Read Online The Givenchy Code by Julie Kenner - Free Book Online Page B

was like and what he was doing now? I wondered if combat had given him the hardness I saw in his eyes, or if that had been there before. And I realized I was thinking way too much about this man I barely knew. I was rattled, and my mind was bouncing all over the place, trying to process every tiny piece of information simultaneously. That’s my typical reaction to stress. I multitask. Great when the stress is caused by final exams. Not so great at the moment.
    I drew a breath, determined to stay on track. “You seem like you know a bit about the game.”
    He shrugged. “Like I said. My friend played a lot, so I knew the basics. And it’s no trick to go to the website and read through the FAQs.”
    That made some sense, but I still saw one gaping hole. “But if you aren’t a player, how’d you get the message about me?”
    “The system sent a message to my regular email address. Told me that there was a message waiting for me in the PSW user area. I figured it was my friend, so I clicked over. The rest you know.”
    I believed him. Not enough to tell him I believed him, though. At the moment, I wasn’t exactly trusting my judgment. “Prove it.”
    “What? That I’m telling the truth? That I didn’t set you up?”
    I nodded. A tense moment passed, and I was afraid he was going to say he couldn’t. Not a good answer. My scientist’s mind wanted proof. Otherwise I might believe him just because he was so damn good-looking.
    “All right,” he finally said, and I stifled a sigh of relief. He pointed to the computer. “Jamie Tate, remember?”
    “What about her?”
    “Look her up.”
    I was tempted to argue. I didn’t know the woman, and I couldn’t see what she had to do with me or Todd’s death, but the Marine’s expression was grave enough that I knew better than to argue. I took the gun and crossed back to the computer. About a minute later, I was looking at a list of hits pulled up from a search on the name Jamie Tate.
    “Try that one,” he said, leaning over me to tap the screen. I clicked on the link, and an article appeared.
    November 18, 2004
    Brooklyn, N.Y.—Thirty-eight-year-old Jamie Tate was found dead in her Brooklyn Heights apartment yesterday afternoon. Tate, a copy editor with Machismo Publishing, was discovered by former Marine Maj. Matthew Stryker. Though Stryker refused to comment, sources close to the investigation confirm that the Marine allegedly received a tip about the woman’s death over the Internet. Details were unavailable at press time, but the same sources have confirmed that Stryker has been ruled out as a suspect in Tate’s death.
    The article went on from there, but I didn’t want to read any more. I felt cold and hot all at the same time, and didn’t much like the feeling.
    I concentrated on breathing, and when I had that under control, I turned to look at him. “What’s your name?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
    “Stryker,” he said. “Matthew Stryker.”

Chapter
17
    “T hey ruled you out as a suspect,” I said.
    He nodded.
    “They could have been wrong.”
    “They weren’t.”
    I just stared at him.
    “If I had killed her, would I have sent you to that article?”
    Maybe. Maybe not. I wasn’t sure. I cocked my head to one side and squinted at him. “Did you get money for her, too?”
    From his expression, you’d think I’d kicked him in the stomach. “Yeah,” he said. “Twenty large.”
    “And?”
    “And she died anyway.” He practically spat the words. “So much for money well spent.”
    “Dammit, Stryker. You want me to believe you? Then tell me the truth.”
    “The truth? I didn’t do a damn thing for her. I thought it was some sick joke, some perverse scheme. And I guess it was. I just didn’t realize how sick until I got a second message saying that she’d been terminated. That’s when I went to find her…and found her too late.”
    I closed my eyes against his pain and forced myself to focus. “The money,” I