by Skye Warren
“Blow,” he murmurs.
I blow a stream of air over the steaming spoon. When he pushes the spoon closer I open my lips and take a sip. Spice blooms on my tongue, making me close my eyes. “God, that’s good.”
When I open my eyes again Damon is looking at me with a strange intensity. “I meant what I said before. The problem with someone gambling isn’t about the money. It’s about the addiction.”
“I know,” I say, remembering every card game, every cheat.
Every desperate win so that we could eat that night.
Damon takes a sip from the same spoon, in the same place that I did. “He used you before, Penny. He used you to count cards. To clean up his mess. What’s to say he won’t use you again?”
My chest constricts. “He wouldn’t.”
Except that’s a lie, and both of us know it. Hiro isn’t here to protect me from the city in general. She’s here to protect me from my own father.
The man I came back to the city to find.
And where does that leave Avery?
“I solved part of the code.” The words come out before I’ve planned them.
Damon turns to face me, his expression blank. “You did.”
“It says COME ALONE. There’s still a bottom row of numbers I haven’t figured out yet. It doesn’t conform to the polynomial curve like the top part.”
“I see.”
“COME ALONE. What do you think it means? I mean, I guess it’s obvious what it means. That we should come alone.” I’m babbling now, my wits scattered thinking about Avery at the mercy of this mysterious code-maker. “But who do you think sent it?”
“No idea,” he says, but with shadowy insight I realize it’s a lie. He knows more than he’s telling me. About my father. About Avery. He knows things that might even help solve the rest of the code, but he lets me scribble away in the dark.
Chapter Eighteen
The next day I can’t seem to focus. The numbers swim in front of my eyes. The worst part of this is not knowing whether I’m actually making headway. There are an infinite number of possibilities with even this bottom row, and I won’t know whether I’ve hit the right one until I try it. Maybe not even then, if I don’t recognize the message. This might not even be a message. Just random numbers meant to drive me insane.
I fumble through my tote bag to find my phone. It’s almost out of battery, so I plug it into the wall before dialing Smith College’s main number.
“Dr. Stanhope please,” I tell the operator.
The phone rings, and for a moment I think he must be out of his office. It’s the weekend so it’s hit-or-miss whether he’d be there. He works on his research nonstop, but he can do it from home.
“Hello?” He sounds breathless.
“Are you okay?”
An uneven laugh. “Going for a run while the campus is quiet. I heard the phone ringing down the hallway.” A pause, and he sounds more steady. “I hoped it was you.”
“You did?”
“Fishing for compliments?”
I flush, realizing it’s probably the truth. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a hardship to compliment you, Penny. But I’m more interested in hearing how you’re doing right now. Are you okay? The whole campus is talking about Avery James.”
“Do they have any leads?”
“Not that they’re sharing publicly. I know you two were close.”
Now I wonder whether we were close enough. Was there something she wanted to tell me? Something she was afraid of? “I’m working on something that might be related.”
“With the police?”
“Not exactly. There’s this message.” My throat closes. “Well, it’s a long number.”
“You think it’s a cipher?”
“Maybe. I’ve been working on it for a couple days, but I haven’t gotten anywhere.”
“Send it to me.”
I hesitate. “I’m not sure—”
“That’s what I did my graduate research in. Cryptanalysis.”
“Wait. Really? I didn’t know that.”
“I started studying Ramsey numbers as an offshoot.” He gives a small wry laugh. “Didn’t expect my career to go in that direction, but the applications are really endless. And far more commercial.”
“Commercial,” I say, my forehead tightening.
“Sure. Even when you’re working with governments, it’s on the civil side. Utilities. And there’s privatization all the time. Cell phone carriers. Internet data usage.”
Something uncomfortable stirs in my chest. Once I had a terrible crush on this man. I thought he was the life I was supposed to have, the kind of man who would keep me safe. “I thought you were interested in the welfare system.”
“Of course I am. They’re basically the end cases, the place where reality proves or disproves theory. Anyway, this isn’t the time. I can go on for hours about that, but we’re talking about codes.”
I flip the call to speakerphone so that I can snap a picture of the code. Something keeps me from sending it to him. Why am I hesitating when he can help? Even if he didn’t have a strong background in cryptography he’s a world-renowned mathematician—of course I value his insight.
And still I stare at the numbers on my phone screen, a knot in my throat.
How did I become so sure the message was in the arrangement of the numbers? What if the number represents a single entity? What if it’s a direction—like a phone number? The number of digits aren’t right, but the idea hooks into me. So many digits.
Not a social security number.
“Penny?” comes the voice from far away—from a different state, a different version of me. He isn’t the life I’m supposed to have, which leaves me empty, adrift. Alone.
“One sec,” I whisper.
It could be an ISBN number.
A quick Internet search pulls up an outdated textbook in oceanography. It’s possible that’s the answer, but it doesn’t feel right. Dr. Stanhope wouldn’t understand about gut instinct, but growing up in the west side, I learned to trust it. There’s something here, not words within the number. Something the number points me to.
