At Your Service (15 page)

I swallow. This. Totally. Sucks. Now that the shock is starting to wear off, the reality of what just happened sets in. I start to shake a bit and then a bit more. Alex maneuvers onto the bench next to me and his arm comes around me. I know this is the same thing he did with Sophie in front of Yankee Stadium, so this is just how he comforts, but omigosh a cute boy has his arm around me and that's all kinds of weird.

“How about that number?” Officer O'Brien asks.

“Um, could you give us just a few minutes with Chloe, Officer?” Pay's voice sounds confident now, even though I know her well enough to know she's faking it.

He looks confused. “Sure. I guess. But the ambulance is on its way. I'll just . . . I'll just head up to the street to direct them. Be right back.”

“Okay, Chloe. What are our options here?” Pay asks, the second the cop is out of earshot.

“We need to make a run for it, but obviously that's pretty impossible for me.”

“It's not if I carry you.” Alex's voice sounds confident too, but I definitely don't know him well enough to know if he's faking it or not. It didn't seem like any effort for him to pick me up and get me to the bench, but we're talking about a way longer distance now.

Sophie decides to join in finally. “He can, too. He plays an awful lot of polo and you should see him swing a mallet. He's really strong.”

I hesitate. I'm fairly light. It could work. “It might be easier if we try piggyback. If you can use your hands to keep my knees close to your side, so my ankle doesn't move too much, I think you could go a lot faster than carrying me the other way.”

Much as I didn't mind being swooped up by the handsome prince for those thirty seconds.

“We'd have to go now. Like, right now,” Paisley says.

“You kids are major baddies,” says the guitar player, who is still standing next to us. “I approve!”

Gee, thanks. Now that we have
his
approval, we're all set.
Pay grabs a five from her wallet and tosses it into his open guitar case on the floor.

“That's for sending Officer O'Brien in the opposite direction when he gets back.”

“Rock on,” he answers.

Alex crouches in front of me. He looks a bit uncertain, but he says, “Ready? Tell me if it hurts too much. If it does, we're abandoning this idea right away, getting you help, and calling our parents. It's not worth it.”

All I can manage is a nod. I want to scream with the pain of it, but I align myself with his back and put my hands on his shoulders.

We have to head for the far exit so we don't surface in the same spot as Officer O'Brien. As we speed-walk up the steps, the guy with the guitar starts playing, and I recognize the lyrics from an old Sheryl Crow CD in Mom's acoustic collection.

“So run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run . . .”

I turn my face into Alex's shoulder and giggle through the pain.

Then I pick up my head to ask, “Hey, did you know that musicians who play in New York subways have to go through a really intense audition process to be allowed a spot on a platform? Some of them have even played at Carnegie Hall.”
Alex is starting to breathe a little heavy from carrying me up so many stairs, but he manages a chuckle.

“It's nice to know you feel well enough to work the trivia, Chlo.”

Chlo. Usually only Dad and Pay call me that, but I never, ever get goose bumps on my arm when
they
say it.

I snuggle back into his shoulder. There's a lot about today that's been monumentally bad, but one or two moments have been just perfect.

A
s soon as we're at street level, I direct Alex toward Thirty-Third Street and into Greeley Square. It's just a small little triangle of a park where Broadway meets Sixth Avenue, but we can hide out in here and Alex can rest. He deposits me carefully at an umbrellaed café table. We're getting our first stretch of true spring weather, and the weekend crowds hide us perfectly.

Very close by, I hear an ambulance siren cut off as it reaches its destination, and I swallow. I was just a baby when 9/11 happened, but even I know that firemen, policemen, and EMTs are rock stars in New York City, and I feel totally terrible that we just ran out on so many people taking the time to try to help me. It could possibly be illegal,
even though it wasn't
my
idea to call the ambulance.

I swallow and try to push it to the back corner of my mind, right alongside the worry over Ingrid, as we wait for Sophie and Pay, who kept going when we turned into the park. They're on the hunt for a Duane Reade so they can grab some basic medical supplies for me. I'm hoping they consider horse tranquilizer “basic” because I could sure go for anything that will make this throbbing pain ease up.

