by Julie Kenner
“True,” he said. “Shoot.”
“The guy I’m with, he’s into puzzles and stuff. And we’re doing one, and I’d like to impress him, you know? But I’m clueless.” I wasn’t entirely sure Brian would buy that, but I wasn’t about to tell him the truth. I know Brian, and Brian would call the cops, no matter how much I begged him not to.
“Puzzles,” he said. I could hear the curiosity in his voice. “What kind of puzzles?”
“Like crosswords and stuff. The kind of crap you get off on.” I was whispering now, just in case Devlin had moved back from the kitchen and was hanging around outside the bathroom. “I don’t want him to know I’m asking you. So can you hurry?”
“Not if you don’t tell me the puzzle.”
“Right.” I felt a quick twinge as my mind went blank. I should have brought my notes back to the bathroom with me. But then I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. I’d been looking at the damn thing now for hours. I’d memorized entire songs in less time than that. The words were there in my memory. I just had to pull them out.
A sharp knock at the door made me jump. “Jenn? You okay in there?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just freshening up, and then a friend called. We were supposed to get together tonight.”
“Oh.” A pause, then in a lower voice: “You’re not telling him about—about all of this, are you?”
“Hello? No! Duh! Of course not.”
In my ear, Brian was humming the theme from Jeopardy! On the other side of the door, dead silence. Then, “Right. Okay. Well, the pizza should be here in about forty minutes.”
“Great. Terrific. Be right there.”
“I’m not hearing a lot of passion from you,” Brian said.
“First date.”
“And you’re hoping that solving a puzzle makes him hot?”
“Just shut up and help me.” Since he stayed quiet, I assumed that meant he was okay with the shutting-up plan. “Okay, here’s the puzzle.” I closed my eyes and tried to picture the legal pad. “Had Barbara Cook acted professionally and searched for her white knight on the river, she—”
“Come on,” Brian said, cutting me off. “Tell me the truth. This is really something kinky.”
“Just help me.”
“Okay, okay.” I heard the eraser end of a pencil tapping against his teeth, a terrible habit I wish he’d break. Then I heard a beep.
“Your phone?”
“Hang on.” A pause. “I don’t recognize the number. God, I was hoping it was Larry. I could handle Fifi if I didn’t have to do it alone.”
“Brian…”
“Sorry. The puzzle. Right. Well, the first part is easy.”
“I’m listening.”
“Barbara Cook, right. She’s an actress, so there’s your ‘acted’ reference. And the professional bit is a hint that we’re talking about one of her roles. One of her most famous ones, actually.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because of the next part. The search for the white knight. That’s what she—”
“Did in The Music Man!” I finished. “The white knight song! You’re a genius.” I paused—a moment of silence as we both paid tribute to his brilliance. “Except….”
“Right. The rest of it. What did you say? Looked for her white knight on the river?”
“Yup. Mean anything to you?” I knew it didn’t mean anything to me.
“No, but—”
“Something’s familiar,” I said, once again butting in on his thoughts.
“You, too?”
“Yeah. I can’t get my head around it, but something.”
“Okay, let’s think about what we know. She’s a librarian. She’s looking for a knight on a river. What knight? For that matter, what river? The East River? The Hudson? The—”
“Wait!” I almost dropped the phone I was so excited. “She’s a librarian, and the Library Bar’s at The Hudson Hotel! That’s got to be it! It’s so obvious!” Convoluted and weird, but obvious. Especially when you know that the game is basically one big scavenger hunt across the city.
“So how do we know if we got it right?” Brian asked.
“I’m sure,” I said. “It has to be right.”
“And that’s it?”
“Hell, no,” I said.
“Good. Because this is way more interesting than watching reruns of Trading Spaces with Fifi.”
Actually, I’d happily settle into a boring night of television. But I didn’t bother telling Brian that. Instead, I just moved on to the second part of the clue. “So the next bit is ‘she would have found her—’ ”
Beep. Again with the phone.
“Hang on.” And then he was gone. Two seconds later, he was back. “Larry,” he said. “Thank God. He’s going to save me. I swear, I’m going to owe the boy kinky sexual favors, but I don’t mind because he’s saving me from home decorating hell.”
“Bri—”
“Love you, babe. Have a fabulous date. I hope it gets steamier than solving puzzles.”
“Brian! Wait!”
But he’d already made kiss kiss noises, and was gone.
Damn!
I dialed him back, but I just got his voice mail. I left a message to call me back, but I didn’t think he would. With a choice between a date or solving puzzles, I’d have chosen the date, too.
I felt a little snarly that he’d abandoned me, but I couldn’t hold onto the emotion. For one, he thought I was just playing first date games. For another, he did help me with the first half of the clue. That was good, right?
Devlin looked up as I came back into the living room. “I tried to track down the source for the message from Speedy Delivery. No luck. The guy’s boss wasn’t there. I left a message asking her to call me, but they said I probably wouldn’t hear back until tomorrow.”
“Well, I managed to make a much bigger splash than you,” I said. “I figured out the first half of the clue.”
“No shit?” He looked at me with respect in his eyes, and I felt like preening. “Spit it out.”
