Page 78 of Destroyed With You

“Binary,” I say. “The guy was obviously a techie. Ones and zeros, right? The combination is in binary.”

“What’s a binary 11 converted to decimal?” he asks, and I spread out my hands.

“How the hell do I know?”

He shakes his head, proving that there is a reason both of us are in the field and not writing code.

“Hang on,” he says, doing a search on his phone, which, miraculously, has service. “It’s 3,” he says. “Try 3-3-3.”

I do.

Nothing.

“I’m right,” I insist. “This is Bartlett’s note to himself. Like me writing CT on my grocery list when I need coffee and tea. It’s binary,” I say, fiddling with the binary converter I’ve pulled up on my own phone. “But we’re missing something.”

“Maybe. But I don’t know what.”

Neither do I. Or maybe I’m getting close. But it doesn’t matter because right now the guard Renly warned us about is making his rounds in the hallway.

Winston’s heard him, too, and he kills the light on his phone. There’s a small glow from the LED lights on the various boxes combination pads, and it’s just enough for me to see his face pass by.

I point to the vault door and my shoe. Should we risk it and take it out?

The footsteps get closer.

He shakes his head, and I get it. If the door shuts, we’re most likely stuck until morning, and getting out when someone accesses the vault would be an even bigger clusterfuck.

I reach for my thigh holster, only to remember I’m not wearing it. All I have is my ring, and it requires an element of up close and personal.

The steps are closer, and I see the door move slightly. Without conscious thought, I tear open the bodice of my dress, then throw myself into Winston’s surprised arms.

I kiss him, my heart pounding, hoping I’m right and it’s only a guard and not whoever was chasing us outside of Thrall, Texas.

“Hey! You can’t—”

I turn, completely bare-breasted, and, as I’d hoped, this poor guard stumbles.

As he does, I rush forward and tap his neck with the ring. The ring has two needles. One, a powerful sedative. The other a poison. I have the ring turned to extend the sedative’s needle, and as soon as the full dose empties into the soft skin at the back of his neck, the guard collapses into my arms.

“Nice,” Winston says, looking at me with an expression I don’t quite recognize.

“What?” I ask, as I try to fix the dress to no avail.

He passes me his jacket. I take it gratefully and am slipping it on when he says, “You, in action. It’s impressive.”

“You’ve seen me in action before.”

“I did. That was impressive, too. But my assessment was colored by emotion. Today, I’m crystal clear.”

I smile. “No emotions tonight?”

“No bad ones,” he says. “Well, not toward you. I’ll cop to frustration.”

“Sixty-three,” I say, then add, “Go try sixty-three. That’s our number in decimal form, without the hyphens.”

He tries. It fails.

“Shit.”