Platinum Prey

by Sophie Davis

  “Oh shit, I totally lost track of time. I have to go!” I said, feet already carrying me away from Blake and our perfect moment together.

  “Hang on,” Blake soothed. “It’s okay. It’s not like you’re late for anything important.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, looking up from where I’d been smoothing my dress.

  “Nothing,” he said, giving me a weird look. “Just that it’s not the end of the world.”

  “I know,” I said, forcing myself to calm down. “But it is a big deal for her. And she did all of this for me, and I’m grateful.”

  “Right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it wasn’t important, just that it would be okay.” Blake came to stand in front of me. “Are you mad?”

  “No,” I replied with a sigh. “Just stressed. Sorry I snapped. But I really do have to go.” I gave Blake a quick his on the cheek and turned to leave.

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay?” he called after me. “I can meet the parents—parents love me, I promise—glad-hand the friends, and we can just get it all out of the way. You’re eighteen, Lark. You’re an adult.”

  I spun to face him. “It’s not about how old I am,” I said bitterly, irrationally annoyed by Blake’s words. “It’s just not a good time,” I finished lamely. It was true. But not for the reasons Blake thought.

  “Is there ever going to be a good time, Lark?” he demanded, not bothering to hide his irritation. “Or am I just going to remain your dirty little secret? You know, if I—”

  “You are not my dirty little secret!” I exclaimed.

  Only three steps separated us, but for the first time in our relationship, it felt as though we were a million miles apart. Part of me had worried that this day would come, the day when Blake wanted more than I had to give. But I’d hoped that his patient, caring nature would triumph, and we’d make it down the rocky road together. It wasn’t always going to be like this. Our relationship wasn’t destined to be a secret forever. I just needed a little more time.

  Closing the physical distance between us, I tried to bridge the emotional one the only way I knew how. “I love you,” I said, laying the palm of my hand against his cheek. “I can’t see a future without you. I don’t want a future without you. My parents, my friends, every single person in this whole building…they don’t matter like you do. I don’t care what they think. That’s not the problem. And I know it’s a lot to ask, but please be patient just a little bit longer.”

  “I love you, too.” That was all that Blake said, but I could see him softening. The irritation was gone from his deep-green eyes.

  “And that’s all that matters,” I said, sealing my words with a meaningful kiss. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I took one more hit of his scent, relishing the calm high it gave me. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “I understand. Go.” Blake’s smile was thin and pained. He squeezed my hand one last time before I turned to leave.

  Hurting Blake broke my heart. But it was unavoidable. If we were to have a future together, I needed to keep him separate from my friends and family for now. I knew he didn’t understand why, and I couldn’t explain it to him. One day he would understand, though. I just prayed that I would be around when that day came and that all the heartache would be worth it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RAVEN

  WHAT HAD I just done?

  Asher was long gone, having made some hurried excuse about needing to post an assignment before a ten p.m. deadline. Not that I blamed Asher for turning tail and running for the hills. I would’ve done the same thing, but seeing as the totally-out-of-the-blue, should-not-have-ever-happened kiss took place in my apartment, I had nowhere to go. Though, in the thirty seconds of stunned silence that followed that damned kiss, I considered running out of the door and abandoning him in my apartment.

  Frantically pacing back and forth in my living room, I tried to work out where the urge to kiss Asher had come from. And why the hell I’d acted on it. Okay, so Asher was hot. There was no denying that. He was sweet, kind and caring—everything a girl wanted in a guy. But kissing Asher had felt seriously wrong—like, kissing-my-uncle wrong. And I was pretty sure that Asher felt the same way; although he’d been an active participant in the kiss—surprisingly participative given the fact I’d basically accosted him out of nowhere—once the initial rush of excitement had worn off, he appeared as full of regret as I was.

  Good job, Raven. Way to alienate your only friend, I thought.

