The Prada Paradox

by Julie Kenner

  He couldn’t say those things, though, any more than he could break the bastard’s neck who’d sucked her into the game. He’d tried. So help him, he’d tried to hold her and pull her close. She’d pushed him away, though, and from the wild terror in her eyes, he knew that he shouldn’t force her. She was straddling memories and reality, her body and mind equally in peril. Her body, he intended to protect with his life. Her head, though…about that, he hadn’t a clue how to help.

  She was terrified. And the truth was, she had reason to be. All he could do was love her, and he’d already seen that loving Devi simply wasn’t enough.

  He knelt in front of her. “Devi,” he whispered.

  No response. He took a deep breath, then took her hands, hers limp in his tight grip. And then he waited. He moved his thumb softly over her skin until, finally, she gripped back. At that moment, Blake was sure his heart would explode. He could do this. He could protect her.

  But then, when she lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes pleading, the bubble burst, and he was lost again. Lost and grasping.

  “Devi,” he said. “Baby, I—”

  “No.” The word was whispered, barely even voiced. But he heard it, and he felt the pain behind it.

  “Sweetheart, we’ll get through it. We can—”

  “What?” she demanded, and although the fear in her eyes etched deep into his soul, the fire in her voice gave him hope. “What can we do?”

  “We can fight. Devi, we can do whatever it takes.”

  She shook her head, looking at him almost pityingly. “Blake, someone is trying to kill me. Someone has fucking poisoned me. It’s not a movie. It’s not even a game. It’s real. And it scares the shit out of me.”

  He watched, helpless, as her shoulders shook and tears ran down her face. She’d blown whatever courage she’d manage to collect, and now she was collapsing again, lost in a nightmare that she’d never expected. He wanted to believe that the well would fill again. That she would remember how much she loved the life she had, and how much he knew she wanted to fight for it.

  He wanted to believe that, but he didn’t know if he could. She’d been injured so badly already, and after fighting the battle once, he wasn’t certain that she’d want to fight it again.

  No matter what, though, he was there to fight it with her. He’d see her through this, whether she wanted his help or not.

  He wanted to tell her all that. Hell, he just wanted to tell her that he loved her. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead he moved silently to the couch and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t hesitate this time, and that probably scared him most of all. Because the strong woman he’d fallen for—the woman who hadn’t hesitated to kick his ass out her door—was disintegrating in front of him.

  That reality broke his heart. It also pissed him off.

  And once he got his hands on the bastard who was behind this, that man was surely going down.

  At the moment, though, there wasn’t anyone around to hit. There was only Devi, scared and vulnerable in his arms. And if he couldn’t make it right, at least he could keep her safe. Or he could damn well try.

  He stroked her hair, murmuring soft words. She was scared, he knew that. But nothing could prepare him for the depths of fear he saw in her eyes.

  “I can’t do this again.” The tiniest shake of her head. “I can’t be a victim again.”

  “You aren’t a victim,” he said, his hands on her shoulders and his eyes looking deep into her own. His instinctive response was to hold her and comfort her, but he’d fought it. She didn’t need soft words. She needed to get her edge back. She’d need it if she was going to get through this. And he fully intended to do whatever it took to make sure that she did get through this. “This is your show, Devi. You’re the one in charge here.”

  She actually snorted at that, which he took as a good sign. She shifted, then waved at the table and the note he’d dropped there. “How the hell do you figure that?”

  “We follow the clues. We win. You can do that.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “I can’t, and I won’t.”

  “Won’t?”

  She lifted her chin. “Maybe I don’t want to play.”

  The haughtiness in her tone almost made him smile. This was the diva coming out. But the diva wasn’t going to win this round. He knew it, and deep down, he was certain that Devi knew it, too.

  “You have to play, sweetheart,” he said, gently. “Toxin, remember? The kill switch?” At the start of preproduction, everyone in the cast had been given a summary of the game—both the computerized version and the real-world version that Mel had played. The kill switch was an incentive that was built into both versions of the game. In the computer version, a player that doesn’t start to play the game within twenty-four hours basically forfeits their right to play. But whoever brought the game into the real world must have realized that forfeiting a player’s right to play wasn’t going to cut it. So the real-world kill switch forfeited a player’s life. In Mel’s case, she’d been infected with a toxin and had only twenty-four hours to follow the clues to find the antidote.

  Devi apparently had been given the same incentive. And that really wasn’t sitting well with Blake. “Devi,” he said again. “You have to find the antidote.”

  “But that’s just it,” she said. “I think I must have beat the system.”

  He just stared at her, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

  “No one I don’t know gets close to me,” she said, her eyes full of hope. “After Janus, that just doesn’t happen. I’ve come out of my shell, yes, but I’m hardly back on the party circuit dancing and drinking and bumping uglies with strangers until four a.m. Not anymore.”

  “So you’re saying—”

  “I’m saying that my reclusiveness is my ace in the hole.”

  Blake could only shake his head, because he knew how much she wanted to believe that. He took her hand, held it tight. “This game isn’t about bluffing. If it says delivered, then it’s delivered.”

  The hope on her face dissolved. “You really believe that? I’m infected with something?”

