Free The Givenchy Code by Julie Kenner Page B

cold.”
    “I think I’ve just heated things up.”
    “That you have. Are you going to call the police?”
    Her forehead creased, and from her expression, you’d think he’d asked her if she’d like a nice glass of gasoline on ice. “I think you missed a few rules in your review,” she said.
    He shook his head, not following. “So tell me.”
    “It’s what the messenger meant,” she said. “Now that I know what the game is, his warning makes perfect sense.” She took a deep breath, and he saw that her hands were shaking. She clasped them together, her fingers so tightly twined her knuckles turned white. “There are authorities in the game—cops, FBI, whatever. And you can ask them for help if you want, and if you do, you might even jump a level or two. But there’s a price. Any target who calls in an authority for help loses their protector. Get it?”
    He got it, all right. She called in the cops, and the assassin would pick him off. Or try to, anyway.
    “Don’t even think it,” she said.
    He met her eyes, careful to keep his expression bland. “Think what?”
    “I’m not calling the cops. For one thing, he told me not to, and I’m beginning to think that’s an order I should follow. Mostly, though, I’m not about to hang you out there like that.”
    “I know how to watch my back.” Not entirely true. He was good, but even he couldn’t stop a sniper’s bullet if he didn’t know when or where it was coming from.
    “Maybe,” she said, “but I couldn’t stand the guilt. Todd’s already dead. It’s not my fault, I know that. But I don’t want your blood on my hands, too.”
    She rushed on before he could get a word in. “If he kills you too, I’m on my own.” Her eyes flashed with dark humor. “And if I’m stuck playing this game, I’d just as soon have company, you know?”
    “I know.” He took her hand, gently squeezing her fingers. “I’m sticking to you like glue, Melanie.”
    She managed a smile. “Call me Mel.”
    He nodded, then swung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, half expecting her to tug away, insisting on her own personal space. She didn’t. Instead, she leaned against him, the soft sound of her breathing marking time in the otherwise silent apartment. He wanted to whisper comforting words, to tell her it would all be okay and that they’d get through this nightmare. But he couldn’t. Melanie already knew the score, and he wasn’t about to lie to her. Comfort, yes. But lie? Never.
    They sat that way for a while before she spoke again, so softly that he had to strain to hear her. “I don’t think Todd even played PSW. Why did they have to go and kill him?”
    “I don’t know.”
    A tear trickled down her cheek, and Stryker steeled himself against the urge to wipe it away. “I said I wasn’t going to play. Todd even crumpled the note and we threw it away, just like Jamie Tate did. So why is she dead and I’m still alive?”
    “Maybe he didn’t have any fun with Jamie.”
    She pulled out of his embrace then and turned to face him, her brow furrowed in concentration. “What do you mean?”
    “The chase,” he said. “That’s got to be why he signed on. That and the money.” How the killer knew Melanie wasn’t going to play remained a question Stryker coudn’t yet answer.
    “So he killed her and then realized that it was all over. With me, he thought he’d try a little persuasion?”
    “It’s only a guess.”
    “We need that message.” She closed her eyes, then sighed deeply before adding, “There was more to it. Nonsense stuff. The next clue, I guess.”
    “So we go get it,” he said.
    “Todd’s place.” Her voice was flat, leaving no doubt that she didn’t want to go back to that apartment.
    He took her hand, surprised when she didn’t jerk it away. “I know you don’t want to, but we don’t have a choice.”
    “I know. Like the note said—‘Play or Die.’” She met his eyes, hers cold and full of determination.