The Manolo Matrix (29 page)

“So what do we do?”

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“Follow me.”

He eased along the wall, getting a few stares from the patrons on that level. The design of the level kept them pretty well shielded from the side of the room Birdie was on, and he said a little prayer, thanking

God for small favors. They emerged from behind the centerpiece near an elevator, then froze when the doors slid open. A waiter got out, and Devlin watched as he marched to Birdie, then bent to tell her something. She immediately stiffened and stood, then headed for the iron railing at the edge of the level.

She peered down, obviously looking for someone on the lower level. Them, of course. She
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eased along the railing toward the spiral staircase, peering over, searching for the two people she wasn’t going to find.

Below her, lights flashed as the Frankenstein show began, and the deep throaty laugh of the mad doctor drifted up toward them. Somehow, Devlin thought, that was fitting.

He tightened his grip on the gun, stepped out from behind the pillar, and—

“Oh, there you are! I checked on the messages, and there wasn’t anything. Do you want—-”

“Get down!” Jenn screamed, dragging the waiter to the ground with her as Birdie reached for her gun and turned.

But Devlin was faster. His was already up and aimed. “Freeze!” Devlin said. “FBI. Put the gun down, Birdie. Game over.” Birdie just grinned, and Devlin got a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Do it,” he said.

“Don’t make it worse than it already is.”

And then, to his surprise, she slowly bent down, laid her gun on the ground, and kicked it toward him.

Every person on the level was staring at him, Devlin knew that, but he’d tuned them out. Right now, it was just him and the bitch as he walked toward her, the gun aimed at her chest. “Hands on your head,”

he said.

“Now, now, Agent Brady. You can’t really be planning on shooting me. After the fun we had.”

“Hands on your head,” he repeated.

“You don’t have a badge, Agent. Shoot me, and there’ll be a whole new investigation. You’ll be back hoofing on the Great White Way, because with two dirty shootings, the Feds won’t be returning your gun.”

“Now,” he said, taking another step forward.

“I see that you’re a very determined man.” And then, in a move of such acrobatic grace that he was impressed despite himself, she reached behind her, grabbed the railing, and vaulted over.

“No!” he yelled, racing in that direction, then looking over, expecting to find her battered on the salon-level floor. Instead, he saw her sprawled on the lifeless body on the platform, which had been ascending right as Birdie had jumped. Now she scrambled to her knees and started to leap the shorter distance from the platform to the ground as the mad doctor and the hunchback stood frozen in disbelief.

Devlin raised his gun, but he couldn’t get a clear shot. Not with all the kids and actors in the way.

Dammit!

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He pulled the gun back just as Birdie shot him a triumphant look. And then, without looking back again, she raced toward the exit.

Devlin reached the spiral staircase in two long strides, descended in no time, and was back in front of the bar with his gun and sweeping the place before five seconds had passed. But even that short amount of time was too long. She was gone.

Dammit all to hell, she was gone.

JENNIFER

Since Devlin was in a particularly crappy mood after losing Birdie, I tried to take charge. While he retrieved Birdie’s gun and laid a load of bullshit on the manager, I again asked about the lost and found.

About messages. About anything in the place that might have the initials PSW. Nothing.

Just in case I’d read the shot glass wrong, the hostess offered to call the Jekyll & Hyde Pub in
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Greenwich Village for me. I let her, but I wasn’t expecting anything. The glass had clearly said the Club.

And that’s where we were.

Dead end.

We headed in silence to the Plymouth, but that was another dead end. Great.

“What now?” I asked as we loitered in front of the box office. I had my back against the side of the building and was scanning the streets. I didn’t think we’d run into Birdie again, but I wasn’t inclined to take chances.

“Rest,” Devlin said. “And regroup.” His voice was still hard, his features tight. Missing Birdie at the Club had gotten to him, I knew. What I didn’t know was how to draw him out of the funk.

Since I didn’t have a better idea, I decided to use the direct approach.

“Snap out of it, already,” I said as we headed into Times Square. “This isn’t over, and we’re alive.

Under the circumstances, that seems like a pretty good outcome.”

He turned, a little too sharply, to face me. I could practically read the response on his face—Birdie was still out there; ergo the outcome was bad.

I stared him down.

“Fine,” he finally said. “You’re right. Just because she slipped past me once doesn’t mean she’ll do it again.”

“Exactly.”

“Except we still don’t know what the next clue is. So we still don’t have any way to shut down this game.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s definitely a downside.”

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He cursed softly, his shoulders dropping a bit. “Come on,” he said after a moment. We hurried up

Seventh and this time we chose a Doubletree. At this rate, I was going to be intimately familiar with each and every hotel chain in the city.

As soon as we were in the room—locked, double-bolted—I flopped onto the couch. The room was a suite, and that was nice. The place was bigger than my apartment, in fact, so in the midst of the horror, I

got to enjoy a bit of luxury. Sort of.

While I flopped, Devlin went to the window.

“Are we safe here?”

His shoulders lifted just slightly. “I think so. She’s probably going to lay low for a while, and I’m guessing we got rid of the tracker when we ditched my shoes.”

“Right,” I said, but not entirely confident. “Where else could it be?”

“Exactly,” he said, though he didn’t sound any more confident than I felt. Then again, who could blame us? The woman kept popping up. Like a bad penny, as my dad would say.

I frowned as he pulled out the cell phone. “Who are you calling?”

“Reinforcements,” he said, his features hard.

I blinked at him. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re going to pull somebody else into this?”

“Not just anyone,” he said. “The FBI.”

“Devlin!”

He held up a hand. “We’re out of options. We don’t know what the next clue is. But we do know who the assassin is. We call in the FBI. Not the agency, just one guy. A friend. I think he’ll help us.”

