Page 79 of Destroyed With You

“No,” Winston says. “I think you were onto something. “The hyphens. It broke the number up into three sections. Three digits.”

“A three-digit combination,” I say. “But—”

“Zero-six-three,” he says. “That’s got to be it.”

I hold my breath as he punches it in, then suck in air when the box clicks and the little door opens. “Good job,” I say.

“You got us there. Binary. I don’t think I would have thought of it.”

“You can praise my brilliance all you want later. Right now, let’s see what’s in there.”

It’s a solitary letter-sized envelope, and although I want to look now, the guard is starting to stir. Winston gives it to me to tuck into the jacket’s interior pocket, and he pulls the guard away from the door as I close Bartlett’s box, then go to retrieve my shoe.

The guard has a keycard hanging from an extendable cord on his belt, and we grab that, then head down the hall in the opposite direction from the party. We leave the guard locked in the vault, knowing he’ll be discovered at six when the shift changes. I doubt he’ll wake up until well past eight, though. Either way, in the grand scheme of things, we don’t have much time before someone realizes we’ve been there.

There’s an employee exit down the hall, and we hurry that way. The guard’s card lets us out without tripping any noticeable alarm, and we both breathe a sigh of relief along with the cool, night air.

We’re on the side of the building now, and I can hear the traffic on Sunset. We walk down the hill, trying to look casual until we’re past the hotel’s rear entrance. Then Winston uses his phone to request a ride share, and soon enough we’re heading back to Ryan’s house where we’d met with Renly earlier so that we can retrieve the rental car. Then we head to Winston’s house in the Pacific Palisades.

“Should I open it?” I ask once we’re underway. I don’t bother saying that I mean the envelope. He knows.

Winston shakes his head. “No matter how this goes, it’s going to be bad news for one of us. I’d like to be home with Tiny and a bottle of whiskey. And you,” he adds with a smile for me.

I nod. He’s right. A car’s no place for news like this.

“Who’s Tiny?” I ask.

“A chocolate lab. Ten years old, mostly blind, a bit lame, and as sweet as he can be.”

I smile. “One of your rescues.”

He nods. “I ended up at the shelter because of you.”

“Winston…”

“No,” he says, “I don’t mean it like that. I’m saying that part was good. Tiny’s been an important part of my life, and in a strange, weird way, I can thank you for that.”

“Oh,” I say, the word sounding small.

He turns long enough to flash a quick smile, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

Since we’d taken the rental from the airport directly to Ryan’s house, this is the first time I’ve seen the charming white house. It sits on a hill, and though I can’t see the ocean from here, I have a feeling that the view from the inside is spectacular.

“I have you to thank for this, too,” he says, as we pause on the front porch.

For a moment, I don’t understand, then realization hits. “The life insurance.”

“Mmm,” he says in acknowledgement. “Although now I should probably look into returning that.”

I wince. “Ouch. And sorry.”

He waves it off. “I used it to invest in real estate here and in Orange County. Plus, I have a solid income from Stark Security. Returning the money won’t be a problem. But even if it was, I’d rather you be alive than my bank account be full.”

I reach over and take his hand, too moved by his words to say anything. For a moment, it feels like time stops. Then I clear my throat. “Right, so, I guess we need to get inside and check this out.”

“Yeah,” he says, “We do.”

As I’d imagined, the interior of his place is lovely. No clutter, minimal furniture, and a stunning view. “I wish it were day so I could see the ocean better,” I admit.