The Prada Paradox (33 page)

What Ihave found is what’s holding Blake to the sign. I can just see it as I stand below and shine the light up. A cord tied around the thick girders that support the sign and wrapped around Blake’s waist. Cut that, and he should drop free. It’s a long fall, but if I can unbind his hands and legs—and if I can wake him up—I know that he’s got the training to make the jump.

The support girders form a sort of scaffolding to which each letter is attached. Every few feet, there are little wooden outcroppings, which I have to imagine are to hold cans of paint when the letters are in need of repair. Small cans, I think, since the ledges are tiny. They will, though, provide some foothold.

The letters themselves are seated into the ground with posts at the bottom, keeping them secure through wind, rain, earthquakes, and the like. I guess it’s worked. The sign has been here for decades.

I was a pro at monkey bars in my youth, so I leave my purse on the ground but tuck my knife in one back pocket and my gun in the other. Then I start climbing. It doesn’t take too long to reach Blake, and for the first time in my life, I’m truly glad that I don’t experience vertigo. Because this is very high. And remarkably windy. As if we’re on a magnet for all the winds that blow from the ocean to the desert.

Blake’s eyelids are fluttering, so I start talking to him. Basically narrating what I’m doing as I use the knife to saw through the cord binding his ankles. When I move to his wrists, he opens his eyes. “Good morning,” I say, trying for light, but probably not managing. I’m sitting on a girder, one arm hooked around a vertical bar for support and my legs hanging over another, as if I were sitting in a very small chair.

My free hand has the knife, and I’m starting to work on the cords on his wrists.

“Where—oh, God.”

“Do you remember anything?” I’ve got his wrists free, and now I start massaging them.

“Devi,” he says, his voice harsh and serious just as I shift back a bit to reach his waist. “I was giving him a ride, and he stuck me with a needle. I was out in seconds.” He meets my eyes, his expression grave. “Devi, it was Andy.”

Chapter58

His words shock me so much that I quit sawing at the cord around his waist. “What?” I say, but even as I voice the question, I can see how it has to be true. So many little things fall into place. The person from the movie who ordered the bags. Someone with access to Tobias’s stationery. His intense crush on me.

I flash with a sudden memory of him on his Treo right after I spoke with Blake about the Greystone Mansion. Right before Mac was killed.

“Oh, God. Is Andy the reason Mac is dead?”

“What do you think?” comes the harsh reply from below. I turn and look down to see Andy staring up at both of us. “Because you should know thatyou’re the reason she’s dead. You broke the rules, after all.”

“You son of a bitch. You played us.”

“Not at all. I played the game.”

“Played for me to lose, you mean,” Blake says. “The Hollywood Bowl. The carousel horses. All those were wrong, and you knew it. Yet you pushed for us to go there.”

“What do you expect?” Andy says. “You weren’t even supposed to be in the damn game. You brought it on yourself by eating the strawberry. If Devi had eaten it like she was supposed to, I promise you I would have interpreted those clues like a pro.”

“So instead you tried to slow us down,” Blake said. “Tried to make it take too long. So that I’d die, and you could step in and help Devi work her way to the last clue.”

“You’re smart, Blake,” Andy said. “I don’t think I gave you enough credit.”

“And Janus?” I ask. “Was he—”

“Very real,” Andy says. “I’ve loved you for years, Devi. And I had to prove I was worthy. So I did my homework. I saw how the protectors and targets who survived ended up together. Mel and Stryker. Jenn and Devlin. And I thought, why not me?”

“Because you’re a damn freak?” Blake says.

But Andy ignores him. He’s too lost in his tale. “When Mel wanted to get word out about her project, the movie seemed the perfect way. I washelping you, Devi. Helping you get your career back. I insisted that we would only sell the rights if you were attached to the project.I saved your career. And I knew that I could save you, too.”

“No,” I whisper, because it’s the only word I can manage.

“I’d met Janus online, years before. Not a difficult thing to realize he was susceptible. And when I began to investigate—when I realized he was the one who’d attacked you so many years ago—well, I knew that he had to be punished. And what better way than for me to kill him in the context of the game? To beat fair and square the one other man who believed he loved you as much as I truly do love you.”

“Youput him in the game? But…” I trail off as I remember Mel’s comment about how the body of Archibald Grimaldi—the genius inventor of Play.Survive.Win.—was never found. “Oh, dear God. Andy, are you Grimaldi?”

“The one and only,” he says with a little flourish. “And I put Janus in as the assassin and myself in as your protector.”

“Save the girl,” I say. “The knight on the white horse.” My stomach is churning, and I’m having a hard time grasping everything he was telling us.

“And Devi would end up with you,” Blake finishes. “Not me.”

“Never,” I say, shaking my head. And to think I thought this man wasnice.

“Why are you doing this?” Blake asks.

“Because I can.” He looks only at me now. “I wish it could have turned out differently.”

I shiver and try to fight my fear. We’re up on this scaffolding, trapped like rats, and certainly a clear target if he has a gun. Enough talk. Time to get the hell out of there.

For that matter, time to gethim the hell out of there.

Without second-guessing, I reach behind me and pull out the gun. I whip it around in record speed, but I’m not nearly fast enough. A bullet whizzes by, embedding in the wood just beside my ear, the splintering crack loud enough to burst my eardrum.

Startled, I grasp for the nearest girder, managing to keep myself from falling. The gun, though, slips from my fingers, banging down a bit before landing on one of those little wooden ledges. I reach for it, but it’s too far. Not without engaging in some serious acrobatics. And I have a feeling that really isn’t such a good idea.

We’re sitting ducks up here, though, and I’m not sure what to do next. “Blake?”

“He could have killed us if he wanted to,” Blake says. “Go ahead and cut me down.”

