The Givenchy Code (4 page)

T
wo mighty fine orgasms later, I was wide awake and thinking a lot more clearly. A few hours ago I might have wondered what could go wrong if I slept with Todd, but now my less-addled brain had sorted through all the possibilities and come up with quite a list.

For one thing, Todd might think that the providing of orgasms also provided him with some door back into my life for more than just this night. Second, I might slide into that girly-girl state where I think that amazingly good sex is a fine basis for a relationship. (On that score, I really should know better. I had mind-blowing sex with Todd for four months, spent another month realizing our relationship was going nowhere, and then wasted yet another month of my life working up the courage to break it off despite one killer orgasm after the other. I finally managed the breakup, and now I own a very nice vibrator. That, however, is a different story.)

Third—and from my current perspective, the most important—what might go wrong was severe lack of sleep. I’d forgotten about the mind-numbing, rafter-shaking snoring, though how, I don’t know. I certainly couldn’t forget about it now. “Ignore it and it will go away” was simply not an option.

I tossed a few more times, putting extra effort into each turn so the bed bounced and shook. No effect. I pulled my pillow down over my head, doing a good impression of a woman smothering herself. I neither drowned out the noise nor passed out from lack of oxygen. Too bad for me.

With a very loud groan that did not wake Sleeping Beauty, I propped myself up on my elbow and stared at him. The shades weren’t drawn, and I could see his face just fine in the haze of city lights. His mouth was open, his jaw slack, and I deserve some sort of prize for not jamming both my forefingers right up his nostrils.

Instead, I took my pillow, grabbed the quilt, and headed for the bathroom. It might not be comfortable, but at least it would be quiet.

I
don’t know what time I woke up. All I know is that I had a crick in just about every bone in my body. Sleeping in a bathtub will do that to a person, especially a five-feet-nine person who couldn’t do yoga if her life depended on it.

I unfolded my body, moving slowly so I wouldn’t lose my footing, crash backwards and bash my skull in on the porcelain side of the tub. The day was already not off to a good start; massive self-inflicted head injuries would only make it worse.

I remembered the strange encrypted note that had drawn me back to Todd’s in the first place. Now, with the sun streaming through the bathroom window, making the shiny white tub gleam and the smudge-free mirror sparkle (Todd has a cleaning lady come in three times a week), the note didn’t seem nearly as ominous. It probably
was
an invitation, most likely to one of those dinner-and-a-murder parties where the guests playact some role. Clever, really, if you think about it. I mean, if I were going to throw a party, I might just do the same thing.

The one nice thing about sleeping in the tub is that you don’t have to go very far to shower. I tossed the towels I’d used as bedding out onto the bathroom floor, then cranked on the water, letting the spray beat down on me until the last of the kinks had vanished from my back and neck.

Heaven.

It wasn’t until I was toweling off that I realized that Todd hadn’t barged in to use either the toilet or the shower. Considering the fact that the apartment was roughly the size of a hamster cage, I knew he didn’t have a little half-bath tucked away somewhere. Maybe he’d decided to shower at the office rather than wake me up?

And here I’d thought chivalry was dead.

I’d left my clothes strewn on top of Todd’s stereo, so now I climbed into a pair of his sweatpants, which were hanging behind the bathroom door. The long-sleeved T-shirt hanging next to it smelled vaguely of male sweat, but I slipped it on anyway. I confess I was having a bit of morning-after regret, and I wasn’t about to wander out there in my altogether.

Not that it would matter, I realized about two seconds later as I was strapping my watch to my wrist. It was already after ten in the morning—how had I managed to sleep all night in a bathtub?—and the living room would be perfectly empty. I knew this because I know Todd. He’s a second-year associate at some big-deal law firm, and he considers it a mortal sin to arrive after nine.

Which is why I was so surprised to see the telltale lump on the bed as soon as I stepped out of the bathroom. No wonder he hadn’t interrupted my beauty rest: It hadn’t been chivalry, it had been exhaustion.

“Todd,” I stage-whispered as I skirted around the coffee table we’d so carelessly shoved aside in our frenzy to get the bed open last night.

No movement.

“Oh, To-odd,” I sang from my side of the bed.

Still nothing.

“Todd!”
One loud, solid bark.

Nada.

Jesus, I’d really worn the man out. I gave myself a mental pat on the back, cheering my sexual prowess, then climbed onto the bed and leaned over him. He might need his sleep, but he’d thank me for waking him up. Todd wasn’t the type to skulk into the office after lunch. Not at all.

