Fragile Facade (Blind Barriers Trilogy Book 1)

by Sophie Davis

  Maybe this was a hidden message clue? Like if I took the first letter of each capitalized word, they would form a word or phrase.

  M, R, C, B, F, E, M, A, F, B, I, T, D.

  That definitely wasn’t a word. Maybe it was an anagram, though? Although that was a lot of consonants for only three vowels. A lot of consonants that didn’t necessarily go well together. The letters stared up at me, black scratches on white canvas. I stared back, willing them to magically get up and do the tango on the page. That, of course, didn’t happen. I briefly considered writing in Lark’s journal, to see if she wrote back, á la Harry Potter.

  Sleep deprivation does strange things to people.

  Concentrate, Raven.

  A flash of genius struck, and I booted up my laptop. I’d stopped playing a certain Scrabble-type game with my friends via an app on our phones because they were always cheating. Now, I was thankful for their deception. All they’d had to do was enter their letters in any of several websites, and they’d receive a list of all the words that can be made with those letters. I searched for sites devoted to exactly that. It was difficult at first to find one that would allow me to input more than seven letters, but I finally prevailed. I plugged in the thirteen letters from Lark’s diary and pressed enter. As brilliant as the idea had seemed, it yielded no results that used all of them. Not even two words combined. There were always stragglers, letters that were simply unusable. Kind of like my brain. Every time I turned down a new avenue, I was met with another dead end.

  Frustrated, I leaned back against the couch cushions and sighed. Was I crazy? Was I like that guy in A Beautiful Mind, inventing patterns and codes where there were none? Was Lark crazy? Maybe Blake Greyfield wasn’t even real. Maybe she’d invented an imaginary boyfriend as a way to escape her overbearing parents. Maybe these journal entries were fantasies, not fact.

  My brain hurt. This was more thinking than I’d done since taking the SATs.

  The coffee table began to shake as my cell danced across the surface. I reached for it just before it vibrated its way over the edge. Asher’s name lit up the display along with a text bubble.

  Finished homework. Dinner?

  My stomach rumbled. I glanced at the time on the phone. 6:35 p.m. Whoa, I’d been here a lot longer than I thought.

  Sounds great, I typed back.

  Want to come down and we’ll pick a place? It took him less than a minute to respond.

  After Asher’s lecture about avoiding potentially dangerous situations, which included Lark’s apartment, I was reluctant to tell him where I was. I didn’t want to give him any more ammunition for our next disagreement over involving the authorities. Part of me agreed that maybe it was time. But I just couldn’t do it. Not yet. I just needed a little bit longer.

  My phone sat waiting in my hand.

  Moment of truth, I thought. I chewed my lip and debated how best to answer. I could just tell him that I wasn’t home but was on my way. Maybe I could offer to pick up dinner for us. Or, I could tell him that I was at The Pines and invite him over. I was on the verge of discovering the mystery behind the journal entry. I just needed to focus. Asher wouldn’t help with the focus, but food would. Plus, Asher had told me he was good at the logic games portion of the law school entrance exams.

  At The Pines. Come over. We’ll order in.

  I hit send before I lost my nerve. It took Asher a full three minutes to respond.

  On my way. How’s pizza?

  I blew out a breath, relieved he hadn’t launched into a lecture via text. I told him that pizza was great and gave him the apartment number. Then I called downstairs to let Darrell know that I had a guest on the way, and he should be allowed up.

  Asher arrived with a thin crust spinach and goat cheese pie an hour later. I’d temporarily given up on the journal entry and was examining the butterfly necklace when he knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” I called. Only a second later, I realized that I probably should’ve checked the peephole to make sure my visitor was, in fact, Asher.

  My thought was confirmed as soon as he opened the door. He greeted me with, “It really isn’t safe to just invite people in without knowing who they are. Especially when you’re inviting them into this apartment. I could’ve been an axe murderer.”

  “Darrell has my back. He’d at least be sure the axe murderer signed in first,” I replied, not bothering to hide my smile. “Pizza smells great.” I hoped my attempt to change the subject was subtle enough.

