Page 27 of The Queen (Masterpiece Duet 2)
Unease stirs in my stomach. “Something could have happened to him. The same way something could have happened to Avery.”
Damon sends me a dark look. “Do you really believe that? That your father is kidnapped in some basement, at the whim of a sexual predator?”
Tears sting my eyes, imagining Avery that way. “No.”
“I don’t think so either,” he says, a little softer.
“But even if my father started gambling again, how would that mean I’m in danger?”
Damon takes his time about answering, seasoning the sauce that he’s working on. After a moment I realize he might not answer at all. Then he dips a wooden spoon into the pot and carries it to me.
“Blow,” he murmurs.
I blow a stream of air over the steaming spoon. When he pushes the spoon closer I open my lips and take a sip. Spice blooms on my tongue, making me close my eyes. “God, that’s good.”
When I open my eyes again Damon is looking at me with a strange intensity. “I meant what I said before. The problem with someone gambling isn’t about the money. It’s about the addiction.”
“I know,” I say, remembering every card game, every cheat.
Every desperate win so that we could eat that night.
Damon takes a sip from the same spoon, in the same place that I did. “He used you before, Penny. He used you to count cards. To clean up his mess. What’s to say he won’t use you again?”
My chest constricts. “He wouldn’t.”
Except that’s a lie, and both of us know it. Hiro isn’t here to protect me from the city in general. She isn’t even here to protect me from Jonathan Scott, who’s locked up in some psychiatric facility. She’s here to protect me from my own father.
The man I came back to the city to find.
And where does that leave Avery?
“I solved part of the code.” The words come out before I’ve planned them.
Damon turns to face me, his expression blank. “You did.”
“It says COME ALONE. There’s still a bottom row of numbers I haven’t figured out yet. It doesn’t conform to the polynomial curve like the top part.”
“I see.”
“COME ALONE. What do you think it means? I mean, I guess it’s obvious what it means. That we should come alone.” I’m babbling now, my wits scattered thinking about Avery at the mercy of this mysterious code-maker. “But who do you think sent it?”
“No idea,” he says, but with shadowy insight I realize it’s a lie. He knows more than he’s telling me. About my father. About Avery. He knows things that might even help solve the rest of the code, but he lets me scribble away in the dark.
Chapter Eighteen
The next day I can’t seem to focus. The numbers swim in front of my eyes. The worst part of this is not knowing whether I’m actually making headway. There are an infinite number of possibilities with even this bottom row, and I won’t know whether I’ve hit the right one until I try it. Maybe not even then, if I don’t recognize the message. This might not even be a message. Just random numbers meant to drive me insane.
I fumble through my tote bag to find my phone. It’s almost out of battery, so I plug it into the wall before dialing Smith College’s main number.
“Dr. Stanhope please,” I tell the operator.
The phone rings, and for a moment I think he must be out of his office. It’s the weekend so it’s hit-or-miss whether he’d be there. He works on his research nonstop, but he can do it from home.
“Hello?” He sounds breathless.
“Are you okay?”
An uneven laugh. “Going for a run while the campus is quiet. I heard the phone ringing down the hallway.” A pause, and he sounds more steady. “I hoped it was you.”
“You did?”
“Fishing for compliments?”
I flush, realizing it’s probably the truth. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a hardship to compliment you, Penny. But I’m more interested in hearing how you’re doing right now. Are you okay? The whole campus is talking about Avery James.”
“Do they have any leads?”
“Not that they’re sharing publicly. I know you two were close.”
Now I wonder whether we were close enough. Was there something she wanted to tell me? Something she was afraid of? “I’m working on something that might be related.”
“With the police?”
“Not exactly. There’s this message.” My throat closes. “Well, it’s a long number.”
“You think it’s a cipher?”
“Maybe. I’ve been working on it for a couple days, but I haven’t gotten anywhere.”
“Send it to me.”
I hesitate. “I’m not sure—”
“That’s what I did my graduate research in. Cryptanalysis.”
“Wait. Really? I didn’t know that.”
“I started studying Ramsey numbers as an offshoot.” He gives a small wry laugh. “Didn’t expect my career to go in that direction, but the applications are really endless. And far more commercial.”
“Commercial,” I say, my forehead tightening.
