The Manolo Matrix by Julie Kenner Read Free Book Online

immediately retrieve your message.
    I didn’t want to…dear God, I really didn’t want to. But I did. I had to know. And so I clicked.
    Then just about threw up when I saw the message that filled my screen:
    >>http://www.playsurvivewin.com<<
    PLAY.SURVIVE.WIN
    PLEASE LOGIN
    PLAYER USERNAME:BroadwayBaby
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    PLAYER PASSWORD:********
    …please wait
    …please wait
    …please wait
    Password approved
    >>>Read New Messages<<<>>>Create New Message<<<
    …please wait
    WELCOME TO MESSAGE CENTER
    You have one new message.
    New Message:
    To: BroadwayBaby
    From: Identity Blocked
    Subject: Funding
    Advance payment deposited your account.
    Amount: $20,000.
    Client name: Devlin Brady.
    Additional funds to be delivered upon successful completion of protection mission.
    Rule Refresher: Involvement by police or other authorities isexpressly forbidden.
    Good luck.
    >>>Player Profile Attached: DB_Profile.doc<<< I read the thing twice, somehow managing not to be sick. I’m not entirely sure how. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to crawl under the covers and go to sleep. I wanted to scream. This game was a death warrant. Hadn’t Mel just told me about the protector who’d ended up with a bullet in his gut? And the other guy dead on the floor?
    Hell, Mel and Matthew had both almost died trying to win this game. A game they hadn’t even Page 22

    wanted to play in the first place. They’d lived, but there was no guarantee I’d be so lucky.
    I thought about that—thought about how much I didn’t want to play. How much I’d rather curl up under my covers and hide.
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    But I didn’t. Instead, I reached for the phone, grateful for speed-dial since my hand was shaking so badly. Miles away, in Washington, D.C., Mel’s cell phone rang. I prayed that she’d answer. I needed to talk to her. Dear God, there wasn’t anyone else in the whole world I needed to talk to more.
    And this time, we sure as hell weren’t going to be talking about shoes.

Chapter
9
    JENNIFER
    No answer.
    I stared at the phone, not quite comprehending that Mel couldn’t be there, and when it kicked over to voice mail, I left a frantic message for her to call me. Then I rummaged through my desk for my address book. I’d only programmed her cell number into my phone. Maybe the battery had run down. Surely if I
    called her house…
    I found the book and pounced on it, then immediately started flipping pages. The second I found the number, I dialed, then did the finger-tapping routine until the machine clicked on. A regular answering machine, I assumed, and I went through the whole “Mel? Are you there? Mel, goddamn it, pick up!”
    routine. Nothing. I sighed, then added, “Call me the second you get in. It’s urgent. It’s about this fucking game! Mel! It’s about PSW, and you have got to call and help me!”
    Then I hung up the phone and stood in front of my computer. My chin was thrust forward and my hands were fisted, as if I was afraid it would attack. Actually, I realized, that was exactly what I was afraid of.
    I took three deep breaths and forced myself to relax. Just as if I were backstage and had to calm down and get into character before stepping out on that stage.
    Right. Okay. Right.
    Calm.
    That was me, the leading lady who’s the total spine of the show. Calm and collected and not the least bit hysterical.
    Three more breaths and I’d pulled myself together. I glanced toward the door, saw that I had locked it, just like I always did. Good. My heart was still pounding, but I played my role with aplomb, searching every nook and cranny, just to make absolutely certain I was alone. I was.
    And the window was locked.
    For the moment, at least, I was safe.
    I dropped back into my desk chair. In front of me, the PSW message screen seemed to leer, and suddenly my little Manolo victory seemed entirely