The Givenchy Code (17 page)

M
el. Come on, Mel…

Something sticky. My hands and face were in something sticky, and Todd filled my head. I’d seen him, shaking hands with Lynx. Sitting behind a computer monitor in a dark room, the light from the monitor elongating his face and giving him an evil cast and a greenish pallor.

No. No, this couldn’t be right.

Mel…

Sticky. Blood. Sticky blood…

“Mel!”

That time, I bolted upright, and a piece of pancake fell off my cheek. “What the…?”

“Welcome back,” Stryker said. He was sitting across the booth from me, nursing a cup of coffee.

“I…what? Where…?” But I didn’t finish the question, because I remembered. We’d left Todd’s and gone around the corner to an all-night diner. We’d had coffee, then spent the night moving from diner to diner, all with the aim of losing anyone who might be following us. When we reached the fourth or fifth diner (I’d lost count) we ordered pancakes, then analyzed every minute of the last day in meticulous detail. When we were sure we hadn’t missed anything, we’d dissolved into a silent funk. I don’t know what Stryker was thinking about, but as for me, I’d been wondering what in my life was real and what was fake. I’d just been shot at, jumped off a balcony in a glorified James Bond maneuver, and had learned my ex might have betrayed me. I mean, come on. This wasn’t my life. Had I suddenly turned into Sydney Bristow for real, only without the cool hair?

“Feel better after your nap?” Stryker said with a grin.

“Yes, thank you,” I mumbled. I was absolutely mortified. I usually wore Bobbi Brown or Lancôme on my dates. Not maple syrup. Of course, we weren’t actually dating(despite that glorious liaison in the shower), and I did have other priorities.

Besides, I already knew Stryker thought I was attractive. Surely pancake face wouldn’t change that….

I dipped my napkin in my water and tried to clean my face.

“Good,” he said. “You obviously needed the rest.”

I grimaced, but the truth was I did feel refreshed. Even more, I felt jubilant. I’d found the antidote with hours to spare. I was still running for my life, but at least I was no longer racing against an unknown toxin in my own blood.

At least, I didn’t think I was.

“That really was the antidote, right?”

“I think so,” Stryker said. “It wouldn’t make sense to send you on a wild-goose chase and then give you sugar water.”

“You’re right,” I said. “As much as anything in this nightmare makes sense.”

“Or unless you weren’t poisoned in the first place,” he added.

I considered the point. We’d already entertained the possibility that the whole thing had been a bluff. “I guess I’ll never know,” I said.

“There’s no point in dwelling on it,” Stryker said, signaling for the check. “We need to keep moving. We need to figure out what the next clue is.”

“I think I know,” I said. I dug into the pocket of the jacket and pulled out the bottle the antidote had been in. “Do you know what this is?” I asked as I passed it to him.

“A pink bottle.”

“You poor ignorant man,” I chided. “It’s so much more than that. This is the bottle for Very Irresistible Givenchy.”

“Which is?”

“Only the most awesome perfume,” I said. “But that’s not really the point. Why put an antidote in a perfume bottle?”

“Because the bottle is the clue,” he said.

I touched the tip of my nose. “Bingo.”

He turned the bottle over in his hand. “Other than the DRINK ME, I don’t see anything except the name of the perfume on this metal band.” He handed the bottle back to me. “What do you think?”

“I think Givenchy’s the clue.”

“The brand?”

“Designer,”
I said.
“Brand
sounds like K-Mart.”

“I stand corrected. So how is the
designer
the clue?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “But Givenchy is my absolute favorite designer. Todd knew that. The game does, too.”

“Your user name,” he said. “GivenchyGirl.”

With a start, I remembered something else. “Todd gave me a pair of Givenchy pumps,” I said. “Right before this whole thing started.”

Without bothering to wait for the check, Stryker stood up and tossed a fifty on the table to cover what was probably a twelve-dollar tab. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going back to your apartment.”

I
t took us thirty minutes to get down to my apartment. We took it slowly getting in, Stryker checking every nook and cranny in the building, then doing the same once we were safely inside.

When he was satisfied that we were alone, he shut the door and locked it. “Where are the shoes?”

