by Julie Kenner
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.”
“You can,” Stryker said. He hooked a finger under my chin and tilted my head up. His expression was so warm and tender, and I wanted to lose myself in his eyes. “If anyone has the strength to fight this, you do. For that matter, so do I. We’re going to win. We’re going to show this asshole he picked the wrong two people to fuck with.”
I smiled a little at that, but I couldn’t speak. I just nodded and tried to look confident and on top of things. In other words, I tried to look like the woman Stryker saw instead of the woman I knew he was looking at.
“Maybe it is a train,” he said, continuing, “but why does it have to run us over? What’s stopping us from jumping on board and riding it all the way to the end? Catching this son of a bitch and ending this thing?”
This time, I didn’t even try to smile. I was too busy turning his words over in my head. Over and over. A train, I’d called it. It hadn’t clicked then, not until Stryker had repeated the words back to me. It was a train. A train station, to be more exact.
My pulse picked up tempo as excitement surged through my veins. I was right. I knew I was right.
I damn well better be right.
“Come on,” I said, taking Stryker’s hand and tugging him toward me. “We have to hurry.”
Chapter
35
T rains. That was the answer. It had to be. We’d been staring right at it, but we’d still managed to miss it.
With Stryker looking on curiously, I clambered off the bed and parked myself in front of the computer. We were still logged on, so it took me no time at all to find what I was looking for. All I had to do was type C.P.R.R. inscription into a Google search, and there it was—the confirmation that I was right.
“Central Pacific Rail Road,” Stryker said, reading over my shoulder. “So?”
“Railroad,” I spelled out. “Central. Grand Central.” I looked at him hopefully, but he wasn’t catching on. “Oh, come on, Stryker. The clue has to be referring to Grand Central Station. And fifteen’s a locker number.”
�
��I doubt it,” Stryker said, totally raining on my parade. “Surely they took the lockers out after nine-eleven.”
“But I’ve seen lockers there. I’m almost positive. And even if there aren’t lockers, maybe they have a bag check service, like some of the train stations in Europe.”
“Or it could be a train number or a platform number or a dozen other things.”
I had to admit he was right. For that matter, I had to admit my whole theory sounded more thin now that I’d actually put it into words. But at the moment it was the only theory I had, and I intended to stick to it like glue. At the very least, I was going to scour Grand Central.
We got dressed in a flash. I grabbed my tote, and Stryker grabbed the laptop—just in case—and we raced into the hall. As soon as we reached the elevator, the doors conveniently opened. I automatically examined each face, looking for Lynx.
The second the elevator doors slid open on the first floor, Stryker grabbed my elbow, tugging me to the side and letting the others emerge first. Then he stepped off, glancing around before getting off, his body shielding me from harm. For just a moment, I had an inkling of how celebrities and uber-politicians must feel. The kind with stalkers and bodyguards. There’d been a brief period in my life when I’d fantasized about being Britney Spears. I can’t sing, so that option really wasn’t open to me (some, I suppose would argue that Britney can’t sing either). At the moment, I was absurdly grateful for my lack of talent. If this was how celebrities lived, I wanted no part of it.
The elevators at the Plaza open into the reception area, the elevator banks standing perpendicular to the reception desk across the room. We stepped off, and I turned left.
He was there. Right there. Standing at the counter and talking to the clerk. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew that voice. The voice that had threatened me outside Todd’s building. The voice that—at this very moment—was asking the desk clerk what room I was registered in.
“Melanie Lynn Prescott,” he was saying. “She’s expecting me.” I froze.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve checked. She’s not registered.”
“What about Matthew Stryker?”
Stryker’s hand tightened around my upper arm, and he tugged me sideways, effectively pulling me out of Lynx’s view. We ducked around, coming out on the far side by the Palm Court and a jewelry store with diamonds in the window blinking like a beacon to the rich and famous.
Right about then, Lynx stepped into view, looking royally pissed off.
Stryker must have realized what I saw, because he leaned over, closing the gap and blocking my view. “We’re newlyweds,” he said. “We can’t keep our hands off each other. Kiss me.”
I didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t the best disguise, but at the moment, we had no place else to go. Maybe I trusted Stryker to protect me. Maybe I just figured that if I was going to die, I might as well die happy. I didn’t know and I didn’t analyze. All I did was lean forward and let him capture my mouth in his kiss.
I’d like to report that the warmth of his mouth filled me with such joy that I forgot all my problems. Forgot that I was marked for death. Forgot that I was living a nightmare.
Nope.
He might have given me the ultimate Calgon moment upstairs in the shower, seducing my problems out of my head for a few heavenly moments, but down here, with danger lurking, I was hardly even conscious of the fact that our lips were touching. I’m sure it was a lovely kiss, but I barely noticed. It took every ounce of strength in my body not to break free from Stryker’s strong hands and run like hell in the opposite direction, moving as far and as fast from Lynx as possible.
I didn’t, of course, but I had no idea how long the kiss went on. Interminably, it felt like. And while I’d barely been aware of the contact during our kiss, now that it was over, I was desperately aware of the absence of his touch. Stryker was safety, and though he hadn’t even moved a full two inches away, I suddenly felt exposed.