They should be back any second. It's pretty hard to walk a whole city block in Manhattan without encountering a Duane Reade. I swear, there are probably more of them than taxicabs in this town. While we wait, Alex finds me a small paper cup of water from the sandwich kiosk in the square.

“Sorry, I couldn't get more than this. They kept trying to sell me a bottled water, even though I told them I had no money.”

I snap my head up at this. The guy's dad is worth billions-with-a-capital-B, and he doesn't have any money? He could buy Herald Square, if he wanted. Now I'm definitely distracted from my pain.

“You have
no
money? As in zero?”

He stands and makes a show of turning his pockets inside out for me. A small piece of dryer lint flutters to the ground.

“Never really been an issue before now,” he says. He looks almost embarrassed.

Oh. Oh, I get it. Why would a prince need to carry money? What could he want in his own country that someone wouldn't just hand him? Sure, maybe they'd bill his dad later or something, but probably not even. And when he travels, he has his bodyguards and Elise and, well, people like me. I certainly wouldn't have allowed him to pay for anything all day, if we'd still been out doing the tourist thing.

But then, that means . . .

“I don't suppose Sophie has any money on her either, then, huh?”

Alex sits back down. “Wouldn't reckon.”

And Ingrid has
my
wallet. So unless Pay came into a surprise inheritance between now and the last time we hung out, when her personal fortune included about sixty bucks in birthday money, we could be in a little bit of trouble here. Correction, a little bit
more
trouble. Because, sure, why not? This day hasn't been quite sucky enough yet with a lost guest, another with a total attitude, and . . . what am I forgetting here? Oh, right, an ankle the size of Grand Central Station!

Paisley and Sophie appear on the park walkway and wave in our direction. Alex waves back. I would too, if I felt like I
had any reason to be perky. Pain coupled with broke status makes me cranky, turns out.

“Hey, guys. How you doing, Chlo? Hopefully this stuff we got will help.” Pay tosses a bag on the table and reaches down to squeeze my hand. Sophie is still not quite making eye contact. Fine by me. Let her keep feeling guilty for her rotten words.

“We have an Ace bandage to wrap your ankle, extra-strength pain reliever, and an energy bar, so you don't have to take the medicine on a mostly empty stomach,” Pay announces, unpacking the bag onto the table.

No horse tranquilizer, but totally practical supplies. Pay is super good in a crisis.

Except, as great as this stuff she bought is, it cost money we don't have. Couple that with the hot dogs at the stadium and the five she just tossed Guitar Guy, and I'm guessing we are just about at the end of Paisley's birthday money fund.

“Um, so, Pay, just save the receipt, so I can reimburse you when we get back to the hotel.” I try to make my voice all casual sounding. “Incidentally, how much money do you have left, exactly?”

“Well, Mom gave me some cash for today, so I wouldn't be expecting the hotel to cover my stuff. I have . . .” She flips
through bills in her wallet. “Twenty-seven dollars. Plus a bunch of change.”

Twenty-seven dollars. That is not so much. Not in New York City money anyway. Things here always cost more than they do everywhere else. But, if we're careful, maybe we can make it stretch. If we can find Ingrid at the Empire State Building, we'll definitely be able to make it work, but if our wild-goose chase goes on much longer, I don't know. Hopefully, Pay's subway card has enough on it so it can keep covering our fares. I can't imagine Alex will be able to carry me too far.

Honestly, is the universe trying to send us a sign? I peer up at the sky, like I expect to see the bat signal or something. Or maybe one of those skywriting airplanes scrawling,
Chloe, just call home
.

But all I see are a few puffy clouds and the tip-tops of buildings, including the spire of the Empire State Building, where we're headed next.

Alex fills Paisley and Sophie in on our dwindling funds situation while he wraps my ankle. Not gonna lie. I can barely feel anything beyond the throbbing in my foot, but when Alex props my leg on his knee and cradles my ankle in his hand, it feels a lot more tingly than sharp, splitting pain-y.