  He did, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he just stroked her cheek. “We have to assume that you are. But even if you’re right—even if he couldn’t get to you with the poison—you still have to play the game. You know that, right?”

  “Why?” she asked, her voice choked. “If there’s no poison, why should I?” She stood up, fear and anger coming off her in waves. “I mean, why the hell do I pay all this money for security if it can’t keep me secure? It can. I’m safe in here. There is no way in hell he’s getting in here.”

  “And when you go out?”

  “I’ll take a bodyguard,” she said, her tone rising. “I’ve got money, Blake. I can use it to keep me safe.”

  He took her hand, understanding that she was terrified, but also needing her to understand reality.

  “A bodyguard can’t keep you safe from a sniper. A bodyguard can’t keep your friends safe.”

  She cocked her head at that. “My friends?”

  “You read the script, just like I did. What happened when Mel said she wasn’t going to play?”

  He watched her face as she remembered. As the hard, brutal truth set in. “They killed her boyfriend,” she finally said. And then he watched as she closed her eyes in defeat. She’d known all along that she would have to play, of course. Now, though, she’d finally accepted what she already knew.

  “I can’t do it.” Her voice was raw, almost a whisper. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “That message is nonsense. Gibberish. I can’t play this game. I can’t win. I’m not Melanie. I’m an actress. I mean, there’s a reason I’ve got a stunt double, you know?”

  The corner of her mouth lifted in the slightest hint of a smile as she said that, and Blake clung to that, desperate for any sign the Devi he knew was coming back to him.

  “You could do your own stunts, and you damn well
know it. It’s the bonding company that won’t let you.” That won a genuine smile, albeit small, and the band around his chest eased a bit more. “You’re smart. You can figure this out.”

  She dropped back down onto the far end of the couch, not so much pulling away from him as pulling herself together. He’d seen her do it before. It was the way she attacked a role. And this role was about as important as they come.

  He watched as she closed her eyes and took three deep breaths. When she opened them again, the fear was masked. Not gone, but hidden. Behind what, though, he didn’t know.

  “Devi?”

  “No. Not Devi,” she said. “Devi doesn’t have a clue how to play the game. But Melanie…?” Her eyes were wide, as if she was holding back tears. “Maybe I just need to be Melanie. She knows how to win, right?”

  His heart stuttered in his chest, and he stumbled over his thoughts. Yes, it was good that she was getting her courage back. But he wanted the strength to flow from her. Not through her.

  Still, any port in a storm, right? And ultimately, even if she was playing Melanie Prescott, in the end, it was all about Devi.

  And the Devi Taylor he knew had the strength to get through anything. She just didn’t know it yet.

  “You can do this,” he said. “Draw on Mel all you want, but at the end of the day, it’s you who’s going to make it through this nightmare.”

  “Or not make it.”

  He took her shoulders. “You will make it. I refuse to accept any other outcome.”

  A tiny smile. “Well, now I feel so much better.”

  “I’m serious, Devi. We can do this. We can solve the damn puzzle. We can follow the clues, and we can figure out who’s behind this, and we can beat this thing.”

  “Oh, really?” She shook off his touch and stood up. She was still wearing the white cotton robe, and now she wrapped her arms around herself, looking soft and a little lost. “You’re going to help me? You’re just going to step up to the plate and save the day?”

  “I’m going to damn well try.”

  “I don’t rewind that easily.”

  “Dammit, Devi. This isn’t about me. I’m not trying to win forgiveness. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

  “Really?” There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but underneath it, he thought he heard a legitimate question. And he had to admit that it was a fair question, too. Because if he was going to answer honestly, he had to admit that, yes, in the deep recesses of his mind, he did fantasize that if he could find the bastard who was doing this and pound him into a bloody pulp, then Devi would realize he loved her and come back into his arms.

  Dear God, was he really so selfish?

  Yes, he probably was. But fantasies of rewarded chivalry aside, the bottom line remained the same. “I want to keep you alive, Devi. Do my motives really matter so much?”

  “They do to me,” she said, her voice like ice.

  He cringed, the force of her words like a physical blow. His chest tightened, his heart breaking with the fear he heard in her voice. She was so fragile. And he hated the fact that part of her wounds had come from him. He wanted to hold her. To assure her that everything would be fine. That she would heal. And that he’d be there to help her.

  But that wasn’t a conversation she was ready for. So instead, he just told her what she needed to hear.

  “Be mad at me all you want,” he said, grabbing the note off the table. “I don’t give a damn.” He held the damn thing up. “Because so long as you’re furious with me, you’re not being scared of this.”

  Chapter 17

  “Don’t be too sure,” I say, but I can’t help the way my heart feels a little bit lighter. I owe that in part to Blake. I know that. He sat here with me while I let myself drown in terror, fighting the whirlpool that would pull me back to the safe comfort of the meds.

  Except there is no comfort there. Not really. There’s just oblivion. I know that better than anyone.

  I fought my way kicking and screaming out of that pale gray death, and there is no way in hell I’m going back. I am a fighter. Hell, I fought the drugs, didn’t I? And I won. The proof is today, after all. I haven’t called my shrink, haven’t called any one of my friends who could slip me a Valium or two under the table. I’ve called on nothing but my own strength.