More than happy to oblige, I told him.
“Brilliant,” he said, and I preened some more. “But what about the rest of the riddle?”
Leave it to a Fibbie to rain on my parade. “Still working on that,” I said. “Any ideas?”
“It says she’d find her answer,” he pointed out. “I think that may be a reference to us.”
“If we go to the Library Bar, we can find our answer in…something,” I said, just to make sure I was clear on the point.
“Exactly.”
“Any idea what the something is?”
“Not a clue. You?”
I shook my head, desperately trying to force myself to think. More than anything before in my life, I knew that this Mattered. You know. With a capital M.
This was real, and this was bad, and I needed to figure this out—and fast—or I could end up dead. Just like poor Eddie who didn’t love his teddy.
The thing is, I was having a hard time making this all feel real. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been tossed into that many life and death situations. If someone were standing there pointing a gun to my head, well, I think I’d have no problems feeling the pressure. This, though…
Somehow, I’d ended up in the wrong role. You know: Tonight, the part of the Female in Peril will be played by Jennifer Crane. And I didn’t even get a kick-ass solo. Except I didn’t want to play the female in peril. I wanted to be the kick-ass heroine. The Lara Croft of musical theater. Appropriate, I thought, since she was a video game heroine, and this whole thing started with a computer game.
The thing is, Lara wouldn’t run. She’d walk straight into danger. And she’d win. After she’d kicked a little butt, that is.
Time to do some butt-kicking of my own. “Maybe we should go there. The Library Bar, I mean. We can try to figure it out on the way.” I glanced at his cable box to read the time. Not quite ten. The bar would be open for hours yet.
&
nbsp; “Works for me. Let’s go.”
I looked him up and down. I still didn’t know what had happened to this man, but I could tell that he’d been pretty much locked in a hole for days. But here he was, stepping out into the world for me.
I gotta say, that made me feel pretty damn good. And so I hooked my arm through his and off we went to see the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Or Marian the Librarian. Or something like that.
Chapter
23
BIRDIE
I am by far the luckiest girl on the planet. I know this, because why else would Providence be smiling on me with teeth so bright they’re blinding? The game, the encounter with Reardon.
It’s just all so perfect. How, I wonder, can it get any better?
That’s a question I ponder as I sit in my room at the Waldorf, painting my toenails with the polish I picked up at Sephora. I’ve already re-done my makeup. Twice, actually, and I’ve decided to go with peach tones for both my face and my nails. I considered red, but ruled it out. Not only is red really not in my palette, but it also tends to stand out.
As the base coat on my fingers dries, I focus on my toes, particularly my little toe. It’s tricky, and I’m concentrating intently when my computer beeps, signaling an incoming email.
Now, for most girls that may not be a big thing. But I’ve been in prison for five years and don’t have that many correspondents. At the moment, in fact, I’m receiving emails from only two sources: PSW and a young man I’m cyberfucking. At least I think my online lover is young and male; considering the propensity of the Internet for hiding reality, I really can’t be certain. Not that I care. I’m having a blast no matter who he is.
The little ping excites me, and I finish my toe quickly, then head across the room to the machine. If it’s my lover, I’m more than up for a romp. But I’m hoping it’s from PSW. The success of my earlier assignment has made me giddy, and I want a repeat performance.
Of course, I know that the odds are against me. After all, the rules of the game are clear, and I’m not to make a move on my target until after he solves the qualifying clue. Since he’s only been in possession of the message for a few hours, I know just how unlikely it is that my part in the game has commenced.
Still, I know Devlin Brady. And I know that he’s smart. He was the force of nature behind the team that landed me in prison, after all. And any man who can do that must have brains and balls.
So maybe a man like that really has aced the first portion of the game.
All those thoughts zip through my head as I heel-walk to the computer. And then, when I look at the screen and see that the message really is from PSW, well, I have to admit I fall a little bit in love with Mr. Devlin Brady. A man who can work his way through this game so quickly is one hell of a worthy opponent.
My lust fades, though, the second I click over to the message. Brady hasn’t made progress. Not yet. But someone new has been added to the mix.
And, frankly, that is even sweeter.
So sweet, in fact, that as I stand here, waiting for my toes to dry, I have to read it once again:
>http://www.playsurvivewin.com<<
PLAY.SURVIVE.WIN
>WELCOME TO REPORTING CENTER<<<
You have one new message.
New Message:
To: Birdie
From: Identity Blocked
Subject: Additional Player
Protector has obtained assistance from outside source. Source identified as Brian Reid, address included in profile.
Fate of Additional Player: Discretionary to Assassin
>Audio File Included: Telephone.wav<<<
>Additional Profile: BR_Profile.doc<<<
I hug myself, loving those three little words: Discretionary to Assassin. Why do I love them? Because they mean I can do whatever I want to do. Jennifer Crane dragged someone else to the party, and now that someone else is fair game. And the most lovely thing about it? It’s a totally guilt-free kill for me (well, frankly, they’re all guilt-free). Because I didn’t bring the boy in. Jennifer did. His death is on her head. I might be the one who pulls the trigger, but she’s the one who made the next move mine.