I’m a little nervous, but I scoot over again. I still have the knife, and I start sawing at the cord around his waist. It only takes a few good whacks, and then it’s free. I’ve pressed my back up against the wood, and I’ve got my hands on his waist. He’s heavy, but I’ve got leverage, and only need to help him ease down until his feet can touch.

I’m almost there when Blake yells for me to stop.“My throat,” he croaks, his voice hard and pinched.

“Oh, right,” Andy calls up. “I forgot to mention. If you cut the cord around Blake’s waist, his weight will bear down on the garrote around his neck. Should kill him almost instantly once the right pressure point is hit.”

“Damn you!” I scream.

“You move, and he slides down. Even half an inch is going to kill him.”

I look around and realize he’s right. I’ve got Blake—and right now, his feet are balanced on my thighs—but there’s nowhere else for him to go.

I move, and he dies.

Dear Lord, what are we going to do?

“Give me the knife,” Blake says. “I’ll just cut through the damn garrote.”

Since that’s a perfectly brilliant plan, I reach the knife up, my fingertips brushing his as I pass it off.

“Not a bad plan,” Andy says. “Except I should probably mention the C-4 I packed around this letter’s support beams. And that cord around your neck is part of the detonation system. Cut it, and three seconds later you’re falling through space.”

“You’re bluffing,” Blake says.

“Could be,” Andy retorts.

And there it is. Stalemate.

I really, really, really want that man dead.

Blake must be having similar thoughts, because he whispers to me, “If I’m holding your wrist and dangling you, can you reach the gun?”

“You mean if I weren’t in a thousand little pieces because of the explosion? Yeah, probably.”

“I don’t think he intends to blow us up,” Blake says. “He said we’d be falling through space, remember?”

“Either way, we’re dead at the end.”

“Maybe not.”

“Blake…”

We’re talking low, and I see Andy shifting toward us. I don’t know if he can hear us or not, but I can tell that he wants to.

“He said three seconds,” Blake said.

“I say numbers all the time. That doesn’t mean I’m being literal.”

“Do we have another chance?”

That one, I don’t have an answer for.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I say, without hesitation.

“Then take my hand. I’m cutting the cord.”

And then, before Andy can figure out what we are up to, Blake does just that. As soon as he does, he starts falling, taking me with him. His hand is tight around my wrist, but otherwise I’m free-falling. The gun is right there, and I grab it. The odds of actually hitting Andy are slim, but I fire anyway. And as I do, the mountain below us seems to explode. I slam back into something hard—and the skin on my arm feels like it’s being ripped off—but Blake never lets go.

And then we really are falling, the sign crashing down above us. Everything happens in a haze of dust and soot and debris. And when everything clears, I find myself dangling over a mountain, tethered to earth only by Blake’s hand on my arm. His hand, I see, is tight on one of the straining girders from the now collapsedD inHollywood.

“I can’t hold you much longer,” he says. “I need you to climb up to me.”

“I’m trying,” I say. But he’s holding my injured arm, and the pain is too great. I can’t move. I can’t do anything.

I feel myself start to slip, and cry out for Blake. I have an image of myself splatting on the ground hundreds of feet below us, and that is a reality I really want to avoid.

“Take that,” Blake says, and I look up to see my black Prada tote dangling right in front of me.

I tilt my head more, and see Mel among the debris at the base of the sign. She’s holding fast to a rope to which she tied my purse. “Use it as one of those firefighter lifts,” she says. “Get your free arm and head through it.”

She lowers it down a little bit more, and I squirm through, never letting go of Blake in the process.

Slowly, she helps us work our way up, until we collapse on the dirt. Solid ground never felt so good.

“What was it you were saying about not wanting to doNorth by Northwest ?” Blake asks, and I have to laugh. Because, really, the idea of hanging off of Mount Rushmore is nothing compared to this.

Chapter59

Blake couldn’t keep his hands off her. He was amazed she was alive. And humbled that she was his. That she’d risked so much to save him, and that they’d finally won so completely.

Andrew Garrison—born Archibald Grimaldi—was dead. And that was the big news of the day.

“How did you find us?” Blake asked Mel as the police took charge of the scene.

“Stryker called me a few hours ago. He found out that the building where Janus lived had been owned by Grimaldi years ago. Okay, that’s fine. But now it’s owned by a trust. And that trust is controlled by Andy.” She sighed. “I tried to get a hold of Devi right away, then got worried when I couldn’t reach either one of you. Lucas let me in the house, and I saw the computer. After that, it didn’t take long to figure out where you were.”

“Remind me to give Lucas a raise,” Devi said.

Mel laughed. “Well, he only did it because you’d told him who I was and what was going on.”

“I still can’t believe he was Grimaldi,” Devi said.

“I know,” Mel agreed. “But once we started to look at it, it made sense. He’d gotten poisoned when he helped Jenn, for example. But in retrospect, I think he did it to himself.” She made a show of slapping her neck. “Bam. A poisoned dart.”

“And he did the same thing with the knife and Janus,” Devi said. “It’s really unbelievable. He seemed so normal.”

“He was brilliant,” Mel said. “But he was fucked up, too. And obsessed. Obsessed with his game. With making it harder, wilder, better. I think he faked his death so that he could bring it into the real world. No one could argue with his decision if he wasn’t around to fight with. And no one would be looking to lay the blame on him if he was dead.”

“And he was obsessed with Devi,” Blake said.

“Yeah. In a big way. And since he was a risk-taker by nature, he took a big one to try to get her.”

Blake turned to her. “Another crazed fan. Are you okay?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I’m actually fine.” The smile widened. “We really won, Blake. It’s over.”

Somehow, he knew that she meant more than just the game. The fear, he knew, was over, too.

“If we won,” he said, “shouldn’t we get a prize?”