The Givenchy Code (13 page)

S
tryker paused at a corner to get his bearings, then noticed a subway station across the street. The sign above the entrance noted that the line was for the F train.
Perfect.
He grabbed Mel’s hand and tugged her in that direction.

“Where are we going?” Mel asked, hurrying down the steps beside him.

“Plaza,” he said. “We need to regroup. We need to eat. We need someplace quiet to sit and think.”

“The Plaza?” Mel repeated. “Wow, I would’ve thought we could do all that at Starbucks.”

They’d reached the platform and eased in among the throng. “Full alert,” he said. “Don’t forget. You’re the only one who knows what this asshole looks like.”

She nodded, then turned a slow circle, scanning all the faces. “Hardly seems fair he could be out to kill me even before we’ve found the antidote.”

“Agreed. But we solved the qualifying clue, right? That was the watch.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I think so, anyway.” She drew in a long breath. “What a nightmare.”

“You ever stayed at the Plaza?” he asked after a beat, wanting to lighten her mood.

She flashed him a quick grin, clearly aware of what he was doing. “The bar, yes. A room? No way. A little too tony for my wallet.”

“Everyone should stay there once in their life.”

She met his eyes then. “And this is my last chance before my twenty-four hours are up?”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying that you’ve had a hell of a day and we need to hole up somewhere so we can think. And you deserve a treat. Yes or no?”

“You paying?”

“Blood money,” he said. “Who better to spend it on than you?”

“The Plaza it is,” she said, as the train rumbled into the station. “Hell, I might even order room service.”

A short ride later, they emerged at57th Street, then walked the short distance to the famous hotel.

As good as her word, as soon as they reached the room, Mel snatched up the phone and ordered pretty much everything on the room service menu. “I’m starved,” she said, by way of explanation as he took the handset from her.

“I know,” he said to her. To the attendant, he said, “Throw in a pitcher of orange juice.”

She raised her eyebrows. He shrugged. “I’m supposed to be protecting you. I figure that includes pumping you full of vitamin C.”

“Vitamins and clean living aren’t going to do it for me, Stryker.” She dangled the watch. “This is the only thing that can keep me healthy now. Maybe I should just eat it.”

“Needs sauce,” he said, taking it gently from her hand. “Besides, you’ve got quite a spread coming.”

“I splurged a bit,” she said with a shrug. “I figure you’re probably hungry, too.”

What she didn’t say was that this might be her last meal and that a condemned woman was entitled to go all out.

He had a feeling, though, that they were both thinking the same thing.

“So,” she said, a little too brightly, “this room is even more amazing than I’d imagined.”

Stryker looked around and shrugged. Lots of muted colors, heavy fabrics and fresh flowers. The robe he’d noticed in the bathroom was a nice touch, but the bidet was just damned silly. To him, a room was a room was a room. Mel, though, was obviously enchanted. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

She laughed. “You’re so full of shit.”

“You wound me. You think I’ve got no hotel taste? Have you looked in that bathroom? You could swim relays in that tub. Trust me. This is an amazing place.”

She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“I didn’t do it so you could lounge about living a life of luxury, you know. You’re supposed to be working.”

“I’m stumped.” She puffed up her cheeks and blew out air, then closed her eyes. “The watch has to be the clue—the missing hour hand is just too unusual—but I have no idea what it means.”

“Fifteen minutes of fame?” Stryker suggested. “Some sort of Andy Warhol exhibit?”

“Maybe. But I don’t know a thing about art, and the clues are supposed to be at least a little personal.”

“Quarter after the hour? A famous code that used fifteen as the key? A famous cryptologist who was missing a hand?”

“Good suggestions, but I don’t know what to do with them.”

“What about the numbers themselves?” Stryker asked.

“The numbers one and five are prime.”

“Prime hour,” Stryker suggested. “But I don’t know what that would mean.”

“It means we’re stumped,” she said, coming back full circle. “I don’t know if I’m just too tired or he’s just too smart, but I don’t have any idea what to do or where to look.”

She slumped back on one of the double beds and hugged a pillow to her chest. “All the more reason to appreciate you bringing me here. At least I’m going out in style.”

Stryker’s gut clenched. He’d known Mel now for less than twenty-four hours, but he’d witnessed so much strength and inventiveness in the woman that he might as well have known her for years.

The one thing he hadn’t yet seen was fatalism. He didn’t like it.

One long step and he was at the bed. He took her by the wrists and pulled her off. “We’re going to figure out the clue and find the antidote,” he said.

“Too bad that won’t solve my problems.”

