by Julie Kenner
“Nothing I can see,” he said.
“What about ‘fifteen’? It’s the bar’s address, but maybe it’s relevant here, too.”
He pushed hangers aside one by one. “The hangers are labeled, but I don’t see fifteen.”
I sighed. I’d fantasized that we’d walk in, see a closet empty except for one item, and immediately pluck our prize from the darkness. No such luck.
I moved in closer and started going through the pockets of the coats that were there. Stryker helped, and when we finished, he opened the umbrella, inspecting it inside and out.
“Nothing.”
“You know,” I said, thinking aloud, “not everyone checks coats. Some people check purses, laptops, small animals…”
He gave me a weird look at that last one, but I just shrugged. An old boss of mine used to cart her miniature poodle everywhere. Most of the time, Bitsy dined with us at the table (oh, joy), but occasionally the mutt was forced to dine behind the scenes, babysat under the watchful eye of some poor hostess who’d been threatened within an inch of her life if anything should happen to the little darling.
I really didn’t like that dog.
“Small animals aside,” Stryker said, “you may have a point.” He dug in his pocket and came up with a small penlight, which emitted a thin beam of light when he pressed a switch. He swung the beam under the counter, revealing some painted panels with slight indentations. I pressed my fingers into the notches and gave it a shot. Sure enough, the panels were sliding doors. I opened them all the way to reveal rows of gym locker–style baskets. All were empty.
All except one with a stamped metal tag: Number 15.
I swear, I almost cried, I was so relieved. “What is it?” I asked. There was definitely something in the basket, but in the minimal lighting, I couldn’t really tell what.
Stryker reached in and tugged out a denim jacket.
I gave a startled little gasp. “Holy shit,” I said. “That’s my jacket!” My missing D&G jacket that had been a total splurge. “I thought it was gone forever.” I snagged it out of his hands and put it on, relishing the familiar comfort of the soft denim.
“When did you lose it?” Stryker asked.
“Months ago,” I said. “I’d worn it on a date with Todd, and—” I closed my mouth, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t lost it at all. It had been stolen. And that meant that someone had been planning—and watching me—for months, too. As if I weren’t already creeped out enough….
“Think about that later,” Stryker said. He was studying my face, and I could tell he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone. “Right now, we’re only concerned with the antidote.”
He was absolutely right, and as I nodded, I patted myself down. Sure enough, I felt something small and hard in the jacket’s left breast pocket. The pocket was closed with a metal snap, and I pried it open, then pulled out an ornate vial of liquid. Stryker shone the beam onto the vial, which, I realized, was really a small bottle of Very Irresistible Givenchy perfume. The distinctively beautiful graduated pink bottle had been defaced by someone printing DRINK ME along one flat surface in what they probably thought was a hysterical bit of closure. I was not amused. The liquid itself was a watery reddish color. Not the least bit appealing, and I eyed it with some trepidation.
“Mel.” Stryker’s voice was soft, but urgent.
“Right. Yes.” A stopper had replaced the spray nozzle, and now I pulled it out, then lifted the vial to my lips. I paused, my eyes meeting his. “You’d do this if you were me, right? You’d drink the stuff?”
“Absolutely,” he said, but there was a tiny bit of hesitation in his voice, and I wasn’t consoled. He must have read my mind, because his entire body seemed to sag. “Shit, Mel. What choice do you have?”
Damn.
“Bottoms up,” I said. I drank the contents, then tucked the vial back into my pocket.
A split second later, my head seemed to explode with light and sound. I was dead. I knew it. This was the absolute end.
I’d made the wrong decision.
I’d lost the game.
And, honestly, I was more pissed than scared.
Chapter
41
T he shot came from somewhere off to the left, and Stryker reacted immediately, grabbing Mel’s arm and pulling her down to the floor with him. She yelped, her hands over her face, and he wasn’t sure if she was terrified or confused. No time now for comfort, though. He pressed his palm to her back. “Don’t move,” he whispered as he shrugged the laptop case off his shoulder and onto the floor. He was back up almost immediately, still crouched behind the relative safety of the coat check counter.
The blast had echoed through the room, but Stryker didn’t think they could count on anyone outside having heard and coming to investigate. The bar was too well insulated and too far off the beaten path at this time of night. No, they were on their own, and now he peered over the counter, his own gun at the ready.
There. A tall figure melding into the shadows, moving slowly toward them. A quick movement as Lynx fired again. Stryker hit the floor, but not before getting off a round of his own. Above him, the wood of the counter splintered. “Go,” he hissed to Mel, urging her to crawl along the length of the alcove and then following her.
“Do you have a mirror?” he whispered when they were a few feet away.
“My bag.” She nodded back the way they’d come. Stryker cursed softly, then moved slowly back to retrieve it. He could have made do without a mirror, but he didn’t want the bag found in the morning, a glaring testament to their presence.
He brought it back, and she retrieved a small cosmetic mirror. He held it up so that it just peeked over the bar. Lynx was still approaching with care, his body hidden now by an ornate wooden beam. Stryker considered whether he could get off a good round but decided he couldn’t. He’d wait for a clear shot. Lynx might not realize the alcove extended so far, which meant he’d be expecting Mel and Stryker about six feet from where they were currently crouched. A small advantage to be sure, but at the moment Stryker would take whatever advantage he could get.
