The Manolo Matrix

by Julie Kenner

  This time, Devlin had a grin on his face. “Clever. If there’s some sort of tracking gizmo in that book, the assassin’s going to come here. And we’ll be long gone.”

  “Exactly. And if it turns out we need the book, we can come back and get it,” I said. “An old trick from church camp. Well, not the tracking device part. But we hid our romance novels and chocolate under our bunks that way.”

  I stood up and brushed the dust off my clothes—no worries that the maids would find the bundle under there. “Now we go to another hotel. And when this mess is over, we can send it back to the Library Bar.” I frowned, then. “Do you think if we just leave a Do Not Disturb sign on the door that they really won’t disturb us?”

  “I think so,” he said. “At least for a couple of days.” I must not have looked convinced, because he continued. “I could call down and tell the front desk to not bother us because we’re having hot sweaty sex in here.”

  “Don’t even tease about something like that unless you plan to follow through.”

  “Not right now,” he said, his voice like honey. “You look to be in a hurry. And I like to take my time.”

  “Oh.” I grabbed up my tote bag, my face flaming. I couldn’t believe I’d laid such a come-on line at his feet. More, that he’d taken it. It was tempting. Too tempting, when you consider that Devlin Brady was hotter than sin. Especially now that he’d stopped being surly.

  But he was right. Now just wasn’t the time.

  Chapter

  29

  BIRDIE

  T he Marriott Marquis looms over Times Square, a huge hotel complete with a Broadway theater included within. I pace the perimeter, trying to decide the best option. They’ve chosen an excellent place to hole up my quarry, and I’m both frustrated and pleased.

  After all, I wouldn’t want the game to be too simple.

  Still, I anticipate that the tracking device will go black soon, and right now, it’s of little use to me, the red dot utterly still on the GPS grid. I stand there on the corner, my back to Times Square, the late night revelers surging around me. I’m oblivious to everything but the hunt, my concentration split between the hotel and my PDA.

  Move, I think. Damn it, get going.

  And then, miraculously, the blip shudders.

  They’re on the move. And like a spider in a web, I’m right here waiting for them.

  Chapter

  30

  JENNIFER

  W e hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, headed down the elevator to the first floor, then stepped out onto the bright lights of Broadway. (It might have been past two in the morning, but the lights were still bright.)

  “Faces,” Devlin said as we walked.

  I nodded, and scoped out the features of everyone who passed us on the street. And there were a lot of them. Mostly college-aged and mostly drunk. That was okay. The crowd made me feel safer.

  A throng had gathered on one corner to listen to the street-band sound of some guy making music from ordinary kitchen items. It was loud, it was funky, and it was also oddly compelling. Not enough to stop walking for, though. Once we stopped, we were a stationary target; I much preferred being a moving one. And so we pushed through the crowd, shoving and bumping our way through the people just like everyone else who was more interested in moving from point A to point B than they were in hearing the music man.

  I heard a couple of curses come from behind us, and Devlin and I both turned. The crowd had tightened up, and a few people were having trouble getting through. I could make out the top of a woman’s head and a blur of baseball cap on the man beside her. They looked pretty stuck, and I was glad we’d made it through when we did. Crowds can be brutal.

  The cross-street light was green, and we paused at the corner long enough for traffic to clear away.

  “So tell me,” Devlin said, pointing to the theater marquees that seemed to surround us, “why isn’t your name on one of those?”

  “Oh, God, Devlin. Don’t tease me.”

  “I’m not teasing,” he said, sounding truly serious. “You have a strong voice. You’re smart. You’re resourceful. And you seem to want it. So why don’t you have it?”

  “I guess I just haven’t gotten that break yet,” I said. I tried to keep it light, but honestly, I wasn’t too keen on having this conversation.

  The last taxi zipped by, and Devlin stepped out into the street. “What does your agent say?”

  “I, um, haven’t found an agent yet.”

  He looked at me sideways. “Really.” He made it a statement, not a question, and all of a sudden, I felt this overwhelming urge to smack him. To tell him that I hadn’t gotten a break as a cute kid, and that Broadway was a really hard place, and that he had no business judging me.

  The thing was, though, I don’t think he was judging me. I think I was judging me. Because every time Brian or my parents or my sister or anyone tried to ask me these questions, my immediate reaction was to go hide in a corner. Which was stupid, because I always told them the truth: I was working my ass off.

  But if that was the truth, then why did I always end those conversations feeling like a big, fat liar?

  Honestly, though, that was a level of self-analysis that I was so not going to jump to. Especially since I wasn’t going to have a self to analyze if we didn’t get a handle on these clues.

  I was spared telling him to drop it by the scream that ripped through the sky, followed by a word that turned my blood to ice. “Gun! Oh, shit, a gun!”

  “Go!” Devlin yelled, and he practically pushed me out into the street. We raced across Broadway, dodging cars until we were over the median and standing in the middle of Seventh. Behind us, I could still hear the people clamoring. I didn’t know if the gun had been for us, but I was guessing it had. And I kept expecting a bullet to whiz past my ear and lay Devlin out flat.