“No kidding. Here.” He held her arms up, his fingers tight around her wrist. He wanted her ready if she encountered Lynx. “Try and get away,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Just give me thirty minutes. So long as we’re stuck here waiting for inspiration, I want to make sure you’ve got a fighting chance at staying alive.” More than that, the thought of anyone hurting her made him burn with fury. “Concentrate on this for a while and give your subconscious a chance to work on the watch. You’ll figure it out.” He shook her wrists. “Now get away.”

“Stryker—”

“Get. Away.”

“I guess we’ve moved on to the self-defense portion of today’s program,” she said wryly. She gave a little tug, supposedly trying to jerk her wrists free. He didn’t even have to work to keep a hold on her.

“Dammit, Mel. You need to at least try.”

“Why?” She yanked down hard, surprising him, but still he held on. “Stryker, he put a bullet in Todd’s head. Nifty self-defense tricks aren’t going to save me. This is stupid.” She tugged against his hold one more time, and this time he let go.

“It’s not stupid,” he said. “You need to be prepared.”

“I’ve got
you,”
she said. “I’ll be okay.”

“It’s not enough, Mel. You need to have every advantage. I’m not willing to take any chances with you.” The words hung between them, and he wondered if she could tell how much he meant them.

Their eyes met, and he saw the same heat he felt reflected in her clear blue eyes.

“All right,” she finally said, her voice low. She licked her lips, a surprisingly provocative gesture, and desire cut through him like a knife.

“Good,” he said, moving closer and putting his hands on her shoulders. He leaned in, his mouth close to her ear. Her hair smelled fresh, like the wind on the river mixed with the lingering floral scent of her shampoo. He took a breath and forced himself to focus. “First lesson: a bullet can miss. And if you’re in close quarters, you need to fight. In a survival situation, anything can be a weapon. A rock, a telephone handset, your fingers. Anything.”

“All right.” She looked around the room. “The alarm clock. I could clunk him on the head with it or get him around the neck with the cord.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re smart and resourceful. Use that to your advantage.”

He slid his arm around her, moving from her shoulder to encircle her throat, brushing the swell of her breasts in the process. She’d tossed his jacket on the bed earlier, and her tank top revealed more than it covered.

Her skin was soft against him, and she shivered slightly in his arms, sighing softly and pretty much driving him to distraction.

“You know any self-defense moves?” he asked, telling himself now really wasn’t the time to get horny. He needed to stay with the program.

“I took a class,” she said. “I wouldn’t say I’m good.”

“You only have to be good enough,” he countered. “I’m Lynx. What do you do?”

She tugged against his arm, but he just pulled her closer, drawing his other arm around her waist to thwart her, and, in the process, bringing her into full body contact with him. Her soft body fit perfectly against him, and her rear thrust against his groin in a way that made him ache.

“I can’t do this,” she said, trying ineffectually to wrench herself from his grasp and rubbing provocatively in the process. He sucked in air and fought his own battle to keep from getting hard. “You won’t get free that way,” he said. “Smash your foot down on his. If you’re lucky, you’ll surprise him enough to give you a chance to get away.”

She did exactly what he said—he’d give her points for that—and pain exploded in his foot as the heel of her sneaker smashed into his toes. “Shit!” he howled as he loosened his grip. Immediately, she pushed at his arms, twisting free from his embrace. She turned back to look at him, a wide grin lighting her face. “I did it!”

“Not bad,” he said, the pleasure he saw in her face making him grin, too. “I’ll have a limp for the next hour. If you’d been wearing heels, I’d probably be crippled.”

“There’s another reason that my shoe collection comes in handy. Each and every one of my stilettos is a damn good weapon.”

“Trust me, Mel, I’d never argue with a woman about the value of her shoes.”

“You’re my kind of man, Stryker.”

Her words hung in the charged air, and she met his eyes, her lips slightly parted.

“Mel…”

“I…I’m going to go take a quick shower,” she said. “Clear my head, like you said. Maybe I’ll be inspired.” She reached up and freed her hair from the ponytail as she walked, letting her hair fall free around her shoulders. She disappeared into the bathroom, and he watched her go, his mind filled suddenly with the image of her peeling off her shirt, her thick hair brushing over her bare shoulders. Then shimmying out of her jeans and underwear before stepping naked into the shower. He imagined rivulets of water cascading down those perfect curves and her soft, soap-slicked body.

He reached out and grabbed the back of an overstuffed armchair. He wouldn’t do it, he told himself. He wouldn’t follow her in there.