I’d brought them back with me from our first trip to Todd’s and had left them on a counter in the kitchen. I grabbed them now and carried them to the sofa. Stryker settled in next to me, and I handed him one of the shoes. We each examined our shoe, then traded and inspected the other just as carefully.

“Nothing,” I said, disappointment washing over me. I’d been so sure.

“What about the box?” he asked.

“Oh! Good idea.” I got up and went into the bedroom, finding the shoe box in the closet I shared with Jenn. I opened it up and poked through the tissue paper inside as I walked the short distance back to Stryker.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Not yet.” We divided the tissue paper between us, carefully smoothing out each piece. As far as I could tell, the paper was simply that—paper. “I’ll start peeling off the wrapping paper,” I said.

Todd had given me a wrapped box, but the pieces had been wrapped separately, so I hadn’t needed to rip through the wrapping paper to open my present. Now I took the lid and carefully peeled the tape free, revealing a box top labeled with the Givenchy logo and a large rectangle of pink wrapping paper. Other than that, though, I saw nothing.

“Nothing here,” I said, glancing over at Stryker, who was doing the same thing with the bottom portion of the box. “You?”

“Nada.”

“Well, shit.”

“There’s one more possibility,” he said, looking pointedly at the shoes.

At first, I had no idea what he meant, and then the horrible, horrible truth hit me. “Oh, no,” I said. “No way.”

“Mel,” he said gently. “We have to.”

I nodded slowly. He was right, of course, but I just couldn’t bear it. I took a deep breath, then passed both shoes to him, then moved toward the window. “I don’t think I can watch.”

“I’ll do it,” he said. “But stay away from the window.”

I sighed, once again struck by the magnitude of what I’d been thrust into. Assassins lurking outside of windows, the destruction of my favorite pair of shoes. Nightmare-quality stuff. What, I had to wonder, would come next?

“I
’m sorry,” Stryker said. We’d left my apartment and taken the subway uptown. Now we were walking along Madison, moving toward 63rd Street.

“It’s okay,” I said morosely. “We had to know for sure.”

He’d taken the shoes apart bit by bit, and I swear he’d ripped
my
soul apart when he’d pulled out the sole. And when he’d tugged the heel free from the base, he might as well have kicked me in the gut.

My poor shoes. Destroyed for nothing. No clue. No nothing. Just a pile of destroyed leather. I almost cried just thinking about it.

After that, we’d decided that the clue had to be at the boutique.

“What time is it?” I asked as we hurried down the street.

“Right at ten,” he said.

That was good news, at least. Givenchy is open from ten to six. At least we wouldn’t have to break in.

“Any idea what we’re looking for?” he asked.

“Not a clue,” I admitted. “I’m kind of hoping we’ll know it when we see it.”

I love Madison Avenue. It’s like another Fifth Avenue, only the tourists haven’t discovered it en masse. As we rushed along, I peered into the windows of the various shops selling shoes, handbags and the most fabulous outfits. One store even had a display of V bags, including the much-coveted Sonata. I’ve always wanted a V bag, but they’re not exactly in my budget.

Givenchy is located on the corner of 63rd and Madison, right next to Jimmy Choo, which, in my mind, makes it about the most perfect corner in all of Manhattan. The store is classy and spare, with stylishly trimmed windows capped by beige awnings marked with the store’s name and logo. I paused deferentially and looked at the window display—shoes and purses suspended in midair surrounding a single mannequin. The mannequin was decked out in Givenchy evening wear, a simple silver chain with a medallion around her neck instead of the diamonds you’d expect with a dress as exquisite as that one. Everything in the window had an oversize pink tag on it, like a price tag, but with witty sayings instead, as if the window dresser had spent hours plowing through fortune cookies looking for the very best sayings.

“Look,” Stryker said, his voice urgent.

I followed the angle of his finger, my gaze landing on the tacky silver necklace. “What—”

And then I saw it. The purple price tag tied onto the necklace. Not a pithy statement. No, this one had three simple initials: PSW.

“We need that necklace,” Stryker said.

“No kidding,” I said. “Is it for sale?”

“We’ll find out.”

He held the door open for me. I took a deep breath and stepped inside, leaving the hustle and bustle of Madison Avenue for the calm aura of Givenchy. The store was empty except for two saleswomen folding scarves at the counter. Immediately, one of them, a lithe brunette in a perfectly fitted gown, drifted over. Her gaze took us in from head to toe. I’d done my makeup on the subway, but there was only so much damage control I’d been able to do, and I firmly expected the woman’s disapproval. Instead, she simply smiled and asked if she could help us. God, I love this store.