  A taxi slammed to a stop, and Devlin wrenched the door open, ushering me in next to a terrified couple.

  “Sorry!” I said. “Sorry!”

  Devlin got in after me, ignoring the rattle of curses from the driver. “We’ll pay their fare,” he said. “Where are they going?”

  “Waldorf,” the driver said.

  “Fine. Great. Go.”

  And we went, with Devlin giving the tourists a novel-length apology, only to realize they only spoke German. At least they’d go home with a Those Crazy Americans story.

  As soon as the Germans were safe at the Waldorf, Devlin told the driver to head back to Times Square, this time the Crowne Plaza on 49th.

  “We’re going back?” I said. “I thought we’d head downtown. Or Brooklyn. Queens has hotels, too.”

  He just shook his head. “Times Square. If that was the assassin—and I think we can assume it was, although how we got so lucky, I don’t know—but if it was the assassin, he’s going to expect us to do exactly what you suggested.”

  “So we’re pulling a fast one? How? He must really have a tracking device. I mean, how else could he have found us?”

  “I don’t think it works consistently. When I interviewed Mel and Matthew, that was one of the things their statements seemed to suggest. And when we located and analyzed the chip, even though it was damaged, the lab confirmed that it appeared to be designed to send a signal only intermittently, on a randomly generated schedule.”

  “Which means it might be black now.”

  “Right. And even if it’s not, he found us in front of the Marriott Marquis. So if the tracking device was in the book, that’s where he’s going to continue to look.”

  “Okay,” I said, not so much because I agreed, but because I was processing information. “Okay, so basically, you think we’ll be safe at the Crowne Plaza either because the tracker has gone black or because the little blip will show us at the Marriott?”

  “Right.”

  “I can live with that,” I said. And I hoped to hell I could.

  Like so many Manhattan hotels, the street level lobby of the Crowne Plaza was b
asically empty, and we had to go up to check in. Unfortunately, we were stymied in that effort by a man behind a podium who was letting only those with keys enter. Great for security, bad for us.

  Devlin explained that we didn’t yet have a room, but we would like one, and after a short interval, we were escorted up to the registration desk. I paid with the blood money, and five minutes later we were ensconced in a room. A minor victory—very minor—since my problem wasn’t living quarters. It was living.

  We needed to figure out where to go next. And soon.

  Frustrated, I scribbled a second copy of the clue onto Crowne Plaza stationery and handed it to Devlin. “Be brilliant,” I said.

  He took it, then headed for the bathroom as I settled back with my notes, this time focusing on the second chunk of the clue. I was just about to Google “Morgan” and “Catiline” when my cell phone rang. The shrill sound echoed through the silence of the room, making me jump.

  My fingers closed around the phone, and I yanked it up without checking the caller ID. “I’m here! Hello! Who is it?”

  Even as I said the words, dread washed over me. I’d assumed the caller was Brian or my parents or any one of a number of people who calls just to chat any number of times each day. But as I answered, I realized the caller could be the assassin. And with that single thought, my mouth went dry and my body stiffened. I fought the urge to hang up, but I managed to wait it out.

  Then I heard the familiar “Jenn?”

  I just about sagged in relief.

  Mel continued, speaking so fast I almost couldn’t understand her. “Oh, God, Jenn! I’m so sorry. I’m in Geneva, and we’re on a communications blackout. They gave us an hour to check messages and return calls and so I did and WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat was too dry. I swallowed, then tried again, realizing as I did that I’d moved to the side of the bed and practically collapsed there. “Mel! Thank God! I didn’t want to leave the details in a message. I was afraid—I’m not sure what I was afraid of. That you’d freak out, maybe.”

  “Dammit, Jenn, I’m freaking out now! You mentioned PSW! You sounded hysterical! I swear if you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on right now I’m going to reach right through this phone and strangle you!”

  “A message,” I squeaked. I cleared my throat, and managed to sound more normal (albeit terrified). “I got a message, Mel. I’m playing the fucking game.”

  “What?”

  “PSW,” I said. I started to mention Andy, but I didn’t want to her to worry her any more than necessary. Especially since she was stuck in Switzerland, totally incommunicado.

  “No.” The word came out with such conviction that I could practically see her shaking her head. “No. That’s not possible.”

  “Believe me, it’s not only possible, it’s true.”

  “I’ll make some excuse. I’ll get out of the training. Special dispensation or something and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Where are you?”

  “Right now, we’re at the—hey!” I fell backwards onto the bed as Devlin yanked the phone out of my hands. My heart pounded in my chest and I glared at him and scrambled to my knees as I reached for the phone. He moved deftly out of the way, then pressed his palm against my chest and shoved me back on the bed when I managed to scramble close again.

  “Jenn? Jenn?” Mel’s voice filtered from the phone. “What happened? Are you all right? Jenn!”

  “She’s fine,” Devlin said into the phone. I could hear her voice, but I couldn’t make out her words. “Mel, it’s Devlin,” he said. “Devlin Brady. I’m with her. She’s fine. For now. Don’t come up here. Don’t call back. You don’t need to get drawn back into this shit, and I don’t want to put you at risk.” Another pause, and then, “Yeah, well, I’m already at risk. I’m the target.”

