care, either, so long as he got it done. I knew he would, too. The man had it together, that was for sure. He’d told me that his earlier phone call was to a computer geek friend to try and figure out who posted that Web message. Nice to know he was on top of that. And now he’d solved the Prestige Park mystery. And the best part? He was on my side.
Behind me, Stryker muttered into his phone, then snapped it shut. He leaned onto the table, brushing my shoulder as he picked up the pen I’d been using earlier. He scribbled a note, then inched it toward me. Prestige Car Park—downtown & Bronx.
“Looks like we’re going downtown,” he said.
I nodded, trying to remember if the online version of the game extended to the boroughs. I didn’t think it did. A plus for me, since, like so many Manhattanites, I was entirely clueless about life outside the island.
He snapped the screen shut on Jenn’s laptop, then slid it into the case, balling the cords up and shoving them in, too. I thought about protesting—it was Jenn’s computer, after all—but I didn’t. Jenn would understand, and we might need the thing. Finally, he grabbed the original message and my notes interpreting it. “Let’s go.”
I stood up, then took the papers from him. I dumped them and my pocketbook-sized purse into a tote bag that I regularly schlepped to class with me. “Are we coming back?”
“Not if I can help it.”
I nodded, shifting my weight on the balls of my feet, now snugly encased in my Prada sneakers as I stalled in the doorway. What can I say? It was hard to leave. I hated the idea of abandoning all my shoes. Not to mention my handbags, clothes, photo albums, books, and favorite CDs.
“I’ll buy you a change of underwear,” Stryker said, since my thoughts were apparently transparent. “But we need to get moving. We’ve already wasted enough time, and—”
“Fine. You’re right. Let’s go.” I told myself that this wasn’t good-bye forever—just until we’d won the game.
I tugged the door closed and locked it, my worldly possessions now measured by the width and breadth of the Kate Spade tote I’d snagged last fall in a seventy-five-percent-off sale. “I’ll be back soon,” I said to the door. I hoped I was telling the truth.
Chapter
23
T wenty minutes later, the taxi dropped us off in front of the entrance to Prestige Car Park. “What now?” I asked. “Can we just go in and look for spot 39A?”
“Not likely,” Stryker said, taking my elbow and pulling me aside. “The attendant’s going to be well tipped and very protective.”
“So what are we going to tell him?”
“Not a damn thing,” Stryker said, nailing me with a sideways glance. “We’re sneaking in.”
I was on the verge of asking how when a car pulled into the drive. Stryker held up a finger, signaling for me to be quiet. I wasn’t thrilled about being kept in the dark about his plan, but at the moment I had no choice.
The car—a Lincoln—stopped just inside the garage. Stryker and I watched, waiting for the attendant to show up. Apparently the driver was just as impatient, because he tapped the horn twice. I heard a door slam from somewhere toward my left, then a young kid in a blue blazer with Prestige embroidered on the breast pocket hurried over.
As the attendant bent down to speak to the driver, Stryker’s hand pressed against my back. “Come on,” he whispered. He took my hand, and we scurried inside, keeping toward the walls as we hoofed it toward a marked stairwell near the back. Stryker tried the door, then gave me a triumphant smile when he realized it was unlocked. He ushered me inside, following right on my heels.
“What are we doing in here?” I asked as the door closed behind us.
“The first floor is probably short-term parking. People shopping or going to lunch. Since whoever’s behind this bullshit must have taken some time to put the pieces in place, I figure the car we’re looking for must have been
Behind me, Stryker muttered into his phone, then snapped it shut. He leaned onto the table, brushing my shoulder as he picked up the pen I’d been using earlier. He scribbled a note, then inched it toward me. Prestige Car Park—downtown & Bronx.
“Looks like we’re going downtown,” he said.
I nodded, trying to remember if the online version of the game extended to the boroughs. I didn’t think it did. A plus for me, since, like so many Manhattanites, I was entirely clueless about life outside the island.
He snapped the screen shut on Jenn’s laptop, then slid it into the case, balling the cords up and shoving them in, too. I thought about protesting—it was Jenn’s computer, after all—but I didn’t. Jenn would understand, and we might need the thing. Finally, he grabbed the original message and my notes interpreting it. “Let’s go.”
I stood up, then took the papers from him. I dumped them and my pocketbook-sized purse into a tote bag that I regularly schlepped to class with me. “Are we coming back?”
“Not if I can help it.”
I nodded, shifting my weight on the balls of my feet, now snugly encased in my Prada sneakers as I stalled in the doorway. What can I say? It was hard to leave. I hated the idea of abandoning all my shoes. Not to mention my handbags, clothes, photo albums, books, and favorite CDs.
“I’ll buy you a change of underwear,” Stryker said, since my thoughts were apparently transparent. “But we need to get moving. We’ve already wasted enough time, and—”
“Fine. You’re right. Let’s go.” I told myself that this wasn’t good-bye forever—just until we’d won the game.
I tugged the door closed and locked it, my worldly possessions now measured by the width and breadth of the Kate Spade tote I’d snagged last fall in a seventy-five-percent-off sale. “I’ll be back soon,” I said to the door. I hoped I was telling the truth.
Chapter
23
T wenty minutes later, the taxi dropped us off in front of the entrance to Prestige Car Park. “What now?” I asked. “Can we just go in and look for spot 39A?”
“Not likely,” Stryker said, taking my elbow and pulling me aside. “The attendant’s going to be well tipped and very protective.”
“So what are we going to tell him?”
“Not a damn thing,” Stryker said, nailing me with a sideways glance. “We’re sneaking in.”
I was on the verge of asking how when a car pulled into the drive. Stryker held up a finger, signaling for me to be quiet. I wasn’t thrilled about being kept in the dark about his plan, but at the moment I had no choice.
The car—a Lincoln—stopped just inside the garage. Stryker and I watched, waiting for the attendant to show up. Apparently the driver was just as impatient, because he tapped the horn twice. I heard a door slam from somewhere toward my left, then a young kid in a blue blazer with Prestige embroidered on the breast pocket hurried over.
As the attendant bent down to speak to the driver, Stryker’s hand pressed against my back. “Come on,” he whispered. He took my hand, and we scurried inside, keeping toward the walls as we hoofed it toward a marked stairwell near the back. Stryker tried the door, then gave me a triumphant smile when he realized it was unlocked. He ushered me inside, following right on my heels.
“What are we doing in here?” I asked as the door closed behind us.
“The first floor is probably short-term parking. People shopping or going to lunch. Since whoever’s behind this bullshit must have taken some time to put the pieces in place, I figure the car we’re looking for must have been
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