Chapter
24
DEVLIN
D uring the drive to the Hudson Hotel, Jennifer curled up in the far corner of the taxi, possibly just thinking, but more likely scared. Terrified, really.
Devlin knew he should reach out to her, tell her it was going to be okay. But that wasn’t a connection he wanted to make. He was willing to make it okay. To make sure she was safe and secure and getting on with her life.
But to discuss it? To get all warm and fuzzy about it and hold her in his arms and let her cry on his shoulder?
No.
He couldn’t go there.
Instead, he could only go as far as the hotel.
She fidgeted a bit, then dug in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. As Devlin listened, she made a call, then asked for status on Andrew Garrison. After a pause, she frowned, then hung up the phone and looked at him.
Instantly, he was on alert. “Trouble?”
“I don’t know. They said he’d been discharged. I thought he was supposed to stay overnight.”
“They can’t hold him if he wants to leave,” Devlin said. “And under the circumstances, he probably wanted to get out of there. I bet he’s on the way to Washington. You said he works out of Mel’s house sometimes, right?”
She nodded, her thumb stroking the phone. “I want to call him, you know? Call and make sure he’s okay. And say I’m sorry. But…”
She trailed off, and he nodded in understanding. “But you can’t risk contacting him again. I know.” He put a hand on her leg and met her eyes. “I’m sure he understands, too.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
A tiny smile flashed, then was gone. “For being home. For letting me in.”
“No problem,” he said, only slightly surprised to realize he meant it.
They rode in silence for about a block, then he said, “We should—”
“I know. The clue. Let’s see if we can’t figure it out.”
They batted a few ideas around, but nothing much stuck. Then Jenn looked up at him again, her eyes sparkling. “The clue’s about Broadway musicals, right? And we’ve both performed in musicals. And the clues are supposed to be kind of personal. Geared toward the target and all.”
“Right…”
“Well, since this first clue is supposed to be a little bit easier than the ones that come later, maybe we should be thinking about shows that you’ve actually been in. You’d know those the best, wouldn’t you? So that would make the clues the easiest.”
He nodded. “Not bad,” he said. “Okay, let me think.” He started to list all the productions he’d been in, counting them out on his fingers as she stared at him, obviously in awe. So in awe, in fact, that he had to work to hide his grin. “…West Side Story, Falsettos, Into the Woods, Man of La Mancha, Cabaret—”
“Hang on,” she said. “Man of La Mancha?”
“Summer stock,” he explained.
“There’s a song, remember? ‘Knight of the Woeful Countenance.’ ”
“Right,” he said. “And Man of La Mancha is based—”
“On Don Quixote,” she said, triumphantly. “Which is a really old book. And doesn’t the Library Bar have a bunch of old books?”
“They probably prefer to think of them as rare books. Old just sounds like something in your grandmother’s closet.”
“Your grandmother, maybe,” she said. “My grandma keeps her closet filled with boxes of Estée Lauder. A lifetime of free gifts with purchase.”
“At any rate, that’s got to be it.” He gave her a huge grin. “We’re good.”
“Good? Screw that. We’re awesome.”
They reveled in the high of being awesome for about three more minutes, and then the cab dropped them off in front of the nondescript entrance. Basically a door
-sized hole cut into a white wall. Even more nondescript because of the scaffolding—the stuff seemed ever-present in New York—set up to allow workers access to the upper floors of the building.
They paused in front of the entrance for a second, and Devlin got a good look at the fear in Jennifer’s eyes. And the determination.
This whole situation was completely fucked up, but she was hanging in there. He had to hand it to her. His life had been screwed up even before today, and he’d barely been hanging on by his fingernails.
They rounded a tight corner then got on a claustrophobic escalator. Devlin hadn’t been to the hotel before, though he’d been on several dates that had almost ended up at the Library Bar or the Hudson Bar. The job had interfered though, his pager going off at an inopportune time and hauling him away. When Uncle Sam signed your paycheck, you learned to deal with interrupted dates and a fucked-up schedule. His dates, unfortunately, never learned the lesson as well. They always got pissed off when he had to cut the evening short.
For just a second, his mind drifted back to the woman from the pub. Maybe that was the best way to connect with a woman. In a bar. Juiced up. With no names, no strings, and no memory.
“Devlin?”
He looked up, surprised, and realized that he’d been rubbing the aching spot at the back of his neck.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He stood up straight and tried to shake it off. “Just a memory.”
“Bad?”
“No. Yes.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Just something I’m not very proud of.”
She answered with a curious look, but he was spared a response because the escalator had reached the top, and they emerged in the center of a lobby that—even in his current jaded mind-set—he had to admit was impressive. A reception counter spread out in front of them, and the facing wall was glass, but mostly covered with climbing vines of ivy that seemed to engulf the entire room. A déjà vu moment from his first trip to the tropical rainforest room at the zoo. Except the rainforest wasn’t so loud. Here, the din from a nearby bar filled the room as much as the ivy did. The plant, Devlin assumed, was a necessary acoustical accoutrement. Without it, the bass thrum from distant speakers would be almost nuclear.