  Unaccustomed to dealing with awkward sexual encounters, even those on the vanilla end of the spectrum, I had no idea how best to handle the situation. Did I go downstairs and explain that our ten-second lip-lock had been a mistake? Or if I pretended it hadn’t happened, would Asher do the same? Sure, the second option was not very mature, but I wasn’t feeling particularly mature.

  Suddenly, I needed to get out of my apartment. I needed to put more than a floor between me and Asher, if just for the night. Luckily, I had the keys to a posh penthouse apartment with tons of distractions hidden in its depths.

  As I threw some things into my messenger bag, I worried that Asher might try to follow me. To prevent such an outcome, I went full-on stealth mode with my exit. Easing my front door shut, I winced and held my breath when the lock clicked into place. Creeping down the stairs, my entire being was painfully aware of every creak and groan of the floorboards. Either my spy skills were greatly improving, or Asher was as reluctant to face me as I was him, because I made it out to the street and into my car without an awkward encounter. Only once I jammed the key into the ignition and started the car did I hazard a glance over to the building I’d just fled.

  When I saw a large silhouette materialize behind the curtains in Asher’s front window, and then fingers curl around the fabric and a face appear in the divide, I realized that twenty-something guys were just as immature as eighteen-year-old girls. And that made me feel a little bit better.

  Twenty minutes later, I parallel parked my car in a spot two blocks from The Pines. The blank look on my face caused enough alarm that Darrell waved me forward and signed me in so I wouldn’t have to stop. The small gesture made me feel rather important. And a little lucky, too, since I really didn’t want to waste any time before barricading myself inside Lark’s apartment and immersing myself in her problems to forget my own.

  “Thanks, Darrell,” I called over my shoulder as I breezed by.

  “Of course, Ms. Ferragamo,” he replied, tone reverent.

  I must be growing on him, I thought with a smile.

  Given the late hour, I assumed Lark’s neighbors would all be tucked inside their apartments. So when Deidre from 10B poked her head out into the hallway and called, “Yoo-hoo! Robin?” I jumped and dropped the key to Lark’s apartment.

  “Sorry,” Deidre said, not sounding sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m not usually one of those nosy neighbors who sit around waiting for something interesting to happen. But,” Deidre continued, “I thought you might want to know that a young man stopped by your friend’s place a little bit ago.”

  A young man? I thought, hackles rising. Who knew about this apartment?

  “He had his own key,” Deidre was saying. “So I figured he knew y’all. It was just, well, he was a little dodgy, if you catch my meaning. Didn’t say two words to us. Sam and me, I mean—we were leaving at the same time he was going in.”

  His own key? Who would Lark trust enough to give a key? It had to be Blake.

  “Do you remember what he looked like?” I asked hopefully.

  If Deidre got a good look at the mystery visitor, she’d be able to describe him down to the freckle. She was that type of person: nosy.

  “Tall. Medium build. He was wearing one of those baseball hats pulled down real low and it hid his face pretty well. That’s really all I can tell you,” Deidre said apologetically.

  Obviously fond of gossip and eager to tell me every last detail, I was bet
ting that Deidre was mostly sorry because her own curiosity wasn’t satisfied.

  “His hair was probably light brown, if I had to guess. That ball cap mostly covered it, so I can’t be certain,” Deidre explained, grasping for details to keep my attention.

  Brown hair. Blake had brown hair.

  “What time was this?”

  Deidre’s blue eyes flitted to the left as she thought about it, and she drew in her plump, bottom lip between professionally whitened teeth. “Hmm, let’s see. Our dinner reservation was for seven at The Oval Room. Ever been there? Great date restaurant. Any guy who takes you there has money, trust me on that. Sam and I used to go quite a bit when he was first courting me, but of course, now we only go on special occasions. Today is the anniversary of our first date.”

  “Happy anniversary,” I said with a forced smile, trying to keep the agitation in my voice to a minimum.

  Standing here while Deidre gabbed about her day was the exact opposite of what I wanted to be doing. If I didn’t get her back on track soon, I’d be standing there all night listening to her drone on about nonsense. Already, I knew that the fish was a bit too flaky, but Sam’s sirloin was perfection.