  He opened his mouth, apparently wanting to say more, but I could hear the hum of Mel’s voice cutting him off. Finally, he just jumped into the fray. “Mel! Mel! Calm down, okay. She’ll be fine. We’ll be fine…. I know you don’t, but I do. And Jenn does, too.” He scowled at the phone. “I’m hanging up now.” And then, without giving her a chance to say anything more, he did just that.

  I stared at him, completely flabbergasted. “What the—”

  He shoved the phone into my hand. “You can’t pull her into this.”

  I lost it. “Why not? Damn it, Devlin, why the fuck not?” I shook my head, not comprehending. “She’s brilliant at this kind of thing. She could totally help us. I need—”

  He pulled me roughly into his arms, effectively shutting me up. I pressed my face against his chest, and his arms tightened around me. My body fired in response. Dear Lord, one minute, I was riding a wave of terror, and the next I was surfing on lust. Red hot and desperate.

  I’m not so stupid to believe it was real. I’m not. But the sensation. The need. That was real. And so was the fire building between us. I wanted to dive right in and burn myself in that fire. Flame purifies, right? And that’s what I wanted. A few minutes of absolute, blissful purity.

  I pulled back just enough so I could tilt my head up. And in a bold move that really isn’t my style, my lips found his and—oh, yes!—he responded wholeheartedly. His mouth opened, and his hand moved from my back to my ass. He pressed me tight against him, tight enough that I could tell this wasn’t an act—the man was definitely turned on.

  I wove my fingers through his hair, clinging to him, wanting to just lose myself in him. God, I wanted to forget everything and just feel. Feel his hands on me, his cock in me. Anything and everything. Mostly, though, I wanted to feel safe.

  He shifted, and somehow my back ended up against the wall. My fingers fumbled at his belt, and all I could think of was the yes, please, now chorus that was singing in my head.

  His hands closed on mine. “Wait.”

  “What?” I pulled away. “Why?”

  His face, so full of lust only moments before, now seemed lost and a little sad. Immediately, I felt like an idiot. I shouldn’t have come on to him. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have—

  “I want to,” he said, and I closed my eyes in relief. “So help me, I want you so much right now I think it might just kill me.”

  “Then why not?”

  “Because the timing stinks. You’re scared. You don’t know what to do next. You don’t want to think about what’s going to happen if we don’t solve this damn clue. And so you’re trying to forget all of that, even if just for a few minutes.”

  “No, I—” But I closed my mouth. It was true. Everything he said was true. I was desperately—desperately—attracted to this man. But right then—right at that particular moment—I think any man would do.

  I turned away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes, and my arms crossed automatically over my chest.

  He stroked my cheek. “It’s okay. It’s okay to be scared. To want to feel that rush so you know you’re alive, and somehow manage to forget the fear at the same time. But it’s hollow.” He sighed, moved a step away. “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. And I don’t want hollow with you, Jenn.”

  Something in his voice reached out to me, and I turned, looking up at him curiously. The corner of his mouth lifted. Barely a smile, but enough that I was willing to count it. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I want you. But not now. Not in a rush. Later, when we have the time to do it right. And when it’s about us, and not about a killer.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded. I probably ought to have been mortified, but I wasn’t. Instead, all that danced through my head was the realization that he really did want me. And not as a quick fuck. In a day full of horrors, I chalked that up as a minor miracle.

  I wandered away, a bit aimlessly, as I wasn’t sure what to do now. I’d lost my balance, and I didn’t know how to find it again. We needed to worry about the clues, but I didn’t know how. I was lost, and right then, all my focus was on this m
an.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, when I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “We don’t have time for this,” he said, his face closing up on me.

  “We do,” I insisted. “Don’t you know? If you just take your mind off a problem, the solution always comes. My subconscious is doing its thing. So’s yours. So while our brains are working their tails off, tell me. I want to know, Devlin. What happened. A man like you, alone, in that dark apartment. It’s like you were in prison or something. Only you’d stuck yourself there.”

  “I guess I had,” he said. He looked up, his eyes hitting me with fierce intensity. “I killed my partner.”

  I let out a little gasp, but he went on.

  “I lost my badge, my gun. I guess you could say I was having the pity party to end all pity parties.”

  I swear, my heart was breaking. “But where are your family? Your friends?”

  Considering the question was perfectly serious, I was surprised when he laughed.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  He just chuckled. “Anyone else would have zeroed in on the fact that I offed my partner. Not you. You’re wondering where my support network is.” He stroked me cheek. “You’ve got a special way of looking at things, Jenn.”

  I lifted my chin, a little flattered, a little embarrassed. “You didn’t kill him on purpose.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I know you.”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

  “Not completely, but enough. And I’m right, aren’t I? You didn’t kill him on purpose.”

  “I shot him on purpose,” Devlin said, his expression tight. “But you’re right. I wasn’t trying to kill him. I was trying to save my ass.”