He was lying on his side, his back to me, the covers pulled up over his head. At first I didn’t notice anything remotely out of the ordinary. Then I moved closer to tap him on the shoulder, and—

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Blood. Blood everywhere. And little clumps of stuff that had to be brains and—

I clamped my hand over my mouth, trying not to retch. I lunged for the phone, then gasped in horror when I realized the line was dead. My purse was on the table, and I snatched it up, fumbling for my cell phone as I ran for the door. My phone never had service in the building, and I had to call the police. I had to get outside.

I had to get out of there.

Once in the hall, I skirted past the elevator—I wasn’t about to wait for it—then raced down the stairs, my mind going a million miles an hour.
Who? Who did this?
Did Todd have some weirdo Mafia client with a grudge? And—
oh, God, no
—was that someone still in the apartment?

My heart was pounding against my rib cage so hard that I was sure something was going to burst, and I could hear my pulse raging in my ears. I knew I should feel something for Todd, but the only emotion getting through was fear. Fight or flight, I guess.

The situation was surreal, the air seeming as thick as soup as I struggled to get to the sidewalk, where I could get a 911 call through. My mind was both blank and crystal clear. I noticed how the paint was peeling on the stairway railing, but my heart was totally empty. Some rational voice told me to dig out my keys with the little pepper spray keychain, and I did. The voice of reason in the midst of madness.

At the first floor, I yanked on the door to the lobby and experienced a minor heart attack when the door didn’t budge. I could
not
be trapped in a stairwell. I tugged again with all the force I could muster, and this time the door swung open and I barreled into the lobby.

Empty.

Shit!
I looked around wildly, wishing I could conjure a cop, a fireman, a delivery man,
anyone.
But nothing, and so I kept on running, right out into the bright light of the August morning, blinking furiously as I flipped my phone open and tried to dial with trembling fingers.

Come on, Mel. Come on…

“Hey, hey, are you all right?” A male voice, and a hand closing on my forearm, effectively preventing me from pressing the Send key. “Come on, now. It can’t be that bad.”

“No, you don’t understand. There’s been—” I swallowed the word, finally realizing who was talking to me. I scrambled backwards, fear gripping me as I tried to get away from
him.
Tall, dark Mystery Man.

The one who’d delivered a message that told me I had to play…or die.

T
oo much of a coincidence,
my mind was shouting as my head spun and my pulse pounded in my ears.

This man killed Todd. I knew it. I was certain. And I wanted nothing more than to get the hell away from him.

This wasn’t about Todd’s clients. It was about me. That creepy letter…Todd murdered…holy shit, what the hell was going on?

“Are you okay?” he asked, those dark eyes inspecting me.

I tried to run, but he blocked my path, his grip on my arm tightening. I felt a quick sting in my arm and realized I must have pulled a muscle, I was fighting him so hard. I gulped in air and tried to rein in my terror. I had the feeling that if I hyper-ventilated and passed out, I’d wake up dead.

“Miss Prescott? Please calm down. It’s me.” Concern flooded his face, even filling those dark eyes, and his grip didn’t seem nearly as tight now. “We met yesterday, remember? Are you okay? You look scared to death.”

I blinked, confused. “I…” More blinking. “What?”

“Yesterday,” he repeated. “I delivered a package to you. You look upset. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I relaxed a little. He seemed genuinely surprised. Genuinely concerned. Had I been wrong about him? “A cop,” I said. “I need a cop.”

“Okay,” he said, his ready agreement allaying my fears even more. “We’ll get whatever you need. You’ve just had a little shock. Everything’s going to be just fine now. You just need to calm down a little.”

“No, no. You don’t understand.” I heard the high pitch of hysteria lacing my voice.

“Of course I do,” he said. “You’ve had a fright.”

He was patronizing me, and I shook my head frantically, wishing I could make him understand. He could help me. He seemed to want to help me. But he
wasn’t
helping me.
“Now,”
I said, twisting to survey the street for one of New York’s finest. “I need a cop now.”

“No,” he said, “you don’t.” Something in his voice made me turn back to face him. I saw the cold glint in his eyes. A shiver raced up my spine, and I knew that I’d been right all along. This was no coincidence, and I was in Big Trouble. “You’ve just had a shock, that’s all,” he said. “Must be terrifying to find your boyfriend dead.”

I hadn’t said one word about Todd.
I opened my mouth to scream.

“Do it, and I’ll kill you right now.”

The bastard had played me for a fool with all that concerned talk. I’d been too frazzled to tell, but I was wising up, now. An ice-cold dose of reality will do that for a girl. I tightened my fingers around the pepper spray and waited for my chance. I also made a big show of closing my mouth tight.