He angled the mirror again, this time scoping out the hall that ran perpendicular to the hallway Lynx was currently moving down. Short and narrow, this hallway seemed to be primarily some sort of service route. It hit a dead end a few feet away, but there were two doors, one just across from their alcove and a few feet to their right.
Lynx was far enough along that he’d be able to see them. But he might not be expecting them. If they could get out and to that doorway…
They’d have to risk it.
There was no hinged panel in this part of the counter, which meant the only way out was over. “I’m going to lift you,” he whispered. “There’s a hall, then a door. Right about there.” He pointed in the general direction. “I’ll be right on your heels. Move fast and don’t look back. Understand?”
She nodded, her eyes wide but determined.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, hoping he wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep.
She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “For luck.”
“Ready?” He put his hands on her waist. “On three,” he said, then counted down. On cue, she jumped, and he pushed, hoisting her up to the countertop with ease. As she rolled over and down, he pushed up and got off two covering shots, both coming at the same time Lynx’s bullets hit the wall beside them.
One jump and Stryker was over as well. He rolled to the far side, getting off a shot as he did, then realizing that Mel was crouched on the far side, her back pressed against the wall. “Go on,” he yelled.
“It’s locked.”
“Shit!” He whipped around and aimed at the lock, then got off three shots in quick succession. “Go!” She turned and went, racing through the door as he followed, pausing only once in the doorway to fire one shot back the way they’d come.
On the other side, he took her hand. As they ran, he glanced around, trying to get his bearings. They�
��d come back into the main room, and his attention was immediately drawn by the ornate bar and the magnificent stone fireplace. Neither one would make a decent hiding place. Once again, they’d been sitting ducks.
They rounded a corner, and he paused, pulling her behind him as he peered back the way they’d come. So far, clear. “We need to get out of here. There has to be a back entrance. When you worked here, did you come in a service entrance?”
“Um, maybe. I don’t remember.” She turned, her gaze taking in the place, then pointed. “That way.”
“You sure?”
“Hell no.”
“Good enough,” he said, and they moved quietly in the direction she’d pointed. They reached another set of locked doors, and Stryker cursed. He didn’t have time to pick the lock, but he didn’t want to call attention to them by firing, either. If there was an exit through those doors, though…
It was a risk they’d have to take. He stood back and fired. He pushed open the doors, tugged her through, and—
“Oh, shit,” Mel said.
Stryker echoed the sentiment. This wasn’t a service entrance—it was a balcony. They were two stories above street level, too high to safely jump, and Lynx would have heard the gunshot. Any minute, he’d burst through that door.
“Fire escape,” she said. “There’s got to be one, right?”
He nodded, and they raced to the stone rail closest to the wall, hoping to find the metal grid of an escape route. Nothing. Just a large refrigerated truck parked beneath them, probably delivering supplies to one of the restaurants in the station.
He turned, planning to cross the area and check for an escape route on the far side. He didn’t get that far. The doors to the balcony were still open, and he could see the assassin’s form through the leaded glass, backlit by the lights of the city.
There was no other way.
“Jump,” he whispered.
“What?”
“That truck is probably at least twelve feet high. If we hit the roof, we should be able to manage without breaking anything.”
“Stryker, I don’t think I—”
“It’s either the truck or him,” he said.
She glanced toward the door, her teeth worrying on her lower lip, then she pulled herself up onto the rail and swung her feet over. He followed suit, taking her hand. He looked at her, she nodded, and together they jumped.
They landed with a clatter on the roof. If Lynx didn’t know where they’d gone, he’d surely figure it out. “You okay?”
“I think so,” she said.
“Then keep moving.”
They kept low and ran toward the front of the truck, climbing down to the top of the cab, then sliding down the wind-shield and over the engine compartment. He hit the ground first, then held his hands up to help her down. The sharp crack of a bullet hitting metal sounded behind them, and he realized that Lynx had fired toward Mel, hitting the truck’s hood and barely missing her head.
They didn’t hesitate. Instead, they raced under the balcony, grateful for the cover, then eased through the open doorway. They were in some sort of service corridor, well below Lynx and The Campbell Apartment, but they weren’t out of the woods yet.
Carefully, they crept through the passages, easing back and out of sight when a man in blue coveralls and pushing a dolly passed by on his way back the way they’d come. After a few minutes, they emerged though a metal door into the main concourse. A sign to the left announced the way to the S train, a subway train that shuttled between Grand Central and Times Square.
That would do nicely.
Stryker kept a close eye on their surroundings as they moved, the gun ready but hidden under his jacket. They made it onto the platform and raced onto the waiting train. He led them to seats facing back the way they’d come, and then he sat back, watching every face that appeared in the doorway.
No Lynx.
The doors closed and the train jerked, starting to pull away from the station. And then, there he was. That flash of dark hair and those precise, penetrating eyes. Like Stryker’s, his gun was hidden. But Stryker knew it was there, under the assassin’s jacket.
