here’s the situation. I’m not out to hurt you. In fact, I’ve been assigned to help you. But you don’t believe me, do you?”
Her teeth grazed her lower lip, and she shook her head just once, a tiny movement, but one that confirmed his question.
“In that case, I don’t think I’ve got any other choice,” he said. He was still crouched beside her, and now he reached into his shoulder holster to pull out his gun. She drew in a strangled breath, and he clamped his hand over her mouth again before she could release it as a scream. He withdrew the gun, checked the safety, and put it in her lap. “Here,” he said, then backed away. He was playing a dangerous game and he knew it, but he didn’t see any other way. He needed her to trust him, and he needed it fast. And he was banking on the belief that Melanie Prescott wouldn’t kill a man. Hurt him, maybe, but not kill him.
“I’m unarmed.” He met her wide, confused eyes. “So what are we going to do now, Melanie? Now that you’re the one holding the gun?”
Chapter
13
A damn good question.
I don’t like guns, but I’m not an idiot. I hefted this one with both hands and aimed it at him, thinking vaguely that this man was either brave or stupid. The way my hands were shaking, he could have ended up with a hole in his face whether I’d meant to fire or not.
“Talk,” I said.
His gaze darted toward the door. “Maybe we ought to do this inside.”
“Do I look stupid?” I asked. “Now talk. And if I don’t like what you say, I’m calling the cops.” I sounded tough, but I was scared to death. I thought about calling the cops right then, but I ruled that option out almost immediately. He’d handed me a very slim advantage here, but the truth was, he didn’t look stupid either, and I was betting that he had another gun tucked away somewhere, but perfectly accessible should I do something rash.
“Do you play any Internet games?”
The question was so unexpected that for a moment I could only stare at him. Then I frowned and half shrugged. “Sure. Some.” The truth was, I played around a lot on the Net. Spend as much time as I do at the computer, and cyber-surfing becomes the procrastination method of choice.
“Multiplayer games? Like PSW?”
I kept the gun trained on him, but I was becoming more curious than scared. “Yeah,” I said, still wary as I remembered the article in that morning’s Post. Weird that this game I hadn’t thought of in years suddenly seemed to be everywhere. “I don’t play PSW, but I have in the past.”
“So you remember how it works.”
“Pretty much.”
“How?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Humor me,” he said.
“Players log on all over the world and are assigned to a role—a target, an assassin and a protector. They all race around a cyber version of Manhattan doing their thing and following the clues.” Actually, it was more complicated than that. That was the allure of PSW. The game was both incredibly complicated and beautiful in its simplicity, but I wasn’t inclined to discuss the ins and outs with this man.
“So you have a profile in the system?”
Handguns are small but heavy, and I was getting tired of twenty questions. “What’s this all about?”
“Melanie—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, what’s this about?” He started to open his mouth, but I waved the gun, and he shut up. Oh, the power. “I’ve played a zillion of these kinds of games. Did I submit a profile? Sure. Do I remember the details? No. But I haven’t logged on to PSW in years. Sorry if I’m a little fuzzy.”
“That long?”
For some reason, that really seemed to bother him. “Yeah. Why is that bad?”
“I just assumed you were a regular player.”
By now, confusion had totally surpassed fear, but I kept the gun aimed at him for appearances’ sake. “I don’t know you from Adam,” I said. “Why on earth would you assume that?”
“Because you’re a target, just like in the game,”
Her teeth grazed her lower lip, and she shook her head just once, a tiny movement, but one that confirmed his question.
“In that case, I don’t think I’ve got any other choice,” he said. He was still crouched beside her, and now he reached into his shoulder holster to pull out his gun. She drew in a strangled breath, and he clamped his hand over her mouth again before she could release it as a scream. He withdrew the gun, checked the safety, and put it in her lap. “Here,” he said, then backed away. He was playing a dangerous game and he knew it, but he didn’t see any other way. He needed her to trust him, and he needed it fast. And he was banking on the belief that Melanie Prescott wouldn’t kill a man. Hurt him, maybe, but not kill him.
“I’m unarmed.” He met her wide, confused eyes. “So what are we going to do now, Melanie? Now that you’re the one holding the gun?”
Chapter
13
A damn good question.
I don’t like guns, but I’m not an idiot. I hefted this one with both hands and aimed it at him, thinking vaguely that this man was either brave or stupid. The way my hands were shaking, he could have ended up with a hole in his face whether I’d meant to fire or not.
“Talk,” I said.
His gaze darted toward the door. “Maybe we ought to do this inside.”
“Do I look stupid?” I asked. “Now talk. And if I don’t like what you say, I’m calling the cops.” I sounded tough, but I was scared to death. I thought about calling the cops right then, but I ruled that option out almost immediately. He’d handed me a very slim advantage here, but the truth was, he didn’t look stupid either, and I was betting that he had another gun tucked away somewhere, but perfectly accessible should I do something rash.
“Do you play any Internet games?”
The question was so unexpected that for a moment I could only stare at him. Then I frowned and half shrugged. “Sure. Some.” The truth was, I played around a lot on the Net. Spend as much time as I do at the computer, and cyber-surfing becomes the procrastination method of choice.
“Multiplayer games? Like PSW?”
I kept the gun trained on him, but I was becoming more curious than scared. “Yeah,” I said, still wary as I remembered the article in that morning’s Post. Weird that this game I hadn’t thought of in years suddenly seemed to be everywhere. “I don’t play PSW, but I have in the past.”
“So you remember how it works.”
“Pretty much.”
“How?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Humor me,” he said.
“Players log on all over the world and are assigned to a role—a target, an assassin and a protector. They all race around a cyber version of Manhattan doing their thing and following the clues.” Actually, it was more complicated than that. That was the allure of PSW. The game was both incredibly complicated and beautiful in its simplicity, but I wasn’t inclined to discuss the ins and outs with this man.
“So you have a profile in the system?”
Handguns are small but heavy, and I was getting tired of twenty questions. “What’s this all about?”
“Melanie—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, what’s this about?” He started to open his mouth, but I waved the gun, and he shut up. Oh, the power. “I’ve played a zillion of these kinds of games. Did I submit a profile? Sure. Do I remember the details? No. But I haven’t logged on to PSW in years. Sorry if I’m a little fuzzy.”
“That long?”
For some reason, that really seemed to bother him. “Yeah. Why is that bad?”
“I just assumed you were a regular player.”
By now, confusion had totally surpassed fear, but I kept the gun aimed at him for appearances’ sake. “I don’t know you from Adam,” I said. “Why on earth would you assume that?”
“Because you’re a target, just like in the game,”
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