  “It’s all downhill after thirty, Robin,” she was saying, still babbling away despite my obvious lack of interest. “Believe you me: your workouts get longer, your calories get lower, and you can forget carbs. I haven’t eaten—”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I interjected, before this one-sided conversation became any more ridiculous. “So then, what time did you say you saw the guy go into L—the apartment?”

  “Right, right.” Deidre laughed. “You’ll have to forgive me. A couple glasses of wine, and I turn into a Chatty Cathy. Anyway, our reservations were for seven, so we must have left here around a quarter after six.”

  “Okay,” I said, this new bit of information throwing me off. “Tha—”

  “No, no, wait…let me think a minute,” she continued. “Nope, it was closer to six thirty. The babysitter was late. I remember now. She gave some excuse about track work on the Red Line causing the metro to run slow. If the girl wasn’t always late—”

  “Thank you, Deidre, for telling me about the visitor. I’ll check with my cousin to find out who else has a key.”

  “So you don’t know who the young man was?” she plied, overdoing the shock.

  Deidre’s hunger for a juicy scandal to share with her Mommy-and-Me group, or whomever, was as transparent as the floor-to-ceiling windows inside the apartment.

  “I have a guess,” I said nonchalantly, trying to throw Deidre off the scent.

  The last thing I needed was to bring attention to Lark’s secret hideout, to make it a source of gossip and speculation among the neighbors. Though, truth be told, the only “guess” I had was clearly wrong. At six thirty that evening, Blake was still at soccer practice.

  “Alrighty then. Well, you simply let me know if you need anything at all. I’m just right next door. And I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on the place now. Have a good night, Robin.” Deidre wiggled her fingers in a friendly wave as she retreated to her door.

  “Deidre?” I called.

  She turned around, her big, blue eyes wide and shiny with anticipation.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Raven,” I said, finally correcting her. “Not Robin.”

  Deidre’s tinkling laughter echoed throughout the hallway, and her hand moved to cover her heart, as though embarrassed by her gaffe. “Oh my heavens. I’m so sorry, Raven. I’m such a scatterbrain! I knew it was one of those bird names.”

  “Yeah, you got that part right,” I said, my words dripping with sarcasm that I was too tired to suppress.

  Wanting this conversation to end so that I could freak out in the privacy of Lark’s apartment, I bent to retrieve the key I’d dropped. After jamming it into the lock, I turned back to her. Deidre was busy listing off all the other names she knew that were also types of birds.

  Is this seriously happening? I wondered in amazement.

  After staring for a moment at the spectacle, I cut her off midway between Heron and Wren. “Goodnight, Deidre. Thanks again for the heads up,” I called over my shoulder, letting the door slam shut behind me.

  “Her poor, poor husband,” I muttered to the empty apartment. Did she ever let him speak?

  And now I had a new problem to come my thoughts: who the hell was in Lark’s apartment? And why?

  My body went tense as I suddenly realized how stupid it was for me to have come waltzing inside without knowing if the mystery man was still here. Deidre had seen him enter, but she said nothing about him leaving. If he’d left. For all I knew, this random guy—whoever he was—was still inside, lurking around.

  Shit. What do I do now?

  The apartment was dark and suddenly very creepy. It was possible there was a light on in one of the bedrooms, but I couldn’t tell from where I stood in the entryway. Closing my eyes and concentrating, I listened for some sound that would alert me to an intruder’s presence: the squeak of bedsprings, a drawer sliding shut, footsteps, running water—anything at all to signal that I wasn’t alone. All I heard was the rapid beating of my own heart.

  Leave. You should leave right now unless you want to be the dumb girl from horror movies who runs up the stairs to get away from her attacker, even though that is clearly the worst possible option. Yeah, that girl always dies. Don’t be that girl.

