The Manolo Matrix (24 page)

Owner’s solid. He’ll track Sean down if he can.”

“Sean?”

“Bishop’s driver.”

“Right,” I said. To Devlin, “So, we wait?”

“We wait.”

And so we did. Neither one of us really spoke, but we both hopped to our feet like little electrified bunny rabbits every time a carriage arrived. Six new ones in the next ten minutes, and none of them Sean or Bishop.

I was sitting there fretting again, when another carriage pulled up, this one with a ruddy-faced driver and a thin, brown horse. Not the hefty workhorses we’d seen pass by already.

Considering the way our luck was going, I was slow to get up, letting Devlin take this one. He did, waiting as a young couple climbed out, patted the horse, then headed to the crosswalk. As they walked away, Devlin approached the driver and said something. The driver answered, they chatted some more, and then Devlin turned to me with an expression I recognized but wasn’t expecting to see: success.

I was on my feet in about three seconds, shoving my way through the crowd as I trotted toward the blue carriage.

“This is Sean,” Devlin said, introducing me to the driver. “And that’s Bishop.”

“Hello, Bishop,” I said, rubbing my hand down the horse’s nose. “Hiya, Sean. We’re very glad to see you.”

“Always glad to have a fare,” Sean said, with an Irish accent. “But why are you so interested in this rig?”

“We’re interested in the horse,” Devlin said as he held out a hand for me, then helped me up into the carriage.

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As Sean looked on, Devlin followed. “All right,” Sean finally said, climbing back up onto the driver’s bench. “I can take a hint. No questions.”

“Thanks. Just the short ride, okay?”

“You got it.” Sean turned around long enough to make sure we were settled in, then urged Bishop on.

And suddenly, there I was, taking a romantic carriage ride through Central Park in decidedly
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unromantic circumstances. I glanced over at Devlin and smiled. What a pity…

I reined myself in and managed to focus, half-listening as Sean described the sights, and half-watching as

Devlin slid his hand in between the padded seat and the padded back of the bench.

So I wouldn’t be sitting there like a dolt, I scooted over to the facing seat and started doing the same thing. Nothing there.

“Maybe there’s a storage container somewhere?”

Devlin looked around, but didn’t see anything. He half-leaned out of the carriage, but, still, nothing.

“I know I should just keep on with my tour—there’s the ice-skating rink, by the way—but you got my curiosity brewing. You lose something back there?”

“Just looking around,” I said.

“And what’s all this about you two waiting for my carriage specifically? I’m flattered, but I’m the inquisitive sort.”

Devlin and I exchanged a glance, and after a second, Devlin drew in a breath. “We’re on a scavenger hunt. Follow clues through the city kind of thing.”

“And a clue led you to me?”

“Your horse. And your carriage,” I said.

“Actually, that raises a good point. Is this the carriage that Bishop usually pulls?”

“Yup. Cornelius—that’s my boss—he’s good about keeping us with the same horse and carriage.”

“And this would be called a surrey?” I asked, looking around the blue buggy.

“I call it a vis-à-vis. You know, ’cause four folks can sit looking at each other. The real name?

You got me there.”

“Anyone take a ride recently and hide anything?”

“Nothing I’m aware of.”

“Shit,” I said, but mostly to myself.

“We’re coming up on the dairy,” Sean said, pointing out a building to the right. “Folks come there now

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to play chess, stuff like that. You want me to keep up with this?”

“Go right ahead,” Devlin said. To me, he crooked a finger.

As Sean continued to describe the surroundings—the large rocks that lined the carriage path were typical of the island’s topography—Devlin and I stared at the notebook where he’d copied the clue.

“This part,” I said, pointing to the bit about the Beast. “Maybe it refers to Bishop. Maybe the clue’s hidden in Bishop’s saddle.”

“She’s pulling a carriage,” Devlin said. “She doesn’t have a saddle.”

“The thingamajig, then,” I said, pointing vaguely toward the horse and the big strap of leather around her chest. “The thing attached to the carriage.”

“Not a Beast, but dead, and no use stalling,” Devlin said, his voice thoughtful.

“And the clock ticking line, too. Don’t forget that.”I certainly couldn’t forget it.

“Don’t worry. That’s definitely at the forefront.”