  Asher set the box on the kitchen counter and set about rifling through the cabinets for plates. “How’s it coming?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Eh. So-so,” I said.

  I filled him in on how I’d whittled down the list of words until I was left with just thirteen. And how, from there, I’d tried both forming a sentence with the words and forming words with the letters.

  Asher emerged from the kitchen carrying two plates, each with pizza slices hanging over the sides. I thanked him when he handed me a plate and a cloth napkin. In turn, I handed him the pad of paper with the words. He took a huge bite of cheese and spinach as he studied the list. I chewed a substantially smaller nibble and watched him intently. Asher managed to finish an entire slice of pizza before saying a word. He leaned forward to set the pad of paper on the coffee table.

  “Ideas?” I asked.

  He blew out a long breath, then wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. The expression was adorable and made him look younger than he actually was.

  “Well,” he began tentatively, “you’ve already tried most of the possibilities. Given that, my best guess is that these letters correspond to numbers. Like this ‘B’ is a 2 and the ‘D’ is a four. Get it?”

  I nodded.

  “If so, it might be a combination for something.” He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, transferring a little of the pizza grease to his sandy locks. “Look, like I said earlier, Lark Kingsley might be nuts. This might mean nothing. And I’m not doubting your methods, but it’s always possible that there is actually a hidden meaning in the words. You just maybe missed a word, or used one you shouldn’t have. I don’t know.”

  I scoffed, but had to admit that he had a point.

  “Are you offended?” Asher asked. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Honestly. It’s just, well, unless you’ve holding out on me and are some safe-cracking prodigy–”

  “A safe!” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet.

  “Huh?” Asher’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

  “The receipt I found, remember? The bill was for one item and installation. It might be a safe!”

  Asher wasn’t convinced, and was definitely lacking my enthusiasm, but he did manage to keep the skepticism to a minimum. He reluctantly admitted, “Linus Systems could be a safe company.”

  My laptop was open on the coffee table, and I was already typing the name into Google. I metaphorically kicked myself for not thinking to look up the company sooner. The first hit was for a security company. They had offices all over the world, including one in Chevy Chase, Maryland. One look at their website erased Asher’s lingering doubts. Their specialty was building and installing custom safes.

  For the first time in days, I felt like I was truly making progress. My excitement was contagious, too. Asher was on his feet, pacing back and forth. He idly pulled at his chin with one hand, deep in thought.

  “A safe. Now we’re getting somewhere…,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

  “There has to be something big in it, right? I mean, why bother paying ten thousand dollars, unless you intend to put something even more expensive inside. I don’t know anything about safes, but that sounds like a lot of money to spend on one, doesn’t it?”

  “A hell of a lot,” Asher agreed. Abruptly, he stopped pacing and placed his hands on his hips. He was facing me, his expression serious. “If – and I’m talking about a huge if – that journal entry does lead us to the combination for the safe and we find something
big…like a real clue about what happened to Lark Kingsley….” He trailed off, but I was able to finish the thought for him.

  “We take it to the cops,” I agreed.

  Asher worked on the code while I started searching the apartment for the safe. It was easier to locate than I would have imagined, though only because I knew to look for it. The safe had been installed in Lark’s closet. It was on the back wall, partially hidden by the dresses hanging there and partially by the rows of stacked shoeboxes on the floor. It wasn’t obvious at first. Not until I’d cleared away every last pair of high-end heels and shoved all of the garments to the sides, was I able to see the outline of a two-foot square panel. It was the same creamy white as the rest of the wall, and was wedged almost seamlessly into the surrounding surface.

  “Asher, come quick,” I called. “I found it.”

  The thump of his heavy footsteps mirrored the accelerated beats of my heart as he pounded down the hallway. He reached the closet to find me attempting to pry the panel loose with my fingernails. The damned thing refused to budge.

  “Sucker’s in there tight,” I said.

  Asher knelt beside me on the closet floor. He began knocking on the wall like he was looking for a stud.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Making sure there is really something back there before we tear the wall apart.”

