Code Conspiracy. Carol Ericson
he’d better get a pass next time. But really, the woman had enough money stashed away to hire a car service. He did, too, but he felt about as disconnected from his money as she did from hers—probably for similar reasons. Neither one of them had earned the money on their own.
The subway swallowed them up and spit them out somewhere on the edge of Greenwich Village.
“Do you know where you’re going? You haven’t looked at the address since you wrote it down in your kitchen.” He lengthened his stride to match her smaller but more numerous steps.
She patted the back pocket of her jeans. “It’s right here if you wanna have a look, but I memorized it.”
His gaze darted to her backside, shapely in her tight jeans, and his knees weakened for a second before he stuffed his hand in his own pocket. “That’s okay. I trust that brain of yours.”
“It’s not much farther. Probably just around the next corner.”
He didn’t even bother asking her how she knew that. He’d accepted her calculating mind. What he couldn’t accept was her guarded heart, but then he’d exceeded her distrustful expectations by dumping her once he’d found out she worked for Dreadworm. She’d fully gotten and relished the irony of his asking for her help, using the same skills he’d lambasted before.
He could live with eating crow—a lot of it—if it meant clearing Denver and getting to the bottom of this terrorist plot.
Jerrica tugged on his sleeve. “This way. You were about to pass it right by.”
He veered to the right, dodging oncoming pedestrians. How could Amit know anyone was following him with all these people coming and going?
“This is it.” Jerrica tipped her chin toward a building with a blue-and-white striped awning over the front door. “I hope he’s still here and didn’t get spooked.”
Gray lunged past her to open the door, and the soft strains of a guitar melody curled around them, drawing them into a dark space where he caught a whiff of roasted coffee beans. He couldn’t drink coffee at this time of night, but the smells took him back to late-night conversations with Jerrica, who seemed to run on the stuff when she was working on a gnarly hacking job for Dreadworm—when he’d believed she was just a programmer dedicated to her clients.
He glanced at her, eyes closed and nostrils flaring, getting a caffeine buzz off the fumes.
Her lids flew open and she scanned the room. “Damn, I don’t see Amit.”
“Do you want to get something and wait?” He gestured toward the counter. “I could go for a chocolate croissant.”
“You go ahead.” She swung her backpack around and dipped into the front zippered pouch, pulling out her phone. “I’m going to text him.”
As Gray joined the line of mostly college students ordering complicated caffeinated concoctions, Jerrica hunched over her phone.
He reached the counter and ordered his croissant and a slice of lemon cake for Jerrica, even though she didn’t know she wanted it yet. He dipped into his pocket for his wallet and twisted around. “Did he…?”
The strange woman behind him folded her arms and looked him up and down, a pair of pencil-thin eyebrows raised above her tortoiseshell glasses.
“Sorry. I thought you were my…friend. Did you see where she went? Black hair, about yea big?” He held his hand just beneath his chin.
She shook her head and went back to her phone.
“Sir, that’s $6.75.” The barista waited, a patient but trained smile on her face.
He handed her a crumpled ten. “Did you see where my friend went?”
“I didn’t notice.” She lifted her shoulders. “Maybe the restroom? They’re around the corner.”
“Thanks.” Gray stepped out of line and waved his hand at the change on the counter, his heart beating an uncomfortable rhythm in his chest that didn’t at all complement the strains of the folk music from the small stage.
He took the corner to the bathrooms at such high speed, he nearly plowed into a woman on crutches.
“I’m sorry.” He pointed to one of the restrooms. “Anyone in there?”
The woman readjusted her crutch under her arm. “It’s all yours. Good thing since you’re in such a big hurry.”
Gray maneuvered past her and tried the other door. “Jerrica?”
A gruff male voice answered him. “Nope.”
Gray poked his head into the other restroom and confirmed what the woman on crutches had told him—empty.
He peered down the short hallway at a back door with a glowing Exit sign above it. Could Jerrica have gone out there to meet Amit?
He strode down the short, dark length of the hallway and pushed against the metal bar. He stepped into the alley, and held his breath against the odor of garbage coming from the overflowing dumpster to his left.
As he huffed the smell from his nose, a scraping, shuffling noise from beyond the dumpster made him cock his head. Adrenaline pumped through his body with a whoosh that left him light-headed…but just for a second.
His body shifted into gear and he launched past the dumpster.
Jerrica’s face appeared to him as a white oval in the darkness for a split second before the lump crouching at her feet took human form, rose and slammed her body against the wall.
The man drove his shoulder into her ribs as he smashed against her, pushing the air from her lungs. Her attention had been distracted by the appearance of Gray in the alley, but she couldn’t wait for him to come to the rescue.
Her gaze shifted to the glint of steel on the ground. At least she’d knocked the knife from his hand when she bashed her fist against his nose.
She sucked in some air, coiled her thigh muscles and kneed her attacker between the legs. She didn’t get as high or as much power as she’d wanted, but her lips twisted into a smile when he grunted.
The grunt turned into a wheeze when Gray materialized behind him and physically and forcibly removed him from her sphere.
Her assailant’s body seemed to fly through the air, and his eyes bugged out of his skull. He yelled an expletive when he landed with a sickening thud, but he had enough strength or determination to extend his fingers toward his knife.
“Gray! The knife!” She panted as she slid down the wall into a crouch, all the strength seeping from her body.
Gray whipped around and stomped on the man’s wrist with his boot.
The guy let out a howl that echoed down the alleyway and some shouting answered from the street on one end.
Gray scooped up the knife and turned his back to the broken man writhing on the ground. He kneeled in front of her. “Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”
“No. No police or ambulance.” She clutched at Gray’s shirt with both hands. “He’s getting away. Don’t let him get away. He has Amit.”
He cupped her sore face with one hand. “I’m not leaving you in this alley by yourself. He might have an accomplice.”
She struggled to stand as her attacker staggered to his feet and limped off at a surprising clip, holding his arm.
“Is there a problem? What’s going on?” Two men peered over Gray’s shoulder, and he slipped the switchblade into his pocket.
“That guy was assaulting this woman.” Gray jerked his thumb over his shoulder, but her attacker