He paused, his gaze drifting once again to the closed bathroom door.

Then again, maybe he would.

I
closed the door, then leaned back against it, my body all tight and tingly. I wanted a shower, but I didn’t want to shower alone. I wanted Stryker. I wanted him to walk through that door and press my back against the wall and fuck my brains out. And I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about wanting that. I had about twelve hours to find some mysterious antidote, and I’d hit a wall. I had no idea where to go or what to do next. All I knew was that this might be my last night on earth, and for just a few minutes I wanted to lose myself to pleasure. Pure hedonistic, wild pleasure.

If I was going out, I wanted to go out with a bang.

I turned on the water and let it run, letting steam fill the room. I unlaced my sneakers and then took off my socks, finally peeling off my shirt and jeans and hanging them on the back of the door underneath the complimentary robe. Then I took the towel and wrapped myself in it. I put my hand on the doorknob and drew in a breath for courage. I wasn’t usually this bold, but I didn’t have time to be coy.

Beneath the towel, my nipples peaked with awareness. He was right there, separated from me by nothing more than a single piece of wood. I opened the door and—

He was standing right there.
His taut, lean body all naked and hard and ready. I swallowed but couldn’t manage to form words.

Fortunately, I didn’t need them. He moved toward me, and I melted into his arms.

“Mel,” he whispered, his voice hot with a passion that made me go weak in the knees.

“Stryker…Matthew…” I breathed in his scent, almost overdosed on it, as I urged him back into the shower with me. “I know we don’t have much time, but I want…I need—”

He pressed a finger to my lips. Water pounded around us, the heat of the shower nothing compared to the inferno that burned between us. “I know,” he said, as he cupped my breast. “I’ll be quick. But believe me, Mel, I’ll be thorough, too. Now come closer.”

With a soft sigh of pleasure, I pressed my body against his greedily. And why wouldn’t I? This was what I wanted, after all. And, really, what woman could resist?

O
h. My. God.

I lay on the bed, enveloped in the soft cotton terry of the Plaza’s robe. My entire body was limp, sated. But at the same time, an electrical current seemed to shoot through me, filling me up and making every nerve ending tingle.

Wow.

Afterward, he’d rinsed me off thoroughly, guiding the removable showerhead over my entire body. He’d been slow and methodical, and I’d been in heaven.

And the bonus? My mind was now clear as a bell. I’d had a shower and the most intimate of massages. My confidence was renewed, and, more important, I felt completely alive.

In a nutshell, I was a walking advertisement for the joys of sex. Most important, I was primed and ready to crack this code.

Stryker was at the desk, wearing nothing but his jeans, the watch and Jenn’s laptop on the blotter in front of him. When I stood up, he lifted his head and smiled at me, and I swear I almost melted all over again.

No, no, no. Time to get back to work.

“Okay,” I said, pacing in front of the desk. “Let’s go over what we know.” I didn’t wait for him to answer, my thoughts were churning too fast. “A pocket watch set for fifteen after the hour and the initials PSW etched into the cover.”

“In other words, we don’t know much,” he said.

“Bingo.”

“The website?” he suggested. “Maybe we missed something the first time. A clue in the riddle that we missed?”

I ran my fingers though my still-damp hair. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“What about the car? Could we have missed something? Maybe there was a clue other than the CD?”

“Maybe. But if we’re playing the game—and we certainly seem to be—then the watch should lead somewhere or tell us something.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’m still going to run the license plate.”

“Okay by me.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, then held the watch up and stared at it as if it had been a hypnotist’s prop. “Let’s say we were online. What would you do if you were stumped?”

“Cheat,” I said, the word passing my lips without thought. And that’s when I realized. “Of course!” I said, moving around the desk and urging him out of the chair with my hip so that I could get to the laptop. “How incredibly stupid. A cheat, Stryker. We just need to call in a cheat.”

“A what?”

“Watch,” I said. “I bet I’m right. I’ve got to be right.”

As the laptop booted up, he rested his hands on my shoulders, looking at the screen over my head. It was a nice, intimate moment. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I was running out of time, I would have even called it perfect.

The computer finished booting up, and I pulled up a browser, then clicked over to the PSW website. Then I stopped, my fingers poised over the keys.

“What?”

“I haven’t played in years. I don’t even think my user name’s any good.”

“I’m betting someone’s reinstated you.”

I grimaced. “Reinstated me just long enough to kill me. There’s a not-so-subtle irony working there.”

