The Givenchy Code Read online

  By that time, my Visa had been itching to be used, and we’d headed to Bloomie’s. I’d planned to head straight up to the second floor to see if they were having a sale on Juicy Couture, but Jenn needed some new blush for the trip, so we’d gotten waylaid on the first floor in makeup. When the MAC girl had offered me a quick mini-makeover, I hadn’t been able to say no.

  “You’re not getting this because of Todd, are you?” Jenn asked suspiciously.

  I turned my head as much as the girl, who’d moved on to my cheeks, would allow. “Are you nuts? I broke up with him, remember?”

  “I know you broke up. I’m just hoping you remember why you broke up. He obviously wants you back.”

  I frowned and was immediately chastised by the woman for moving too much. So I sat stone-faced and considered Jenn’s theory. Todd probably did want me back (which I’ll admit was nice for my ego). After all, he’d gone to great lengths to find me earlier and to get me to his apartment tonight. But the feeling wasn’t mutual. I’d done the right thing breaking up with him, and I had no desire to go back. Except to get my message, of course.

  The girl finished my makeover and passed me a mirror. I have to say, I looked amazing. I’m no slouch at putting on makeup, but this girl had made me look like a model, all air-brushed and perfect. My eyes, under the benefit of skillfully applied mascara, eyeliner and shadow, appeared huge and more blue than usual. My cheekbones seemed high and aristocratic. And my lips…well, they looked pouty and kissable.

  In short, I looked fantastic. And I had absolutely no one to show myself off to. Except Todd. Well, damn.

  Always an optimist, I bought the whole lot of products she’d used—doing serious damage to my credit card in the process. I’d have other dates, after all. And with practice, I’d learn how to put the makeup on just as perfectly as she’d done. At the very least, I’d come close.

  We made a quick run through the second floor, where Jenn talked herself out of a hot pink Betsey Johnson skirt. Jenn’s willpower can be very impressive at times. Instead, we headed to the eighth floor, and she bought a stuffed bear for her soon-to-be-born niece. After that, we meandered back to the first floor and the men’s department, then headed out the exit at Lexington and 60th.

  The summer heat hit me like a wall, and I realized that Bloomie’s icy air-conditioning must have frozen my brain. “No cocktails,” I said. “The idea is great but I’m going to Todd’s. I need to be sober.”

  “Say no more.” Jenn looked around, sizing up our location, then pointed east. “We’ll go to Serendipity,” she announced. “You’re spending the evening with an ex; you need chocolate.”

  Tucked into an old brownstone a few blocks from Bloomingdale’s, Serendipity is a popular ice cream parlor/restaurant that’s a favorite first-date location. It’s past the point of trendy, having moved on to touristy, but I still love it, despite the inevitable thirty-minute wait for a table. Actually, I love the frozen hot chocolates, and as soon as Jenn and I were settled at one of the old-fashioned soda-shop-style tables, we ordered two. Since each one comes in a bowl large enough to feed a small nation, I’ll admit to a certain level of gluttony. But I’d gone to the gym before walking the dogs, so I had caloric equity in my personal portfolio.

  Besides, this was my lunch. And my dinner, too, unless I got lucky and Todd had food in his apartment.

  “So how long are you going to be gone?” I asked after I’d made a significant dent in my lunch/dessert/whatever.

  “Two weeks. They’re inducing tomorrow, and I’m going to be there for that. Then I’m going to help Lisa with the baby until my mom flies out. We’ll overlap for a few days, and then she’s going to stay on a full month. After Mom, Katie’s going to come stay for another two weeks,” Jenn added, referring to her other sister. “After that, Jake’s going to take paternity leave when Lisa goes back to work.”

  “You’re going to have so much fun,” I said. “In a crying-baby-tired-family kind of way, I mean.”

  “I know,” she said with a grin. “I can’t wait.”

  I believed her, too. Chances were she’d be stuck in the house with an exhausted sister and a crying baby, and then later a doting first-time grandmother. It would be chaos, and I totally envied her. Not only am I an only child, but I also figure that if I ever have a kid, my mom will send a gift certificate for Nannys “R” Us. Not the maternal type, my mom.

