left in a long-term space.”
He was right, and I lifted myself up on my tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. I didn’t think about it; I just planted the kiss impulsively. And as I pulled away, I was relieved to see that he looked pleased. Surprised, but pleased.
“What was that for?”
Since I wasn’t entirely certain, I said the first thing that came into my head. “For helping me.”
That won me a quick smile before he took my hand and led me up the stairs. We emerged on the next level and started checking space numbers. The cars were stacked three deep in the spaces, with C being closest to the wall, B trapped in the middle, and A free to pull out into the driveway.
We’d split up when we emerged on this level, and I was having no luck. My side was all teens and twenties. I was circling back toward Stryker when I heard him call me, his voice low in case the attendant was in earshot.
“Here,” he said.
I hurried over and found him tugging a cream-colored cover off what turned out to be a navy blue Mercedes. The top-of-the-line kind with a keypad entry system and everything.
“What do you think?”
He walked the perimeter, his eyes on the vehicle. “I think the answer’s inside somewhere.” When he made it back to the driver’s side door, he scowled at the door, then started to reach for the handle.
“Wait! It’s probably got a car alarm. You need the key.”
“Thanks for that bit of insight,” he said, “but in case you forgot, we don’t have a key.”
I dug in my tote and came up with the Prestige Park message, then waved it at him. “I think we do,” I said.
I read the numbers off to him, and he dutifully punched them into the door’s keypad: 89225.
I smiled as he gave a tug, certain we were golden.
Since this day was not going well, of course I was wrong. As soon as Stryker gave the door a yank, the alarm system started blaring.
“Damn it!” Stryker yelled over the din. The thing screeched at an ear-piercing level, and I gritted my teeth against the noise, afraid someone was going to come see what we were up to.
“Shut it off,” I said. “Make it stop!”
He looked around, as baffled as I felt, then he reared sideways, lifted his leg and struck out, smashing his heel against the window.
Nothing happened, and the car continued to squawk.
“Find me something metal!” Stryker called. “A crowbar or something.”
I turned in a circle but didn’t see a thing. “Where’s your gun?”
“I’d rather not use it,” he said. “Ballistics.”
“Oh, for crying out loud…” At the moment, I was much more concerned with my antidote than with the crime tech analysis of some random bullet in a Mercedes. “Just blast the thing.”
He reached toward his jacket. “Stand back.” He aimed, and then, just as he was about to fire, the alarm shut off. Silence had never sounded so good. “Well, that’s one thing going our way,” he said, slipping the gun back into his jacket. “Any bright ideas how we can get in without setting off the alarm?”
“The keys?” I said brightly.
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right.” He slid Jenn’s laptop case off his shoulder and passed it to me. “Wait here.”
“Wait here?” I repeated. “Where are you going?”
“To get the keys,” he said. “Where else?”
I couldn’t really argue with that, so instead I just watched him leave, my fingers crossed tight beside me. I would have liked to believe he could simply ask the attendant for the keys and the request would be granted, but I knew better.
Stryker was going to steal them.
Feeling suddenly extraneous in my own dilemma, I started to lean against the car, then stopped myself before I triggered the alarm again. I could believe that we were supposed to steal the keys—considering the game as a whole, what was a little larceny, after all? But what I couldn’t believe was that those numbers—89225—had no meaning. I just hadn’t figured it out yet.
I
He was right, and I lifted myself up on my tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. I didn’t think about it; I just planted the kiss impulsively. And as I pulled away, I was relieved to see that he looked pleased. Surprised, but pleased.
“What was that for?”
Since I wasn’t entirely certain, I said the first thing that came into my head. “For helping me.”
That won me a quick smile before he took my hand and led me up the stairs. We emerged on the next level and started checking space numbers. The cars were stacked three deep in the spaces, with C being closest to the wall, B trapped in the middle, and A free to pull out into the driveway.
We’d split up when we emerged on this level, and I was having no luck. My side was all teens and twenties. I was circling back toward Stryker when I heard him call me, his voice low in case the attendant was in earshot.
“Here,” he said.
I hurried over and found him tugging a cream-colored cover off what turned out to be a navy blue Mercedes. The top-of-the-line kind with a keypad entry system and everything.
“What do you think?”
He walked the perimeter, his eyes on the vehicle. “I think the answer’s inside somewhere.” When he made it back to the driver’s side door, he scowled at the door, then started to reach for the handle.
“Wait! It’s probably got a car alarm. You need the key.”
“Thanks for that bit of insight,” he said, “but in case you forgot, we don’t have a key.”
I dug in my tote and came up with the Prestige Park message, then waved it at him. “I think we do,” I said.
I read the numbers off to him, and he dutifully punched them into the door’s keypad: 89225.
I smiled as he gave a tug, certain we were golden.
Since this day was not going well, of course I was wrong. As soon as Stryker gave the door a yank, the alarm system started blaring.
“Damn it!” Stryker yelled over the din. The thing screeched at an ear-piercing level, and I gritted my teeth against the noise, afraid someone was going to come see what we were up to.
“Shut it off,” I said. “Make it stop!”
He looked around, as baffled as I felt, then he reared sideways, lifted his leg and struck out, smashing his heel against the window.
Nothing happened, and the car continued to squawk.
“Find me something metal!” Stryker called. “A crowbar or something.”
I turned in a circle but didn’t see a thing. “Where’s your gun?”
“I’d rather not use it,” he said. “Ballistics.”
“Oh, for crying out loud…” At the moment, I was much more concerned with my antidote than with the crime tech analysis of some random bullet in a Mercedes. “Just blast the thing.”
He reached toward his jacket. “Stand back.” He aimed, and then, just as he was about to fire, the alarm shut off. Silence had never sounded so good. “Well, that’s one thing going our way,” he said, slipping the gun back into his jacket. “Any bright ideas how we can get in without setting off the alarm?”
“The keys?” I said brightly.
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right.” He slid Jenn’s laptop case off his shoulder and passed it to me. “Wait here.”
“Wait here?” I repeated. “Where are you going?”
“To get the keys,” he said. “Where else?”
I couldn’t really argue with that, so instead I just watched him leave, my fingers crossed tight beside me. I would have liked to believe he could simply ask the attendant for the keys and the request would be granted, but I knew better.
Stryker was going to steal them.
Feeling suddenly extraneous in my own dilemma, I started to lean against the car, then stopped myself before I triggered the alarm again. I could believe that we were supposed to steal the keys—considering the game as a whole, what was a little larceny, after all? But what I couldn’t believe was that those numbers—89225—had no meaning. I just hadn’t figured it out yet.
I
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