“Come on,” he said.
I nodded, allowing him to tug me down the wide hallway, the Palm Court—now dark, yet still elegant—on our right and the brilliant displays from the various Plaza merchants built into glass cases on our left. We rounded a corner, and Stryker stopped short. I realized why half a second later. Lynx was in the foyer, an unlit cigarette in his hand and a scowl on his face. He didn’t see us, but as he passed, I got a look at those eyes. My first impression had been right. These were dangerous eyes. Dangerous and excited. He was getting off on the hunt. He wasn’t just playing the game, he was reveling in it. He wanted this freak show. For him, it was power. And why not? He was the one doing the hunting. It wasn’t he whose forehead was tattoed with a big red target.
For my man Lynx, this was one big jerk-off-a-thon. But was that it? Was he playing just for the thrill? Or was there something else, too?
What did he get if he won?
For that matter, what did I get if I won?
Survival, of course. But I had a feeling that in the mind of whoever was pulling our strings, survival wasn’t a prize, it was simply a condition. Something was waiting for me at the end of the rainbow. In the cyberworld, it would be cash. Here, too? I didn’t know. But I damn sure intended to last long enough to find out.
Chapter
36
“D id he see us?” I asked as Stryker aimed us into the wonderfully atmospheric bar inside the Plaza, which just happened to be a convenient distance from our friendly neighborhood stalker.
“I don’t think so,” Stryker said, guiding us through the late-night crowd toward the long wooden bar that was the focal point of the large room.
“How did he find us?” I asked. “You didn’t register under your name, did you?”
“No, Mrs. Johnson, I didn’t.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “We may be playing this game in a vacuum, but he isn’t. Whoever is behind this has been watching us. Probably picking up our scent at each clue. The car. The cruise line.”
“They followed us here and then got word to Lynx,” I said, filling in the blanks.
“I think so.”
“Son of a bitch,” I said. “That is so unfair.”
“Stay here,” he said. “Try to look inconspicuous. And watch your back.”
“You’re leaving me?”
“Not for long.” He kissed my forehead. “He hasn’t seen us, which means the advantage is ours. And I know one sure way to end this.” He reached under his jacket, and I caught a quick glint of metal as he checked his gun.
I looked around, frantic, sure his movement had just set off alarm bells all over the hotel. “You’re not going to—”
“Damn straight I am,” he said.
I wanted to argue, but I kept my mouth shut. I had no qualms at all about blowing Lynx’s kneecaps off and demanding information. Hell, I had no qualms about blowing his entire head off. At that particular moment, I would have done it myself if I hadn’t been sure I’d miss and instead blow a hole in the Plaza’s nicely painted wall. What I did have qualms about was seeing Stryker dead. And Lynx had already proven that he was a dangerous character.
Stryker, though, was dangerous, too. And I had a feeling that I’d insult him down to the core if I begged him not to go or even told him I was worried.
I did neither. Instead, I just said, “Hurry.”
He nodded, his face tight as he passed me the laptop case. “Don’t go anywhere,” he added with a wry grin.
And then he was gone. I glanced around the room, trying to decide where to settle myself. I ended up on a stool near the end of the bar, my body angled just enough that I could see almost all of the seating area and the main entrance into the hotel. To my left, there was another entrance that opened onto59th Street, and I had a decent view of that area, too. My only blind spot was behind me, where tables filled the far corner of the bar. I spent a moment examining every face and didn’t settle into my perch until I was certain the people behind me were simply there for drinks, not my blood.
“You oka
y?”
I jumped about a foot at the decidedly male voice. “Shit,” I said, turning to face the bartender. “You scared me.”
“Sweetie,” he said, “you look like the Easter bunny could scare you.”
I grimaced, fearing that what he said was true. I didn’t want to get sucked into a conversation, but I didn’t want to leave, either. I’d told Stryker I’d wait for him, and that was a promise I intended to keep. I might be arrogant about a lot of things, but about going this alone I had no ego at all. I wanted help. All the help I could get.
“So you wanna tell me your sob story?”
“No,” I said.
“You sure? You look like you could use an ear.”
“What is this?” I asked. “A bad sitcom? Don’t you have drinks to make?”
He swept his hand in a wide arcing gesture, indicating the crowded bar. “They’ve already got drinks. And I can always spare a moment for a beautiful woman.”
“Shit,” I said. Somehow, it just seemed appropriate. The guy was either gay and chatty, or straight and hitting on me. It was a testament to my exhaustion that I had no clue which.
“Uma Thurman,” he said, and it was such a non sequitur that it sucked me right back into the conversation.
“What?”
“You look like Uma Thurman.”
I’ve been called a lot of names in my life, but “Uma Thurman” was never one of them. And, frankly, I have a feeling ol’ Uma would be a little less than thrilled by the comparison.
“It’s the hair,” the bartender said.
Obviously, he was straight, and this was his idea of a pickup line. I’m tall and thin. Uma’s taller and thinner. My hair is blond and straight. Uma’s hair is blond and straight. My eyes are blue. Uma’s eyes are blue. And there the similarities end. A gay man would know that. A straight man would be clueless.