“Good girl. The boy was a warning.” He held me close, like he might hold a lover, then he bent down to whisper in my ear. Around us, New Yorkers plowed on down the street, heads bent, lost in their own little worlds. They weren’t going to help me. I was all on my own and being held by a killer.

“You got the message, right?” he continued, his voice icy and yet eerily calm. “If I were you, I’d pay attention to it. I’d play nice. And I wouldn’t get the cops involved. That’s what I’d do if I were you.”

Message?
And then I realized—“Play or Die.” I drew in a shuddering breath. I’d said I wasn’t going to play. Somehow he’d heard. Somehow, he
knew.

And now Todd was dead.

Oh, Holy Mother of God, what had I done?

“Who are you?” I spat out the words.

“Someone who’s watching you. Don’t disappoint me. And don’t break the rules.”

“Rules?” My voice was rising, taking on an hysterical pitch.

“You know the rules, Melanie. For instance, you know what will happen if you bring the police into our little game.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Instead, I raised my hand, the pepper spray at the ready, and got him good in the face. I was poised to run, but I didn’t get far, because the damn spray didn’t even phase him. Hell, he didn’t even sneeze. He just laughed. Laughed and shook his head like I was a puppy doing some cute trick.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he said, still holding on to my forearm.

And that, frankly, pissed me off. I mean, I’d taken a Learning Annex class. I
should
be able to do better than that. And so, without really thinking about whether it was a smart thing to do, I brought my knee up with all the force I could muster and caught him square in the balls.

His knees gave way, and as he collapsed with a whimper to the sidewalk, he finally let go of my arm.

I didn’t waste any time. I ran.

Memorandum

FROM: Archibald Grimaldi

TO: Thomas Reardon, Esquire

Well, Thomas, here we are. Or here
you
are. If you’re reading this, I’ve kicked the bucket, bit the big one, gone to that great Pentium processor in the sky.

Such a tragedy, they’ll say. He was so young. So brilliant. And they’ll be right.

I’ve always known I’d die young. Just like I knew I’d clear a billion before my thirtieth birthday. I’m the man, Thomas. Remember that. I. Am. The. Man. And even death can’t take that away from me. You watch. You’ll see. I’m about to prove to the world that I can do something no other man can: I’m going to create reality out of fantasy. In short, I’m going to play God. I’m going to wave my wand and send my sheep to scurrying. So many little lambs running around my playing field…how many of them will avoid the slaughter?

I’m sure you’ve already figured out that this isn’t part of my will. I had your secretary slip this memo into your file during our last meeting. (Great gal. Too bad about that overbite.) Who knows how long it will sit there, unopened, until you are called to probate my will. (Although, I suppose if you’re reading this note, then you
do
know how long. I, of course, am oblivious.)

I’ve set some things in motion. Got the ball rolling. Plugged the quarter in the jukebox.

You will perhaps think me insane, but I assure you I am not. There’s a fine line between genius and insanity, they say. Trust me, my friend, I have not crossed that line. Though, perhaps, I have danced upon it, preventing myself from falling into the abyss of madness by sheer will alone.

Could an insane man arrange things so beautifully? Could someone without full use of his faculties set in motion the wonders I have unleashed? I think not.

Things are going to happen, my friend. Things I couldn’t do in life, I have impunity to do in death. As John Travolta said in
Broken Arrow:
“Ain’t it cool?”

All the pieces are in place, my friend. All the kinks have been worked out. I even did a little test run in November of 2004. Jamie Tate. A failure, I’m afraid, as she lacked the incentive to play my little game. I’ve remedied that, and now the game I’ve set in motion will live up to my expectations. Of that I’m certain.

You see, my friend, I’ve done it. Brought PSW into the real world. I’ve pulled it from cyberspace and attached real people to it. Real life. Real death.

Didn’t I tell you I was fucking brilliant?

Now here’s the rub, Thomas. I’ve given you a part in my little drama. A small part, but so very important.

I think you will cooperate even without incentive, but in case I’m wrong, I’ve arranged things to ensure that you don’t take steps to shut the game down, or to involve the authorities. Your daughters? Your wife? If you love them, you’ll cooperate. All I require is your silence. And, really, why would you protest? What point would it serve? I’m beyond the law now. And so is my game.

This is going to be a hell of a thing. Wish I were there.

Now, Thomas, read closely, because I’m setting out for your eyes alone just what it is that I have done, and what I will continue to do from six feet under….