by Julie Kenner
“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.
Chapter
33
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 h
edonistic, 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?
Chapter
34
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—
Welcome GivenchyGirl.
The watch holds the answers.
You have everything you need.
Solve the puzzle.
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 a
nd 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:
The watch “holds” the answers.
Watch facts:
Found on Circle Line Harbor Lights Cruise
Hampden watch.
Real Railroad watch??
Grandpa
Back opens. Gears and stuff.
Doesn’t keep time.
No ticking?
:15
15
fifteen what?????
PSW inscription inside cover
Two old dates hand-etched on back. Very faded. Probably original.
Dates: Oct. 14, 1880 (!!!!), and January 15, 1906 (meaning???), each marked with C.P.R.R. - JWC
Other inscriptions: Oneida (jeweler?), serial numbers (looks preprinted),
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
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?”