“There’s a necklace on the mannequin in the window,” Stryker said. “We’d like to see it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid those items aren’t for sale. But if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you what we do have available. You’re looking for necklaces in particular?”

“Could we just—” I began, but Stryker cut me off.

“Actually, we’re more interested in shoes,” he said. “For her.”

I gaped at him, but he just smiled.

“Of course. What size?” she asked, turning to me.

“Um, eight.”

“We’re looking in particular for a red pump. The edge is wavy, like this,” he said, indicating with his fingers.

“A scalloped edge, yes. I know the shoe.” She gestured to a chair. “Please take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

She headed into the back, and I took Stryker’s arm. “What are you doing?”

“Returning your shoes,” he said. “And getting her out of the way.” He cocked his head toward the window. “Now go get the necklace while I distract the other one.”

He was buying me shoes!
I couldn’t believe it. I’d have my beautiful shoes back. Life was good (except for the obvious bad parts), and I hurried to the window and waited for my chance. It wasn’t long in coming. Stryker asked the second saleswoman to show him a sports jacket, and while they were looking the other way, I stepped up onto the platform. The chain was fastened with a simple clasp, and it was no trick to get it off.

A passerby outside on the street gave me an odd look, but I just waved. Then I hopped out of the window and shoved the necklace in my pocket, along with the purple PSW sales tag. By the time the woman returned with my shoes, I was seated comfortably in one of the overstuffed chairs.

“You’ll love this shoe,” she said.

“I know.”

I slipped off my Prada sneakers and socks, then slid my foot into the right pump, almost sighing with pleasure as the soft leather hugged the curves of my foot. I put the other one on, then took a brief turn around the store.

“How are they?” the woman asked.

“Perfect,” I answered.

Stryker smiled indulgently at me. “We’ll take them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He nodded at my sneakers. “But just in case, you might want to put those back on.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. He meant in case we had to run for our lives. Regretfully, I took off the pumps.

He was right, of course. I couldn’t run as well in the Givenchy. Lynx might catch me. Worse, I might break a heel.

>http://www.playsurvivewin.com<<<

PLAY.SURVIVE.WIN

PLEASE LOGIN

PLAYER USER NAME:
Lynx

PLAYER PASSWORD: ********

…please wait

…please wait

…please wait

>Password approved<<<

>Read New Messages<<< >>>
Continue to Game
<<<

…please wait

WELCOME TO GAMING CENTER

>Retrieve Assignment<<<>>>
Report to Headquarters
<<<

WELCOME TO REPORTING CENTER

>Enter Journal Entry<<< >>>
Submit Viewable Report
<<<

PLAYER REPORT:

REPORT NO. A-0003

Filed By: Lynx

Subject: Temporary Setback

Report: Target located at Plaza and Campbell Apartment bars. Despite use of laser sight equipment, attempt failed due to interference by protector. Second attempt also failed. Due to laser sight equipment malfunction, 9mm standard sight Beretta utilized instead. Inferior lighting and poor conditions. Unable to obtain good shot.

The hunt proceeds.

>End Report<<<

Send Report to Opponent?>>Yes<< >>
No
<<

The Carlyle hotel. That was where her parents were, and that was where Lynx would go next.

It was a deliciously simple plan, and he felt no qualms carrying it out, particularly since the tracking software had been offline since last night.

How else would he find the girl if he didn’t draw her out? And how better to draw her out and throw her off balance than by providing her a personal tragedy?

Once he’d lost them at Grand Central, he’d been forced to comb through her profile for clues as to where she might go next, safe places she might visit, friends she might call. Her parents had seemed a long shot, living as they did in Texas. But God was smiling on him, because a few calls had revealed that her parents were traveling. Even more fortuitous, they were visiting their darling daughter.

He’d started with the five-star hotels, calling to see if they were checked in. He’d hit pay dirt with the second phone call.

Straightforward. Simple. Perfect.

He simply needed to get Melanie’s attention. Get her in his sights and then take her out.

Oh, yes. This was undoubtedly the perfect plan.