“Damn rollerbladers!” That from Sean, and both Devlin and I whipped forward to face him.

His already red face colored more. “Sorry. But that girl just cut right in front of Bishop. Almost spooked the old girl.

Bad enough she was on the lane in the first place.” He looked like he had more to say, but he kept his temper in check. “Never you mind. It’s no problem now.” But he turned, looking down the lane in the direction the girl had gone, and I could almost see the angry vibes rising off of
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him. In the distance, I

could just make out a blond ponytail swinging rhythmically over tight black biker shorts and a black

Lycra top. One of those typical Manhattan pretty girls who was convinced the normal rules didn’t apply to her.

I tried to focus back on the clue, but something about the girl’s cockiness nagged at me. And then, in one quick burst of inspiration, I had it. I was right! Ihad to be right. “Devlin,” I said, grabbing his hand.

“I’ve got a pretty big ego and all, but what if the ticking clock thing doesn’t really refer to me?”

Devlin shook his head, clearly not following.

“Broadway reference, right?” I looked wildly around, then found what I was looking for: a chrome bud vase with a single tulip inside. “The Beast. What if it meansBeauty and the Beast ?

He’ll stay a beast if he doesn’t find love by the time the last petal falls. But not me. I don’t stay anything at all. I end up dead,” I

said, lowering my voice so Sean couldn’t hear.

“Not a beast, but dead,” Devlin said, clearly picking up on my groove. “I think you’ve got something.”

I scooted over to the far seat and tried to tug the vase out of its holder, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Inside,” Devlin said, moving to sit next to me.

I nodded, then yanked out the tulip. And then, even though I really didn’t want to, I stuck my finger down inside and found…nothing. I looked at Devlin, panic really building in me now.

“It’s almost nine.

I’m running out of time!”

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“You’re sure there’s nothing in there?”

“Positive!”

“You think your next clue’s in the vase?” Sean asked, looking over his shoulder.

“It’s our best guess,” Devlin said. “But it doesn’t look like there’s anything in there. Mind if I unhook the vase, just to make sure?”

“If you can get it off, be my guest.”

As Sean went back to steering us down the path, Devlin opened his pocket knife to the screwdriver, then went to work on the metal band that kept the vase secured to the side of the carriage. “Damn, this thing’s tight,” he said, grunting with effort. “Okay, I think I got it loose.

See if you can tug out the vase.”

I balanced on the front seat, grabbed the top of the vase, and pulled. It didn’t come free, but it did wiggle, and that gave me enough confidence to keep at it. A few more turns from Devlin’s screwdriver and a few more tugs from me, and the vase slipped free.

Devlin grabbed it from me immediately, then turned it upside down and smacked it sharply against his thigh. I stared, at first baffled, and then incredibly relieved as something cylindrical and wrapped in duct tape finally came dislodged.

“Holy shit,” I said. “Gimme.”

He did, and I put my manicured fingernails to good use, destroying the polish, but managing to get the tape loose. Slowly, I realized that what I was revealing was a shot glass from the Jekyll & Hyde Club, a kitschy restaurant a few blocks away. And there, nestled at the bottom under a large cotton ball, was a pink and white capsule filled with tiny little granules.

I shook the capsule out into my hand, then looked up at Devlin. “That looks like an antihistamine. Don’t tell me all this time we’ve been freaking out over the possibility of me getting a rash.”

“I know you’re nervous,” he said. Smart man. “Take it.”

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Our voices were still low, and I don’t think Sean heard. More, I didn’t want him to hear, which meant that I had to restrain myself from screaming in frustration, fear, and a whole bunch of other indefinable emotions. The truth is, I have a phobia about pharmaceuticals, and the thought of now taking some pill of unknown origin was enough to make me more than a little queasy.

Too queasy, and I might throw the whole thing up. And how counterproductive would that be?

“Just take the damn thing,” Devlin said.

Right. Sure. No problem.

I’d just about convinced myself to do that when I realized we were back where we started.

“Home again, home again,” Sean said, pulling Bishop to a stop.

I caught Devlin’s eyes and he nodded. I understood what he meant—let’s get down and away, and then you can take it.Despite the freaky circumstances, I felt a rush of warmth. I’d never really communicated this well with anyone before. So well that we didn’t even need words. Was it Devlin? I wondered. Or

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was it just the circumstances?