From his expression, I didn’t think he was entirely convinced, but I nodded anyway. “Go on.”

“We don’t ask his help with the game. But we get him searching for Birdie. She’s obviously been
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released from prison. She’s obviously in the city. And if she’s running around killing Reardon and firing at us, then she’s leaving a trail. She’s good, but there’s always a trail. And five years have made her a little sloppy, I think. We’ve got a good chance of taking her down if we work that angle.”

“But bringing someone else in…”

“I know,” he said, his jaw firm. “But I still think we should do it. We don’t know the next clue, Jenn.

And I don’t want to sit around with a target painted on my ass.” He drew in a breath. “I sat in my apartment acting like a victim long enough. It’s time to be proactive.”

I studied his face, but I could see that he meant it. More, that he needed it. And since I didn’t have a better idea, I agreed. “That settles it, then,” I said. “Proactive, baby,” I added, with a laugh as Devlin wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close for a quick kiss before he dialed the phone.

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I curled up beside him on the bed as he dialed then asked for Agent Mark Bullard. As soon as they started talking specifics—pulling security camera information from Reardon’s office, trying to locate witnesses near the carriage shooting, and a bunch of other cop-sounding things—I knew that Agent

Devlin Brady was really and truly back. He’d been there for me, of course, but now he was back forhim.

I still couldn’t fathom leaving a career in the theater, but I understood that Devlin had left it for something he loved better. And then he’d gotten burned by what he’d loved best. Now the wounds were healing.

Feeling a little sappy, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then slid off the bed. I didn’t need to listen to

Agent-speak. I’d much rather look and feel like a girl. So I headed off to the bathroom.

I stripped down, turned on the water, then stepped in under the blast.

Heaven.

I indulged for about three minutes, then stepped back out, dripping, and plodded to the door. I checked—discreetly—and made sure I hadn’t locked it. Not that I was going to overtly suggest a shower tryst. But if Devlin got the idea, well, I wouldn’t kick him out.

Once full access to the bathroom had been established, I got back in the shower and let the water sluice over my body. I thought about Devlin and got all tingly and enjoyed that for a little while. But tingly’s not as fun by yourself, so I tried to shift my thoughts to a less gooey area.

Considering the circumstances, that wasn’t hard.

Except, of course, that I really didn’t want to think about clues and assassins and targets and racing for my life.

Which meant that I had nothing to think about except my career.

Proactive.

The word kept going through my mind. Devlin had called Agent Bullard because he was being proactive.

And wasn’t that what he’d told me I needed to be? What Brian had told me, too?

The thing is, I knew they were right. I’d been in Manhattan for years now with no big break. No small breaks, for that matter. And I knew why. I probably had always known why, but getting up close and personal with an assassin had brought the truth right to the forefront: I wasn’t really trying. Believe me, after trying to survive, I know the difference.

Although I thought that my name on a billboard sounded like a fabulous thing, what if I had a fear of success? Of not living up to my own hype? Or the hype I’d built up in my head?

These last few days had been an object lesson in reality, though. And I knew it wasn’t the hype
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that mattered. It was the living that counted. And if I wanted to really live, I was going to have to start making the same kind of effort in my career that I’d made to save my ass.

I’d been going along in the theater, but I wasn’t busting ass. I wasn’t doing anything and everything to make my own luck. I was waiting for it to fall in my lap.

That’s the kind of thing that will get a girl killed. Or at least kill her career.

Right there in the shower I made a solemn oath. As soon as this ordeal was over, I was hiring Brian’s

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coach Nicolae. And signing up for acting classes. And finding an agent. And making it a point to hit at least ten auditions a week. I was giving myself an ultimatum. Put up, get serious, or get the hell out of

New York.

Since I had no intention of moving back to California, I figured I’d have a part by Christmas.

As I turned off the water and wrapped myself in a towel, I couldn’t help but think about the irony. For years, I’d been telling my family that I was killing myself to get on Broadway. I hadn’t been, though. Not even close. And who would have thought that it’d take a real life-and-death drama to make me realize it?

I rubbed at the fog on the mirror, then finger-combed my hair. I wore no makeup, but I was clean and smelled fresh, and considering how Devlin was used to seeing me, I figured I was batting a thousand.

Except that I had no Devlin.

Okay, whiney girl alert, but where the heck was he? I mean, I wasnaked in here.

“Dev? You still on the phone?”

“I’m off,” he said. “Just thinking.”

What was I supposed to say to that?

“I feel fabulous,” I said. “All nice and clean again.”

“Great.”

I waited. Nothing.

Shit.

Okay, fine. We’d had a connection earlier. Lots of little connections, actually. And I wasn’t on the verge of dying from a toxin, and he wasn’t about to be shot. We didn’t even have any place to be since we had no idea where to go next.

So why weren’t we in bed? Why wasn’t he doing wild and wonderful things to my body?

Why, why, why wasn’t he keeping that promise?

I toyed with the idea of just getting dressed, going out there, and pretending I didn’t care. But I did care.

And proactive was my new motto.

So…

I very bravely snugged the towel around me, took a deep breath, opened the door—and stepped right into Devlin’s arms.

“There you are,” he said, his voice deliciously husky. “I thought you were going to stay in there all night.”

“Oh. I…um…” So much for sexy repartee.

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He trailed a finger along my shoulder and I shivered, the simple towel suddenly seeming likeway too much clothing. “I made you a promise earlier,” he said, closing his fingers over where I’d knotted the towel. “I was thinking now was a good time to make good.”

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With that, he dropped my towel and pulled me close to him. And then—oh myGod —Devlin Brady proceeded to show me just how very well he kept his promises.

JENNIFER

Wow.

Oh. Wow.

And, just so you know:Wow.

I don’t think there was an inch of my body that Devlin didn’t explore, and with each exploration he somehow made my body sing.