To be honest, I had absolutely no recollection what user name I’d picked all those years ago, so when the login screen popped up, I punched in the user name and password I use for pretty much everything: GivenchyGirl and Math4me. Completely geeky, I know, but since you’re supposed to keep your password secret, it didn’t cause me too much embarrassment.

The machine whirred and clicked, the little hourglass making quite clear that the website was deciding whether or not it would deign to admit me.

And then, without further ado, I was in.

“Upper left,” he said, leaning in so close that his breath moved my hair. “Isn’t that the icon for the help menu?”

I moved the cursor over to the icon but didn’t click. A cheat is a bit of online help to get you through a particular level of the game. Were I actually playing the game, the computer would know where I was in the game and provide cheats for that particular scenario. Usually, I try to avoid cheats, much preferring to manage on my own. Now that my life was on the line, though, I wasn’t nearly as proud.

For some games, you had to buy a book or search message boards in order to locate various ways to cheat. In PSW, cheats were right there on the site. For a price, of course.

That was the online version, though. I had no idea what would happen here, in the real world. I desperately wanted something to tell me what to do with the pocket watch clue, but at the same time, I feared that very thing. If my online request for help actually yielded something useful, then what did that mean?

It wasn’t something I could worry about right then, though. My finger hovered on the touchpad, and I sucked in a breath.

“Go,” Stryker said.

“I am,” I protested.
Now or never.
I clicked before I could talk myself out of it. The hourglass icon appeared, and then—

I sat back, staring at the screen, not sure if I should laugh or cry.

Stryker’s arms closed around me, and he kissed the top of my head. “We’ll figure it out.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Not only did I have absolutely no clue how to interpret the message (much less the watch itself), but the fact that this cybermessage existed at all only raised more questions about who was behind this and why it was happening to me. And how. But I couldn’t think about any of those things. Not now. Because right then I had to interpret an uninterpretable clue. I had to solve a puzzle and save my own life.

Mata Hari my ass.

“Let me see the watch again,” I said irritably, holding out my hand.

He pressed it into my hand, and I turned it over in my palm, trying to relax so that my subconscious could take over and I could be brilliant.

Okay. Fifteen. Hour hand. Quarter hour. Time. Minutes. Pocket watch. Pocket. Clothes. Pocket. Pick pocket. Pants pocket. Watch.

Fuck.

This was getting me nowhere.

I held the watch between my palms, pressing them together as if praying, hoping desperately that the answer would seep through my skin by osmosis.

As I sat there trying to will brilliant thoughts into my head, I heard Stryker say something, his voice low. I opened my eyes and saw him pacing the far side of the room, his cell phone pressed to his ear. I tried to hear more, but he had turned toward the window, and I couldn’t pick out any more words.

Fine. I didn’t need to be worrying about that anyway.

I opened my hands and looked at the watch. My grandfather had had a pocket watch. He’d worked for a railroad for forty years, and when he’d retired, he’d gotten a watch and a pension.

I held the watch up by its chain and scowled at it, getting more frustrated by the minute. After a moment, I flung it onto the desk and grabbed a piece of hotel stationery. This is what I wrote:

I resisted the urge to ball the paper up and toss it across the room. Instead, I spread it out on the desk and dragged my finger down each item, whispering each out loud, hoping that somehow one would strike some chord.

I felt a bit silly and jumped about a mile when someone rapped on the door. “Room service.”

Thank goodness. Maybe with some food my brain would start working again.

Apparently I really had ordered everything on the menu, because it took two guys to roll in all our food. They lined the carts up against the wall and took the warming lids off. Everything looked scrumptious. I had no appetite whatsoever.

“C.P.R.R.” I said to Stryker as he clicked his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. “JWC? Still no ideas?”

“Those are probably just an inspector’s marks, and they’ve been there for decades. Railroad watches were meant to keep perfect time, and they were inspected regularly and marked each time. Do you really think they’re part of the clue?”

I didn’t know what to think. I just don’t know. I moved back to the computer and stared at the screen, willing a flash of brilliance. Nothing. I stared at the watch. Again, nothing. Finally, I turned to Stryker in defeat. “How about you? You were calling about the car?”

“I’ve got a friend at the DMV. I’ll owe her a big favor, but she’s going to go into the office now. She’ll give me a call back as soon as she runs the plate.”

I sighed, not really caring. At the moment, I was totally focused on the watch, though it wasn’t doing me much good. I’d thought that the shower—not to mention the extracurricular shower activities—had given me a fresh perspective. Apparently not, though, because I seemed to be sorely lacking in inspiration.

“Mel?” His hand slipped inside the robe to rest on my shoulder. He had an uncanny knack for reading my mind. His other hand slipped onto the back of my neck, and he stroked gently.