  Jenn rummaged in her bags, then pulled out a sales receipt. She scribbled a number on it, then passed it to me. “My sister’s house,” she said. “In case there’s no cell service. Call if you want to talk after you see Todd. Or if you need anything at all.”

  I nodded, dutifully tucking the number in my back pocket. But I knew I wouldn’t call. We’d already rehashed the Todd situation; and since I wasn’t going to sleep with him, nothing was going to change on that front.

  And I couldn’t think of anything else that would be so important that I’d have to interrupt my best friend while her sister was having a baby. My life just wasn’t that dramatic.

  Chapter

  5

  T odd’s studio apartment isn’t too far from Bloomie’s, so when Jenn headed for the subway, I caught a cab to 72nd and York. Todd buzzed me in, and I headed on up. Two minutes later I was in his apartment, the heavenly smell of curry, rogan josh and nan surrounding me and making my stomach rumble.

  “I figured you’d want to stay in,” Todd said. “So you could work on your message.”

  “Either that or you were afraid that if you didn’t feed me I’d just grab the envelope and leave.”

  “That too,” he said, and I had to smile. At least he was honest.

  Besides, I was there and hungry, the spicy scents only making me more so. If I’d gone home, I’d only have gone back to an empty apartment. I might as well stay there. Todd might not be able to cook worth a damn, but he orders the best takeout of anyone I know. And Indian food is my absolute favorite.

  “So where is it?” I asked.

  He nodded toward his futon couch, which doubled as a bed. My envelope was right there, on the side with the reading lamp. On the coffee table in front, he’d put out a couple of plates and opened all the takeout boxes. He’d even poured a glass of wine. If the man was trying to win me back, he was on the right track.

  “I ordered extra nan,” he said, and I swear I almost kissed him. I adore the pitalike bread and always eat way more than an Atkins-friendly portion.

  Todd and I settled in at the couch, and after I’d heaped my plate full, I slipped the message out of the envelope, studying it as I chowed down. To be honest, I could tell right away this wasn’t going to take a lot of effort, and I experienced a sudden dissipation of respect for my secret admirer, rather akin to the flushing of a toilet. Whoosh! All that esteem just went spiraling down into oblivion. I mean, really. You’d think someone willing to encrypt a secret message or fantabulous invitation could have come up with something at least a little challenging.

  “So what is that thing, anyway?” Todd asked, resting a hand on my thigh as he leaned closer. I didn’t shrug it off; in fact, it felt kind of nice. Not sparks—the only sparks I’d ever had with Todd had been generated between the sheets—but comfortable. I’d been W.B. (without boyfriend) for over six months now, and I could feel my soul yearning to slide back into the familiar cocoon of coupledom. Where relationships are concerned, I’m weak and pathetic. I know this, but we all have our crosses to bear.

  I concentrated on his question, trying to ignore his breath against my ear. “It’s a pigpen code,” I said.

  “Of course it is.” The hand lifted, and I took a breath. “Want to tell me what that means?”

  I was already making notes with a felt tip on the Styrofoam container the curry came in, trying to work out exactly how this cipher was constructed. “Fences,” I said. “See how each letter is like a little box?” I drew a basic pigpen.

  “The letters are‘fenced,’ and so that’s how the code got its name.”
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  “Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not following.

  “Trust me, it’s cool. Confederate soldiers used codes like these during the Civil War. Just give me a sec to work it out….” I tapped the pen against my teeth, thinking. I could tell from the placement of the dots within each “fence” of the message that I was dealing with a four-character pigpen, which is what I’d drawn for Todd. But I’d plugged in a few letters and come up with gibberish.

  I took another bite of sag paneer as I pondered what to try next. Was I dealing with a code in a code? Or maybe I’d drawn the wrong key. Maybe this key ran vertical instead of horizontal? I tried that, creating my decryption device by writing the alphabet and first ten digits down instead of across, so that I had A, B, C where before I had had A, M, Y. Still pretty simplistic. Would it work?