“Hey, so where'd you learn how to do this?” I'm thinking a prince probably doesn't have to spend much time practicing first aid.

“I'm quite hands-on with our polo ponies. Once you've wrapped a Thoroughbred's leg, a girl's ankle is quite simple. And as a bonus, you aren't likely to crush me under you if I bungle things.”

Probably not.

Anyway, it helps. I scarf down the PowerBar and swallow the maximum dose of pills it says on the bottle and, with my ankle wrapped tight, I feel pretty okay(ish). I still don't want to put too much pressure on it, but it's bearable to hobble along.

“I'll hang back with Chloe, if you girls want to run ahead to the building,” Alex offers. I'm not sure if he's a prince or my knight in shining armor, but either way, I'll take it. He smiles at my grateful grin. “What, did you think we were just going to leave you behind?”

“It might make more sense.”

“Don't be daft. You're too much a part of the group. Come on, Gimpy.”

Hmm . . . I definitely prefer Chlo.

P
aisley and Sophie backtrack to intercept us as Alex and I round the corner of Thirty-Third onto Fifth Avenue.

“Bad news. The guy at the information desk inside says the penny machines were taken out of the lobby, but he isn't sure if they're gone or if they've just been moved. They could be out of service or they could be up on the observation level. And no one else has asked about them today. I checked.”

“So we need to go up, then?” Alex asks.

“Well, that's just it. It costs twenty-seven dollars to go up there.” Paisley looks like the Yankees just lost the World Series.

“That's the kid's price?” I ask. See? New York equals megabucks.

“No, the kid's price is twenty-one, but it's only for twelve and under.”

Sophie hesitates, then raises her hand. “I'm twelve.”

We all turn to look at her. Of the four of us, I'd choose any one of us over her to send up there alone. Not that she isn't capable . . . probably . . . but, unlike Paisley, she's definitely not so good in a crisis. And if she gets up there and doesn't find Ingrid, who's to say she doesn't lose it eighty-six stories up in the sky, with none of us there to comfort her?

Then again, having six dollars to our name is somehow more reassuring than having zero, and I feel like any of the rest of us lying about our age would just be bad karma. We don't need that right now.

“It's a plan,” I say. Alex and Paisley nod too.

Please, please, please, PLEASE let Ingrid be there. I've been able to pretty much shut out worry about her and stay focused on how we're sure to find her, but it's been over two hours now and that's a lot of time for a little girl to be missing in a city this size. We have to find her here. We just
have
to.

•   •   •

When Sophie steps off the elevator exactly twenty-three minutes later, she looks dazed. Actually, she looks like I must have when Alex took my hand on the subway. Too bad he
hasn't tried any more of that, but I'm guessing the fact that Pay is with us has kept him from making any moves.

Which isn't to say he hasn't been totally adorable, because he has. He tried to kill time by showing us how he can juggle, using our shoes. Or maybe I'm just finding it hard to see anything he does or says as the least bit less than perfect because I'm seeing him in such a new light.

Amazing. I'm not even worried about the professional ramifications of falling for a hotel guest anymore. I think we're all way past worrying about trivial stuff like that. Whoa. Did
I
just say that? Except, I don't have time to think about my love life
or
my career right now. Sophie isn't dragging a little sister behind her, and that's bad.

She plops down beside us. “No machines,” she says. “I did the whole loop of the observation deck inside and out and showed her picture to a slew of the guards up there. No one has seen a penny machine or Ingrid.”

So Ingrid is still out there somewhere, and we have no clues left now.

“If you didn't find out anything about Ingrid, how come you look all loony?” Alex asks the same question I want to.

“Oh—um—well, it's just that . . . Uh, I think I might owe you an apology, Chloe.”

What? Did I sprain my ears along with my ankle? Because it sounds like the Ice Princess just said something about an apology, but surely my hearing isn't working right. I cock my head and examine her. She looks me straight in the eye. Points to her for that.