  And, slowly, the terror has faded. Not disappeared—I’m still as scared as shit—but I’m not letting it debilitate me. I can’t. Not this time.

  Not ever again.

  I still can’t quite believe this is really happening to me, but I know that I’ll get through this drug-free—or I’ll die trying. After all, I have a secret weapon. Melanie Prescott.

  I’m not an actress for nothing, and I’ve spent too many days and nights in Mel’s head to let her fail me now. For that matter, I spent too many days with the woman herself. Studying her. The way she moves, the way she thinks. Her sense of humor.

  I know Mel. And on the set, I can become Mel.

  Now, I just need to become Mel off the set. She survived the game. Now she’s going to help me survive.

  That, at least, is my plan. And, yes, it gives me some small comfort.

  And as much as Blake gives me comfort, too, I know that he can’t stay. Because I can’t hold his life in my hands. I’m just not that strong.

  “Devi?” He’s peering at me, clearly afraid I’m going to bolt like a rabbit. Either that, or do something stupid.

  I wave away his concern. “I’m okay now. I just needed…” I trail off, not sure what I needed. I’d pulled away from reality, that much was for sure. But why? And what if I did it again, when the stakes were truly high? Lose it when the killer’s nearby, and I’ll be losing a hell of a lot more than my pride. I’ll be losing my life.

  That’s not something I can think about. I’m Mel, remember? And Mel is cool under pressure.

  I draw in a breath and start over. “I just needed to freak out for a few minutes. But I’m better now.” When all else fails, try the truth.

  “Good.” He puts the note on the table. “Then let’s get to work.”

  “No.”

  I watch his face, the actor’s mind struggling with what expression to show. “No?”

  “No,” I repeat.

  “Devi, are you—”

  “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” I stand up again, my hands deep in the pockets of my robe. “But I’m doing this on my own.”

  “The hell you are. If this is the game, then you need a goddamn protector.”

  I can hear the sharp edge in his voice. Frustration and fear, all there about me. For me. And damned if I don’t want to run to him and let him hold me. Because the truth is that I want his comfort. The truth is, I love him.

  That really doesn’t matter, though. Or, rather, it matters too much.

  “You can’t be my protector, Blake. You know that. Not unless the game assigns you the role.”

  “Maybe it did,” he says. “Maybe I am your protector.” He’s moving fast now, heading toward my computer and pulling up the game interface. In no time at all, he’s called up the log-in screen and typed in his information.

  “You play?”

  “Once,” he said. “Right after I got the role.”

  I hold my breath, thinking that maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he is my protector. And maybe this nightmare is about to turn a corner.

  But then his message center loads, and I see that it is empty. And I have to face what I already knew—I’m all alone.

  I draw a breath and put my hand on his shoulder. “Blake, you have to go now.”

  “No,” he says, his voice harsh and unyielding. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Help outside the game is forbidden,” I say. “You know that. You’ve read as much as I have about Mel and Jenn and the rules of the game. Pull in someone else outside the game, and I put them at risk. I mean, look at Andy.”

  Blake knows as well as I do that Andy was shot with a poisoned dart after offering help to Jenn. Obviously, Andy s
urvived. But there’s no guarantee that Blake would be so lucky. And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take with Mel, either. So although I can be her, I can’t call her. She already survived the game once. If I somehow caused her to get shot by a sniper’s bullet now, I don’t think I could live with myself.

  No cops, no Blake. No anyone, until I find out who my protector is, I’m all alone, and it’s all I can do not to reach for Blake, seeking comfort where I really shouldn’t be looking for it.

  He watches me, his eyes looking right through me. “In other words, you want me to leave because you care about me.”

  A shiver courses through me. “Yes,” I say, which is more than I really want to. “That’s right.”

  I watch the emotion play across his face, a slot machine that finally stops on pity and self-loathing. “Devi,” he says, his voice raw. “I’m sorry.”

  I blink, spilling the tears that have welled in my eyes.

  “Dammit, I didn’t mean to make you—”

  “No,” I say, as he gently wipes my tears. “It’s okay. I just need…” And then it’s my turn to trail off. Because I know what I need. It’s the same thing I’ve always needed. Him. But I just don’t know if that’s possible.

  But then he’s pulling me close. My body, naked under the robe, tingles with awareness as he brushes my tears away with the pad of his thumb. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Yes,” I whisper, my voice hoarse through my tears. “You are. If something happened to you because of me, I don’t think I could—”

  He silences me with a kiss, deep and sweet and erotic and tender. Everything I remember and more. His strength is in that kiss, and as I hook my arms around his neck, I feel myself weaken. I need help. He wants to help me.

  I moan a little and press myself against him, my body saying yes even though I haven’t quite convinced my mouth to cooperate.

  He’s warm and familiar, and I want his strength. I need it, honestly, way more than I ever needed a drug. And although I know I should fight and scream and kick to keep him away, I also know that I can’t stand the thought of going through this alone. Do that, I think, and I will surely end up popping the lid on a bottle of little white pills.