At any rate, Sean climbed down from the driver’s bench. I half-stood, then reached out to take Sean’s offered hand. As I did, I automatically scanned the crowd behind him, tourists and locals come to either take a ride or ogle the horse. As Sean’s fingers closed around mine, I saw a flash of blond hair in the nearby crowd. The people shifted, and I saw the biker shorts, black Lycra top, and rollerblades of the girl from the path.

She looked up, I saw her face, and the world turned red.Bird Girl!

And, goddamn it, she was holding a gun!

“Devlin!” I screamed, kicking out and catching Sean in the chest. He went sprawling on the concrete just as a shot rang out, barely missing Devlin, who’d thrown himself down inside the carriage.

I yelped and stumbled backwards as the crowd scattered, clearing a path for Bird Girl’s next shot.

Not that we were waiting around.

I scrambled up and onto the driver’s seat, taking the reins and screaming, “Go!” Not horse-speak, but

Bishop knew what I meant, and she bolted onto the street.

I heard the crack of wood as a bullet stuck in the side of the carriage.

I gasped, bouncing as the carriage lurched over curbs, Bishop going as fast as she could toward Fifth

Avenue.

Devlin scrambled up next to me. “She’s back there,” he said. “On those damn rollerblades.”

“She’s going to catch us,” I yelled. “There’s no place for us to go. Bishop’s just not maneuverable enough.”

He took the reins and pulled Bishop to a stop. “Come on,” he said, yanking me down to the ground. He grabbed a passerby and handed him the reins. “This horse belongs to Sean. He’ll be along any second.”

To me, he yelled, “Run!”

I didn’t argue. I ran, Devlin right beside me. Fifth Avenue was wall-to-wall people, and even though she’d fired at Devlin back by the horses, I didn’t think she’d fire into the crowd. Back there, she’d had a clear shot. Here, though, well, she’d likely hit a tourist. More, she’d likely get caught by a civilian looking to play hero. Whoever Bird Girl was, she wasn’t dumb. I already knew that much.

And that, I hoped, gave us an advantage.

Only one block, and I had a stitch in my side and my lungs were burning. “Not…a…runner…” I
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managed.

“Just keep going,” Devlin said, and, damn the man, he didn’t even sound tired.

I sucked in air, slowing as I looked back. About a block away I saw a flash of blond, moving fast in our direction.Shit!

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“Down here,” I yelled, tugging him onto 54th Street and down just a bit until we were right in front of the

Manolo Blahnik boutique. “In,” I said, not waiting for a response. “There’s a back door,” I said, under my breath. “We need to get back into the employees’ area.”

I’d discovered the back door when a friend of Brian’s had worked here. She’d indulged my passion for a grand tour, and showed me every nook and cranny. Great stuff. Unfortunately, she’d moved to Los

Angeles before I’d been able to hit her up for use of her employee discount.

The Manolo boutique is very modern, very clean, and very shiny. That early, it was also pretty empty.

To say that we—sweating, panting, and more than a little rumpled—were out of place would be a hideous understatement.

The salesgirl, though, didn’t even blink. She just approached, smiled, and asked if she could help us.

I was about to ask for the use of the restroom—that was the only ploy I could think of to get us back there—when Devlin stepped forward. He pointed to three different pairs of shoes. “Her size,” he said. “If you could have them wrapped and ready to go by tomorrow.”

The salesgirl blinked, but didn’t argue. She looked at me.

“Size eight,” I said.

“Here.” Devlin opened his wallet and peeled off a huge wad of bills. “Now, if you don’t mind, my ex-wife has a bit of a grudge against my fiancée.” He hooked his arm around my shoulder and hugged.

“Maybe we could go out your back door? And if you see her, if you’d not mention that we were here, I’d be very grateful.Very grateful,” he added meaningfully, sliding his wallet back into his pocket.

“Of course, sir. Right through there, sir.” She pointed to the back door, and away we went. As the employees’ door closed behind us, I heard the electronic ding that announced a new customer entering the store. I had no way of knowing if it was Bird Girl, but I was still certain it was.