“Penny, when are you coming home?”
The words startle me enough that I lose my train of thought. “Home?”
“Yes, home. Smith College. This is where you belong.”
What a strange idea, that I belong there. That I belong anywhere. I always felt like an imposter at college, like someone would rip away my notebook and messenger bag and expose me for the poor trailer-park trash that I really am.
“I’m not sure. I have to find Avery before I can come back.”
“You can’t put your life on hold for her,” he says, gently chiding.
That suddenly strikes me as wildly cruel. “Why can’t I? She’s my friend. One of my only friends. It’s because of her that I got to go to Smith at all.”
“Penny,” he says, and I realize that I’m hysterical.
I should stop this. Hang up the phone. Find some way to act like a normal human instead of this sobbing, shaking mass of emotion, but I’ve been holding it together too long. “Oh God. She’s gone. I have to do something. What can I do?”
“You are doing something,” he reminds me.
The cipher. The terrible code. A horrible game where her life is at stake. It’s not so different from playing poker from someone’s life. Callous and wrong and so deeply a part of Tanglewood’s stained fabric that it will never come out.
I force myself to breathe in slow, deep breaths. Losing it might feel better to me, but it doesn’t help Avery at all. I need to be strong for her. “Talk to me more about the commercial uses of Ramsey numbers,” I say.
There’s a startled pause, where he’s probably wondering if I’ve gone crazy. But if there’s one thing I can rely on, it’s Dr. Stanhope’s passion for his work.
“There’s this contract I’m working on in conjunction with the major digital radio supplier. They aren’t bound b
y the same rules and restrictions as broadcast radio, so it’s really the Wild West of communications policy.”
Any other time I might find his enthusiasm endearing, but I’m staring at the number.
“Keep going.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, Penny?”
“You said something about Internet data usage.”
“Right, well. There’s the more obvious applications, in terms of the pricing for data plans and what’s most profitable for the carriers. But the more interesting application is in distribution of the Internet itself. Each hub is a resource, so how do you utilize it best? How do you prioritize requests for usage?”
“If hubs are the resource, then people are the users?”
“More than that. Nowadays each person has multiple devices. Phones, tablets. Laptops. Each one vying for the same resources.”
“An IP address,” I whisper.
“Yes, that’s right. The IP addresses are locations.”
Excitement beats in my chest. “So an IP address is unique?”
“Penny, what does this have to do with Avery James?”
“Maybe everything.”
I hold up the paper to the light and squint at the bottom row. It’s the only part that isn’t contained by the equation. There are little, almost imperceptible dots between some of the numbers. Not made with ink. They’re imperfections in the paper, as if it was made for this purpose, to send this specific message. These wouldn’t have shown up on pictures, not even high-resolution ones.
And that means we have a location. We know where to go.
Chapter Nineteen
Water runs over my skin, hot and cleansing. This is the rush that I long for, the one that keeps me up late at night, the one I get every time I solve a problem. The more difficult the proof, the bigger the high. I’m actually jittery with relief, unable to keep my hands still.
Part of me knows there’s more work to do—that we still have to track down the IP address and then follow the location. Part of me knows all that might not even lead to Avery, but this was my part to do. This was my personal mountain to climb, and I made it to the top.
For that I deserve to be clean, at least.
I let the hot spray from multiple nozzles drench me again and again.
A boom is my only warning before the bathroom door slams open.
Damon marches into the large bathroom, his wrath licking at my skin like flames, making the water turn to steam. I shriek as he reaches for the glass door and slides it open.
“What are you doing?” I demand, trying to cover myself with my hands.
He’s been angry before, in that devilish way, the one with smooth words and biting wit. That’s not the man breathing hard in front of me. He looks more animal than person. “Why the fuck did you call Gabriel?”
“I called Nina,” I say before I can think through my story. Before I even realize I need a story. “She left her phone number and told me to call her if I found anything.”
A sound more like a snarl than a laugh bounces off the tiles. “Yes, I’m sure she did say that. What I want to know is what on earth possessed you to actually do it.”
Water streams into my eyes, and they feel like tears. I hate that this man can make me cry, even fake shower tears. “She cares about finding Avery.”
“She cares about running Gabriel’s little fucking kingdom while he’s busy handling his hard-on.”
I don’t know enough about the dynamics to argue the point, and I’m struck with a sudden panic that I’ve made a terrible mistake. This is my problem. It’s always my problem.
No matter how well I understand numbers, people remain a complete and utter mystery. They’re black boxes. Unknowns. I don’t understand what happens inside them. I don’t understand what’s happening inside Damon as he stares at me, frustration rolling off him in freezing waves.
My throat feels tight. “She knew about computers. About programming. And the number—it wasn’t a code. It was an IP address. I confirmed the pattern matches someplace in the United States, but not more than that. I thought she could find it.”
“She found it,” he says grimly.
“Did she find Avery?”