  Three minutes later I had my answer. It worked like a charm…and I didn’t like the result. Not one little bit.

  “What kind of a sick son of a bitch would send me a coded message like that?” I stood up and circled the table, and now I was standing facing Todd and pointing down at the table with an accusing finger. I’d written the decoded message across the pastel pink takeout menu:

  PLAY

  OR

  DIE

  ***

  PRESTIGE

  PARK

  39A 89225

  “What do you think it means?” Todd asked.

  “I don’t care,” I said. And I didn’t. I don’t like scary movies, I don’t like surprise parties, and I certainly didn’t like strange, creepy messages…no matter how tall, dark and handsome the messenger might have been.

  “It’s probably from someone in your study group,” Todd said. His voice was low, meant to soothe. Wasn’t working.

  “Well, screw them,” I said, still fighting goose bumps. Play or die??? What kind of a freak sends a message like that?

  “Just forget about it,” Todd said, getting up and coming around to me. He leaned over and grabbed the coded message off the table, crumpling it in one hand even as he pulled me closer. “Whoever sent it isn’t even worth thinking about.”

  “But—”

  “Just.” He tossed the balled-up paper into the trash can. “Forget.” He pulled me closer and nuzzled my neck. “About it.” He snaked his hand up between my breasts, then managed (I’m not entirely sure how) to twist me around in his arms until I was facing him, and his lips were on mine, and I have to admit it felt really good.

  There was something so freeing about doing exactly what he said. At the moment, he was saying that I should go with him to bed. Not in words, mind you. But in that language that we all speak. That language that doesn’t have a word for stop or slow down or this may not be the best idea right now.

  His lips slipped over mine, comforting and familiar, and as his wide palms stroked my back, I merrily beat my doubts into submission. I might have told Jenn that there was no way I’d sleep with Todd again, but right then all my reasons were forgotten, replaced by the simple fact that I was in his arms and it felt good. Besides, wouldn’t not sleeping with him be a total waste of a cute outfit?

  The truth was, I didn’t want to go home. Normally, an empty apartment all to myself would be good news, but right then—on a night when the downside was creepy coded messages and the upside was a familiar lover keeping me warm—well, sue me, but I picked door number two.

  “The food.” Not a real protest, mind you, but I had to keep up appearances. “We should put it away.”

  “We can always order more,” he said. And then he kissed me.

  And even though the smart don’t-sleep-with-your-

  ex part of my head told me I shouldn’t, I kissed him back.

  After all, I was single, over twenty-one, and some creepy weirdo had ruined my formerly good day.

  Really, I reasoned, what could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter

  6

  T wo mighty fine orgasms later, I was wide awake and thinking a lot more clearly. A few hours ago I might have wondered what could go wrong if I slept with Todd, but now my less-addled brain had sorted through all the possibilities and come up with quite a list.

  For one thing, Todd might think that the providing of orgasms also provided him with some door back into my life for more than just this night. Second, I might slide into that girly-girl state where I think that amazingly good sex is a fine basis for a relationship. (On that score, I really should know better. I had mind-blowing sex with Todd for four months, spent another month realizing our relationship was going nowhere, and then wasted yet another month of my life working up the courage to break it off despite one killer orgasm after the other. I finally managed the breakup, and now I own a very nice vibrator. That, however, is a different story.)

  Third—and from my current perspective, the most important—what might go wrong was severe lack of sleep. I’d forgotten about the mind-numbing, rafter-shaking snoring, though how, I don’t know. I certainly couldn’t forget about it now. “Ignore it and it will go away” was simply not an option.

  I tossed a few more times, putting extra effort into each turn so the bed bounced and shook. No effect. I pulled my pillow down over my head, doing a good impression of a woman smothering herself. I neither drowned out the noise nor passed out from lack of oxygen. Too bad for me.

