The Givenchy Code by Julie Kenner Read Free Book Online Page A

reach is currently away—”
    “Fuck.” I snapped the phone shut and tried Daddy’s number. Same damn message.
    Shit, shit, shit.
    Okay. Fine. Mom was supposed to call me about breakfast, and she obviously hadn’t. Which means surely she’d call me soon about lunch.
    I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. I hadn’t been followed, I didn’t see anyone outside who looked like they wanted to kill me, and I still had a plan. It wasn’t a great plan, and my parents weren’t on board, but it was a start.
    I took one final glance up and down the street, then headed up the stairs toward my sixth-floor flat. I’d lock myself in, dial 911, down a Diet Coke (or three) and wait for the cops. By the time New York’s finest arrived, I’d be able to utter a coherent sentence again. At least, I hoped I would.
    The stench of cigarettes accosted me as I reached the sixth-floor landing. My across-the-hall neighbor smokes like a chimney, and that hideous musty odor had permeated the cheap wall paneling and the threadbare runner that lines the hallway. Jenn and I keep a can of Lysol by the door and spray into the hall at least once a day. I think it helps a little, and I know it annoys my neighbor, which, frankly, is our primary goal.
    Because this is New York, and because this is a crappy building, the door to my apartment has two dead bolts and a spring-latch lock on the doorknob. I went through the process of running through the locks, all the while listening for footsteps coming up the stairs. Thankfully, the stairwell was dead silent.
    As soon as the door was unbolted, I shoved it open and basically collapsed into my apartment. I’ve never in my life been so glad to be home. The place was tiny, but right then, that was perfect. I wanted to be cocooned in my quilts within my walls, safe from everything bad outside my door.
    Out of habit, I reached for the Lysol, and as my fingers closed around the smooth, cool can, I saw the shadow of a man moving just inside my darkened kitchen. My stomach roiled, and I realized my mistake. I should never have come home. He was here. Somehow, he’d gotten here ahead of me.
    The figure moved toward me, and, once again, I screamed.

Chapter
12
    “G oddamn son of a bitch!” Some sort of garden-scented toxic shit caught Stryker right in the face, and he howled, eyes burning and tears streaming down his cheeks. Whatever the stuff was, it hurt like a motherfucker.
    “Jesus Christ, Melanie, what the fuck did you zap me with?”
    Not that she was answering. She was already halfway down the hall. Fucking hell. He’d probably scared the girl to death.
    He was out the door in two strides, but she’d already reached the end of the hall. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes as wide as those of a deer about to get plugged and just as sad.
    “Goddamn it, Melanie, stop,” he called, his voice not nearly as calm as he’d have liked because of the shit she’d sprayed in his face. He cringed against the pain, trying to rein in his own frustration, and forced himself to keep his voice low and reassuring. “It’s okay. For God’s sake, I’m here to help you. Would you please stop?”
    She didn’t. Just the opposite, and somehow in speeding up she managed to snag her foot on the decrepit hallway runner. The kid was barefoot, for Christ’s sake, and as she let out a pitiful little yelp, his gut twisted. He’d come here to help, and instead he was making matters worse. But he couldn’t let her go back down those stairs. He needed her inside her apartment behind locked doors. Soon—very soon—someone was going to try to kill this woman, and he intended to make sure that didn’t happen. If he had to drag her by the hair to get her inside, that’s what he’d do.
    He’d rather see her scared to death than actually dead. He’d already seen one woman dead because he’d been too much of an asshole to protect her. Stryker wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
    As he