  But I didn’t leave. My sandals were glued to the floor, both hands clenched around the strap of my messenger bag. The sound of my own breathing was impossibly loud. Waiting. Waiting….

  Don’t just stand here. Make a move. Either grow a pair and see if there is someone here, or leave and come back with Asher, I lectured myself.

  Asher—the entire reason I’d bolted to The Pines. If I hadn’t deeply regretted the kiss before, I definitely did in this moment. After what happened, I couldn’t ask for his help. Hell, I couldn’t even look at him, much less talk to him.

  Not important right now, Raven, I chastised myself. You have much bigger things to worry about.

  After standing there for what felt like hours, I decided to pull on my big-girl panties. Taking a deep breath, I slowly eased the strap of my messenger bag over my head and gently lowered the bag to the ground. I made sure it was off to the side of the door in case I needed to make a run for it. Finally, I slid my feet out of my flip-flops—bare feet made less noise, after all.

  This is not smart, I thought as I darted toward the kitchen. This is verging on outright stupidity.

  Ignoring the nagging voice screaming for me to leave, I retrieved the largest knife in the butcher block. If I was going to confront the intruder, I needed to be armed. I clutched the knife handle with a white-knuckled grip. Warnings continued blasting in my mind, but curiosity trumped safety. I wanted answers. This nonsense had gone on long enough. Someone knew Lark’s whereabouts. Someone knew what had become of her. Someone knew why she’d disappeared. And the guy in possession of a spare key to Lark’s secret apartment might just be that someone.

  Knife positioned over my shoulder, I exited the kitchen and started toward the hallway.

  The guy is a friend of Lark’s. He must be. She trusted him with a key, I told myself, trying to soothe my instincts that were hollering for me to get out of the apartment.

  Heart galloping faster than a Triple Crown winner, I tiptoed down the hallway. The bathroom was directly across from the guest bedroom, and both doors were ajar. Had I left them that way?

  My palm was flat against the door to the guest bedroom when a muffled sound, like something heavy falling onto carpet, came from the back of the apartment. From Lark’s bedroom.

  My next breath hitched, sticking in my throat like a wad of gum. A sound somewhere between a yelp and a choking cough escaped my lips.

  Run. Run. Run. Get the hell out of here!

  But I’d come too far to chicken out now.

  There was no light seeping out from beneat
h the door to Lark’s bedroom, which could mean the guy had heard me come in to the apartment and was hiding. Did that mean he was as scared of me as I was of him? Or was he waiting to ambush me?

  Only one way to find out.

  Throwing caution out the window, I noiselessly crept down the rest of the hallway. The bedroom door was closed.

  Last chance to turn around, my instinct yelled at me. You can just go right back out the front door.

  No friggin’ way, I countered. This is happening.

  Wanting not only the comfort of light, but also to be able to see inside once I opened the bedroom door, I flipped on the hallway light switch. With my free hand, I steadily turned the knob. And then, in one fluid motion, I shoved the door open.

  “Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?” I screamed as I burst into Lark’s bedroom, slashing the knife wildly in front of me as though I was cutting my way through the Amazon.

  My question was met with deafening silence. Stunned, I blinked several times in fast succession. The bedroom was empty.

  There is still the adjoining bathroom and the closet, I reminded myself.

  But the master bedroom didn’t just appear empty at first glance, it felt empty. I turned on the overhead lights, the recessed bulbs so bright they were an assault on my retinas. Eyes darting erratically from the bed to the open bathroom door to the walk-in closet, I searched for movement through starbursts of light. My heart was in my throat, and my breaths were uneven.

  My voice shook more than I’d have liked when I called out. “Hello? Hello? Is there anyone here?”

  Sure, I knew it was silly and cliché, but the adrenaline rush had robbed my brain of witty statements and intelligent quips. I was operating on basic instincts, nothing more.

  Again, no one answered—no surprise there.

  With the lights on, I had a clear view of the entire room. It appeared empty. Still, someone had been in the apartment.