should have been here by now. And he didn't look so good today.

I'm going to run over to his cottage, okay?"

"You're right—that sounds like a really good idea."

Drew went to Doug's and pounded on the front door. There was no answer, so he hesitated, then went around back and climbed the stairs to his friend's balcony.

The doors were open. The draperies were blowing in the breeze.

"Doug?" Drew called carefully.

There was no answer. He fought a mild struggle with the billowing drapes, and entered.

The television was on. Loud.

And there was Doug. He was collapsed beside the bed.

"Sweet Lord!" Drew cried out, reaching down quickly to feel for a pulse. His friend was cold, as cold as ice. For a moment Drew recoiled, terrified that Doug was dead. He forced himself to reach out again. At his throat, he found a pulse.

Staggering to his feet, he hurried to the phone.

It might be a small town, but the emergency response was swift. Within minutes, he heard the sound of sirens.

Arturo came to translate for him as the men asked him questions. He couldn't tell them much, just that Doug had complained of feeling weak, that he hadn't looked great that afternoon, and that he'd found him on the floor.

The girls rushed up in a panic, and Drew tried to calm them. In the end, they all—including Arturo—drove to the hospital behind the ambulance bearing Doug.

They drove for at least ten minutes in tense and painful silence before Grant spoke at last. His steely gaze caught Stephanie's in the rearview mirror. "I apologize," he said rigidly.

He didn't actually ask for forgiveness, so she didn't offer it.

"All right."

"You were in a really dangerous place!" he reminded her.

"They need more light out there. All those workers… they could wander at night, too," Liz said. "It's just… a dangerous place. Once it gets dark."

"It's an archeological dig!" Clay said. "Not an Italian theme park."

They all fell silent again.

The drive back was interminable.

And then, at last, they saw the resort ahead of them, and Grant found his parking place to the far left of the entry.

"Ah, a shower, a drink, and dinner!" Liz said. "Everything will look better then. Grant, thanks for driving.

It was a fantastic place to see, and thanks to you, of course, we were given really special treatment by Carlo Ponti."

"Carlo is a nice guy. He would have given you special treatment anyway, I'm certain, but I'm glad you enjoyed seeing the excavations," Grant told her.

Clay was already out of the car. When Stephanie exited, she saw that he was standing rigidly. He certainly didn't have a forked tongue he injected into the air or anything of the like, and yet Stephanie had the notion that he was feeling it.

"There's something wrong," he murmured.

Grant slammed the driver's side door. "There's definitely something wrong," he muttered.

Clay ignored him, striding into the resort. He walked straight up to the receptionist's desk and began speaking to the clerk on duty in rapid Italian. The clerk spoke back excitedly. Stephanie caught Doug's name, and the word mal or bad, but the rest of it, she could only surmise.

"The hospital!" Grant, slightly behind her, said.

Clay turned at the same time, nodding at Grant.

Whatever hostility was still simmering between the two men, they capped it for the moment. The four of them returned to the car, and started off once again.

"What happened?" Stephanie demanded, looking back at Clay.

Clay now seemed to be as tense as Grant. "He collapsed."

"Where?"

"In his room. Alone. He was supposed to have met the others. Drew went to find him, and he'd collapsed."

"It sounds like what Lena had… except worse," Stephanie murmured.

"Yes, that's how it sounds," Clay said flatly.

They reached the small hospital. The one good thing about such a small town was that they had no problem parking. And when they burst into the waiting room, they immediately saw Lena, Suzette, Drew, and Arturo.

"How is he?" Stephanie asked anxiously.

"Dr. Antinella says that we got to him in the nick of time," Drew assured her. He was holding his arm at an angle, and there was a bandage on it. He saw her staring at it and quickly added, "I'm not hurt. Their blood bank is low, and they're pretty desperate. No time for the usual tests, and I'm O positive. Any of the rest of you O positive?"

"I'm AB," Stephanie said with a wince.

"I'm O positive," Grant said.

As he spoke, a harried-looking Dr. Antinella came out of the white doors that led to the ER.

"Here, here!" Drew said, indicating Grant. Antinella spoke English fluently. "O positive—you're certain?"

he said to Grant.

"Yes."

"No diseases?"

"None."

"Please, come in quickly, then."

Grant disappeared with the doctor. Stephanie sat down, or rather collapsed, next to Suzette, who was shaky.

"It's all right. They'll take care of him," Stephanie said, setting her hand on Suzette's.

Suzette shook her head. "You—you should have seen him, Stephanie. He was white. Not just ashen, but white."

"They'll take care of him. He'll be fine."

Both Suzette and Lena stared at her. Drew coughed. "Stephanie, Lena was sick first. Suzette began to feel the same symptoms. And now… Doug almost died. They're scared. Hell! I'm scared. What the hell is this?"

She didn't get to answer. Clay spun around, heading for the exit.

"Where are you going?" Suzette called after him.

"My blood is worthless to Doug," he said briefly. "I think I can be of more help back at the resort."

He left, distracted, not allowing them to say more.

"He speaks Italian," Liz said, as if that explained his behavior. "I'll go with him. Maybe we can find out if there's been a… sickness like this before."

She followed Clay out.

There was silence in the waiting room. At last, Suzette said, "Antinella said there was no way he could take blood from Lena… then he said that I couldn't give, either. Arturo gave… and one of the nurses, and both of the young fellows who came as the emergency unit."

"He wasn't even… cut. Or hurt," Drew said dully.

Stephanie stood and started pacing. Doug had to be all right.

"Strange, isn't it?" Doug murmured suddenly. "It seems almost to have something to do with… dreams."

"Dreams?" Stephanie said, startled.

"Well, you were having some bizarre fantasies, right, Lena? When you got so sick?"

Lena flushed. "Well, I don't see how it relates."

"Neither do I, but it seems to," Drew said.

"What are you talking about?" Stephanie asked.

"Gema."

"What?"

"Gema—and, well, Lena's fantasy lover."

"I had a dream, too—then I woke up feeling as if I had no energy. I was really afraid that it was because… because I was… well, you know, tossing and turning all night, by my lonesome," Suzette murmured, not looking at them.

Drew came to Stephanie, taking her hands. "I know this makes no sense, but both Doug and I had dreams about Gema the night before. I dreamt that she showed up at my place, and I threw her out.

Doug dreamed that she had hot sex with him."

Stephanie just stared at him.

"Remember, Steph, I told you that I thought I saw Gema in the audience," Suzette reminded her.

"But… I don't get it. How could dreams make someone ill?" Stephanie asked, shaking her head.