  With a very loud groan that did not wake Sleeping Beauty, I propped myself up on my elbow and stared at him. The shades weren’t drawn, and I could see his face just fine in the haze of city lights. His mouth was open, his jaw slack, and I deserve some sort of prize for not jamming both my forefingers right up his nostrils.

  Instead, I took my pillow, grabbed the quilt, and headed for the bathroom. It might not be comfortable, but at least it would be quiet.

  Chapter

  7

  I don’t know what time I woke up. All I know is that I had a crick in just about every bone in my body. Sleeping in a bathtub will do that to a person, especially a five-feet-nine person who couldn’t do yoga if her life depended on it.

  I unfolded my body, moving slowly so I wouldn’t lose my footing, crash backwards and bash my skull in on the porcelain side of the tub. The day was already not off to a good start; massive self-inflicted head injuries would only make it worse.

  I remembered the strange encrypted note that had drawn me back to Todd’s in the first place. Now, with the sun streaming through the bathroom window, making the shiny white tub gleam and the smudge-free mirror sparkle (Todd has a cleaning lady come in three times a week), the note didn’t seem nearly as ominous. It probably was an invitation, most likely to one of those dinner-and-a-murder parties where the guests playact some role. Clever, really, if you think about it. I mean, if I were going to throw a party, I might just do the same thing.

  The one nice thing about sleeping in the tub is that you don’t have to go very far to shower. I tossed the towels I’d used as bedding out onto the bathroom floor, then cranked on the water, letting the spray beat down on me until the last of the kinks had vanished from my back and neck.

  Heaven.

  It wasn’t until I was toweling off that I realized that Todd hadn’t barged in to use either the toilet or the shower. Considering the fact that the apartment was roughly the size of a hamster cage, I knew he didn’t have a little half-bath tucked away somewhere. Maybe he’d decided to shower at the office rather than wake me up?

  And here I’d thought chivalry was dead.

  I’d left my clothes strewn on top of Todd’s stereo, so now I climbed into a pair of his sweatpants, which were hanging behind the bathroom door. The long-sleeved T-shirt hanging next to it smelled vaguely of male sweat, but I slipped it on anyway. I confess I was having a bit of morning-after regret, and I wasn’t about to wander out there in my altogether.

  Not that it would matter, I realized about two seconds later as I was strapping my watch to my wrist. It was already after ten in the morning—how had I managed to sleep all night in a bathtub?—and the living room wo
uld be perfectly empty. I knew this because I know Todd. He’s a second-year associate at some big-deal law firm, and he considers it a mortal sin to arrive after nine.

  Which is why I was so surprised to see the telltale lump on the bed as soon as I stepped out of the bathroom. No wonder he hadn’t interrupted my beauty rest: It hadn’t been chivalry, it had been exhaustion.

  “Todd,” I stage-whispered as I skirted around the coffee table we’d so carelessly shoved aside in our frenzy to get the bed open last night.

  No movement.

  “Oh, To-odd,” I sang from my side of the bed.

  Still nothing.

  “Todd!” One loud, solid bark.

  Nada.

  Jesus, I’d really worn the man out. I gave myself a mental pat on the back, cheering my sexual prowess, then climbed onto the bed and leaned over him. He might need his sleep, but he’d thank me for waking him up. Todd wasn’t the type to skulk into the office after lunch. Not at all.

  He was lying on his side, his back to me, the covers pulled up over his head. At first I didn’t notice anything remotely out of the ordinary. Then I moved closer to tap him on the shoulder, and—

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  Blood. Blood everywhere. And little clumps of stuff that had to be brains and—

  I clamped my hand over my mouth, trying not to retch. I lunged for the phone, then gasped in horror when I realized the line was dead. My purse was on the table, and I snatched it up, fumbling for my cell phone as I ran for the door. My phone never had service in the building, and I had to call the police. I had to get outside.

  I had to get out of there.

  Once in the hall, I skirted past the elevator—I wasn’t about to wait for it—then raced down the stairs, my mind going a million miles an hour. Who? Who did this? Did Todd have some weirdo Mafia client with a grudge? And—oh, God, no—was that someone still in the apartment?