A hoarse laugh. “I very much doubt it. Unless Avery has been checked into a high-security mental hospital. Because that’s where the IP address came from.”
I blink through the hot sting. “Why?”
“You asked me why I don’t consider Gabriel Miller my friend. This is why. Because that mental hospital? That’s where my father lives.”
A flash of terror, the water rising, blackness closing in. “I thought he was dead.”
“Of course you did. You would put down an animal like that when you have the chance, right? That’s the logical thing to do. No cure for rabies. No cure for being a psychopath either.”
I blink through the hot sting. “I don’t understand. Is Gabriel working with him?”
“That’s one way of putting it, though he wouldn’t agree. No, Avery was touched to realize her father was still alive. Despite what he did to her. What he did to you. And she thought it was some kind of noble act to leave him alive.”
I shake my head, horrified by the idea. That sounds like something Avery would care about—nobility. Honor. She will always be the heiress to the Tanglewood fortune, no matter what happened to her father’s money. It’s in her upbringing. Her very blood.
For me it’s always been different—not a question of nobility but survival.
“Why didn’t you—” My voice breaks.
“Kill him anyway? What a great idea. One I’ve considered many times. Except that Gabriel made it clear that the man—my fucking father—was under his protection now.”
I suck in a sharp breath, stunned by the betrayal. Gabriel may have had noble intentions in letting Jonathan Scott live, but protect him from Damon? That went too far. Damon is the person most hurt by his father. The person with the scars to prove it.
“And you valued your friendship too much to make a move against him.”
I don’t need to see the bitter agreement in his eyes to know the truth. Damon may pretend he doesn’t give a damn. He’ll laugh at the sky as it sends lightning down around him. But he does care.
“A lot of good that did,” he says darkly. “If he hurt Avery in the end.”
“But why would he give us his IP address? Why would he send us that message?”
“Of course he wants us to know. He’s all alone in the middle of a fucking fortress with no one but the little orderlies and nurses and patients to bat around with his claws. I told Gabriel that place couldn’t hold him. No place can.”
“He’s showing us that he has access to the internet,” I realize out loud. “He’s taunting us.”
“More than that, sweet Penny. He’s summoning us.”
Urgency beats against my ribs, because I already sense his refusal in the air. “Then we have to go. If he’s behind Avery’s disappearance, we have to go and make him tell us where she is. Or what if she’s there with him? If he has the ability to send messages like that, he can do anything. Even kidnap her. We have to leave.”
“I don’t have to do a damn thing,” Damon says.
Shock holds me breathless. “What?”
“I learned to ignore my father a long time ago. It’s called survival, sweetheart, and I’m not about to stop now. Not even for a long-lost sister I barely know.”
“How can you talk like that about her?”
“She made her choice when she kept him alive. I warned her. I told her and Gabriel exactly what would happen, and look, here we are. Surprise.”
It’s both shocking and painful to see him be so casual about the very real danger she’s in. I think I’m finally seeing the fabled Damon Scott who took over the criminal underworld of Tanglewood. This is the man people fear. The one they plead with and hide from and threaten like an animal backed into a corner. The man who owns loan markers for some of the most powerful people in the city, w
ho owns strip clubs and dirty businesses. He didn’t get to this place on his half-smile and sharp suits alone. There’s something sinister in him, and I’m witnessing it now.
Anger warms me despite his chilly words. “Then I’ll go.”
His gaze lowers to my body, a long look that covers every shadow, every curve. My hands barely cover my breasts, between my legs. Most of me is exposed, and he makes sure I feel it. He makes sure I feel how powerless I am in this moment—that I can’t help Avery, that I can’t even help myself.
“No, Penny. You aren’t going anywhere.”
Chapter Twenty
The beat starts up at nine p.m., which seems early. I don’t know how invitations are handled for wild sex parties—an X-rated vellum strip with calligraphy? A secret Facebook group for the rich and depraved? However it happens, people spill out of cabs and black limos, dressed in sparkly clothes and shiny leather that will no doubt come off soon. Last night the street had been clear; tonight the Den is the host of the town.
There’s a sick feeling in my stomach, because this party is pointed.
It’s a message as real as the slip of paper with a number scribbled on it. One that says Damon Scott answers to no one, not even his father. Especially not his father.
It says he isn’t going to help Avery, as plain as day.
Not an especially hard cipher, this one. A sex-drenched fuck you.
Hiro leans against the banister in the darkened hallway, watching the crowd mill around. I join her, leaning my elbows on carved wood. Most people still have their clothes on. They’re dancing, drinking. Laughing. It’s hard to imagine feeling that kind of reckless joy. It’s too foreign to even want it, like watching a flock of birds fly overhead. They’re beautiful, but I know better than to fly.
“I’m afraid to ask,” I say softly. “Are you here to keep me in the room?”
“My instructions are to keep anyone else out.”
“So if I go downstairs…”
“I would follow you. At a discreet distance, of course.”