Stryker tensed, fearing that Lynx would see them through the subway car’s window and fire across the platform. He didn’t move, though. Just stood there, anger and defeat playing across his face as the train picked up speed and left the station, leaving the assassin behind.
For the moment, anyway, they were safe.
Beside him, Mel was still holding his hand, her grip so tight that his fingers were numb.
“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re safe now.”
“For how long, though?”
“I don’t know.” He wanted to tell her a soothing lie, but he owed her honesty.
She let go of his hand, and he swung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.
“Where to now?” she asked.
“From Times Square, we’ll catch a cab to the Upper East Side. There’s something I want to check out.”
Chapter
42
T odd’s apartment.
I couldn’t believe it when Stryker told me he wanted to go back there.
I cringed at the thought and tried to sink back into the taxi’s tattered upholstery. I didn’t want to see the place again.
More, I didn’t want the image of Todd’s head—bloody and battered—filling my thoughts. I hugged myself, the warm sting of tears filling my eyes as I thought about Todd. I hadn’t been in love with him, but somebody would have been. He was a good guy at heart, and he hadn’t deserved to die. I mean, he gave me shoes, didn’t he? If he were still alive, he’d go on. Marry a paralegal. Have three kids and a dog, and maybe even a hamster.
Some asshole had taken that away from him. An asshole who wanted me dead, and for no better reason than the fact that watching me die was the ultimate score in some sick mind-fuck of a game.
God.
And then I remembered Stryker’s phone call and the latest information—that the car with the clue was registered in Todd’s name. It didn’t make sense.
I waited until we were almost there, then I sucked up my courage and turned to Stryker. “Why?” I demanded. “Why go back there?” I didn’t really want to ask the question. Mostly because I didn’t want to know the answer.
Stryker didn’t answer. He just looked at me, his eyes filled with regret and pain.
Gooseflesh prickled on my arms. “You think Todd’s behind all of this,” I said. “You think he wants me dead.”
Chapter
43
H e couldn’t be right. Todd couldn’t really be at the heart of all this.
Could he?
As I had the last time we’d come here together, I hesitated in the doorway, venturing in only when Stryker signaled for me to close the door. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here,” he said, and I had to agree wholeheartedly with that.
Stryker was at the bed, crawling around on his hands and knees, looking for God only knows what. I waited about forty seconds, then my curiosity got the better of me.
“What exactly are you looking for?”
He shook his head. “Not sure.”
I frowned and started looking around myself, figuring I’d know it when I saw it. “Who do you think cleaned the place up?”
“Lynx,” Stryker said. Then he looked up at me. “Or Todd.”
I frowned, not liking the direction of Stryker’s thoughts. “I saw blood. I saw…” I trailed off, closing my eyes as I sucked in a deep breath. “I saw brains. He can’t…I mean, how could he…there’s no way he could have survived.”
Stryker didn’t answer, but I could tell from his expression what he was thinking: Things can be faked, and death can be an illusion.
“No,” I repeated, shaking my head. I moved to Todd’s desk and started opening drawers at random. “He can’t possibly—”
I clamped my hand over my mouth and took a step back.
“What?” Alarm filled Stryker
’s voice, but I couldn’t answer. I could only stare down at the blotter on Todd’s desk…and the code I saw there:
“He saw the message you received, right?” Stryker asked, his voice tight.
I nodded, mute, still trying to process what my eyes were seeing. “This is just gibberish,” I said. “At least, it is if we’re using the same code key.”
“Maybe he was just doodling,” Stryker suggested. “Could he have drawn this after you two got back here? After he saw the message?”
“I don’t—” I cut myself off as understanding dawned. “No.” I closed my eyes, wishing the answer could be different. “I would have seen. We were together the whole time.”
It was possible, I supposed, that Todd had gotten up after I’d gone to sleep in the bathtub, ignored the fact that I was no longer beside him, and settled himself at his desk to draw pigpen codes…then spread bills and notes and photocopied pages of depositions over his blotter to partially hide what he’d been doing. Possible, but not probable.
“I’m sorry,” Stryker said.
I just shook my head, feeling like my brain was moving through Jell-O. This didn’t feel right. I knew Todd. Didn’t I?
“Check the bureau,” I said. “He keeps his passport in the back of the top right-hand drawer.” I’d discovered that little tidbit last Christmas. Todd’s Christmas bonus had been over thirty grand, and he’d danced around his apartment, waving his passport and promising me a trip to Paris. We’d never gone, of course. Lawyers who get thirty grand bonuses don’t have the time to spend it.
I watched as Stryker rummaged around, pulling out various bits of clothing until I was certain that he’d removed a volume of material that simply would not fit in that drawer.
“Not here,” he said. A muscle in Stryker’s jaw twitched as he faced me. “He could be out there, planning on skipping the country when—”
“Search the rest,” I said.
“Mel—”
“Do it.”
And while he did the chest of drawers, I started searching the desk and the rest of the apartment. I was looking in the toilet tank when Stryker joined me. “Nothing,” he said. “And I searched the kitchen area, too. It’s not here, Mel. Face it. He’s—”