by Frankie Rose
******
Tinsel wraps around the banisters in the stairwell in Luke’s apartment, red and blue, which seems a little weird. It’s a little early for Christmas decorations, and usually most places are decked out in red and green, anyway. Maybe everyone who lives in his building is a cop. I hike all the way up to the top floor and stoop down to leave the NYPD sweatshirt I’ve bundled inside a Macy’s bag. Luke’s is the only apartment up here so the chances of someone else finding it before he returns from work are practically non-existent. I’m about to turn and walk back down the stairs when the apartment door opens and Casey Fisher steps out wrapped in a black and grey hound’s-tooth trench coat. I freeze, completely stunned by the fact that Luke is back so early from his supposed twelve hour shift, and that his ex girlfriend is coming out of his apartment.
“Iris Breslin?” Casey sputters. She straightens and looks me up and down, the way people do when they’re mortified and intrigued at the same time. She’s cut her long black hair since high school but she still has a look of Snow White about her: bruised, pouty red lips, incredibly pale—that sort of thing. She’s the type of person to stay out of the sun so her skin won’t age. Much thinner that she used to be, she has a rake-thin New York chic working for her.
“Who are you—” Luke appears in the doorway behind Casey, shirtless, his dark hair all over the place. The tattoos that were playing peekaboo below his shirtsleeves the other day are much more extensive than I’d originally guessed. I would check them out if I weren’t locked to the spot by the horrified look in his eyes. There’s panic there, too. “…talking to?” he finishes.
Casey turns back to look at him, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I see you’re still fascinated by the macabre.”
“Casey, don’t,” he growls, low in his throat. The sound sends vibrations through me like an earthquake. He stares at me, his eyes never wavering. I open my mouth to say something and for the longest time I can’t think of anything. A handful of things rush through my head, none of them good. I could point out that I have a reason to be here. It would be simple enough to grab the Macy’s bag and point inside, but then Casey will know Luke loaned his sweatshirt to me, and I don’t want her thinking…
God, what don’t I want her thinking? I stare wide-eyed at Luke for another second before my legs seem to make up their own minds and I turn and bolt down the stairs. I’m halfway down when the very worst thing happens. After all the times Luke has gotten my new name wrong, he picks now to get it right.
“Avery, wait! Avery!”
I choke out a sob and run.
Nine
Hook, Line & Sinker