I closed my eyes and sighed, the gentle rhythm of his palms against the bare skin soothing me.

“Are you okay?”

I almost didn’t answer. I didn’t want questions. I wanted answers. But wanting wasn’t enough, and so I sat up again, determined to get my thoughts on track. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”

He stared at me as if he didn’t quite believe me, then he nodded. “All right, if you say so.”

“Don’t worry about me. We’ll figure this out.”

He moved around to face me, then cupped my cheek in his palm. He leaned in to press his lips against mine, and I almost melted under his touch, fighting the urge to beg him to make love to me again so I could just forget this whole nightmare. Forgetting, unfortunately, wouldn’t make it any less real. And we had work to do.

As if on cue, my cell phone rang, and I broke the kiss, hurrying to the dresser and scooping it up just as it rolled over into voice mail. Well, damn. I checked the caller ID and saw that it said “Unknown Number,” so I pushed the speed dial to retrieve my voice mails and waited.

My mother. And from the background noise, I could tell that my parents were out painting the town…or at least drinking their way through it. “Melanie? Well, damn it, I didn’t want to talk to your machine…. Ah, well, darling, so sorry we didn’t call earlier. Time got away from us. Right now, we’re going out to Long Island for the night, but let’s do brunch tomorrow after we get back in town. Eleven sharp. We’re in room 3618 at The Carlyle. Oh, darling, wait. Your father suggests we just meet in the bar. Okay, then. Love you, darling. Bye now.”

And then she clicked off and I was left staring at my phone, cursing my mother’s passive-aggressive tendencies. Typical of her to issue an executive command. I wished that just once she’d ask my opinion, or give any credence at all to the fact that I might want to have some say in the way my life went.

I tossed the phone onto the desk and filled Stryker in. “Call back,” he said. “Tell her to get out of New York.”

I blanched, realizing he was right. As long as Lynx was playing the game, they were in danger. Maybe not right away, but if I survived—and I fully intended to—Lynx might try to use them to draw me out. That wasn’t technically within the parameters of the game, but it wasn’t verboten either. The cyberspace version simply didn’t speak to using parents as leverage. Using a target’s online friends as bait, however, was totally copacetic. If Lynx was in this game to win, I had to assume he wouldn’t hesitate to push the envelope where parents were concerned.

I snatched my phone back up and dialed my mom’s cell phone, followed by my dad’s. I left them each the same message. Get out of town; I’d explain later. “But I’m not sure they’ll get the message,” I said. “Mom said they forgot their phone chargers, and I don’t think either of them knows how to check their messages from another phone.”

“Can you call their friend?”

“I don’t have a clue who they’re staying with.”

“We’ll just have to tell them in person. They’re out of town now, right? So they should be safe.”

I nodded, thinking that what he said made sense. “So we’ll go to brunch and we’ll tell them to leave. Some sort of excuse. Something.”

Honestly, I didn’t have a clue, but I was at least happy to have a plan. I had to do something to make sure my parents were safe.

The thing is, I really do love my parents. Despite all their weirdness, I love them because of our history and because they’re basically good and, well, because I’m supposed to. And when we saw them tomorrow, I was going to tell them. No matter how insane my mom made me every freaking second of the day, I’d give her a hug and tell her that I loved her with all my heart and soul.

“Agreed,” Stryker said.

“But we’ll need to be careful tomorrow,” I added. “I don’t want my parents in danger simply because I decided to have one last conversation with them.”

“We’ll get there early and scope the place out,” Stryker promised. “And we’ll make sure we don’t have a tail.” He slid onto the bed and sat beside me, then took my hand. “We’ll make sure your parents are safe, Mel. I promise.”

I nodded, but without enthusiasm. I suddenly felt bone tired, the weight of the day pressing down on me. A madman chasing me. Todd dead because of me. And my parents in danger because of me.

And don’t forget some sort of toxic shit flowing through my veins. “This whole thing is fucked,” I whispered.

“I know.” Stryker hooked his arm around my shoulder. I leaned into him, grateful once again for the contact. “We’re not giving up, Mel. This isn’t over.”

“It’ll be over soon,” I said. “One way or the other.” I hate to admit it, but it felt perversely good to be morose. I was tired, so damn tired. I didn’t know if it was exhaustion or the toxin, but I deserved a breakdown, and if I couldn’t have a full-fledged one, at least I could whine about it. “This whole thing is like a train barreling down on us. On me. And I can’t outrun it. Nobody could.”