  I listened carefully as he rapped his knuckles several inches to the right of the seam, and then again inside the box. The difference was slight, but undeniable.

  “Yes?”

  “Definitely something back there. Now, the question is, how do we get to it?”

  “Maybe I’m just not strong enough?” I suggested. “You try.”

  It was quickly apparent that he would have no more success than I did. His nubby nails weren’t long enough to grip the edge of the panel, and all he accomplished was scratching the paint.

  “We need a screwdriver,” I said, sitting back on my haunches.

  Despite the overeager air conditioning, my face and hands were slightly clammy. Strands of dark hair stuck to my forehead, and I tried to push them off with my forearm.

  Asher shot me a skeptical look over his shoulder. “And you think Lark Kingsley has a fully stocked toolbox around here?”

  “A knife, then?” I suggested.

  “Definitely worth a shot.” His enthusiasm had returned and he jogged back through the bedroom.

  While Asher went to locate a knife, I succeeded in breaking every one of my nails trying to pry the panel loose. It was stupid, but I was so eager to see what Lark had hidden in the safe that I couldn’t wait. Whatever was in there was big. A game changer. I felt it. The contents of the safe were going to lead me to Lark.

  Asher returned with two knives and the pad of paper from the living room. He dropped the latter on the carpet and handed me one of the knives. With each of us taking one side, we worked the tips of the knives into the seams. It took a great deal of finagling and jimmying back and forth, but finally, finally, the panel began to come loose from the wall. Once there was enough material to grab, I dropped my knife and pulled it free.

  Even though I’d fully expected to find it, the sight of the metal box made my breath hitch. When I met Asher’s eyes, he, too, wore an expression of shock and awe. My heart was racing so fast I thought it might run right out of my chest. I wished that I had x-ray vision. Even the moments it would take to enter the passcode were too long. I wanted to see the contents right then.

  Some of my excitement dimmed when I realized there was no keypad. I’d expected ten buttons, each one labeled with a number from zero to nine. Instead, the front of the safe had a slick, black, rectangular box in the center. That was it.

  Shit. What if it’s a biometric lock? I thought grimly. A safe that costs ten grand might come with a fingerprint scanner or something equally Jason Bourne-ish.

  Fingers trembling slightly, I reached out and ran a fingertip across the screen. I let out a yelp when it sprang to life immediately. Thank goodness. A neon green touchscreen keypad appeared.

  “Do you want to do the honors?” Asher asked quietly.

  I nodded. “Read off the numbers to me?”

  “Sure.”

  One by one, Asher slowly read off the numbers that corresponded to the capitalized letters. One by one, I input them.

  “Last one…,” he said.

  I reached for his hand, needing the moral and physical support. My head was spinning so fast, it was entirely possible I might pass out before ever seeing what was inside. Asher laced his fingers with mine and squeezed. The gesture was small, but had the desired effect. I felt grounded holding on to him.

  “Four.” Asher’s voice was barely above a whisper now.

  I pressed the square with a four inside and held my breath. Two sharp, electronic beeps rewarded our efforts. A heartbeat later, the door eased open an inch. Excited as I was, I didn’t reach for the door right away. Since finding Lark’s journal, I’d been living in this alternate reality. No, not exactly an alternate reality. More like I’d been living her life. I’d been so consumed with finding out what happened to her that I hadn’t thought of much else. Now, on the precipice of possibly finding out Lark’s biggest secrets, I found that I was a little sad. I’d come to think of Lark as a sort of kind of friend, and I was going to miss her. Not that any of that was important. Because we were going to find her.

  My feelings had been premature. I soon realized that the mystery was far from over. In fact, just like every one of Lark’s clues up to this point, the contents of the safe brought about more questions than they answered. But unlike the previous clues, this one was extremely personal. And left me speechless.

  Inside the ten thousand-dollar safe, hidden behind a false panel in a penthouse apartment rented by a diamond heiress who had vanished into thin air, was a manila envelope. Inside that envelope was a passport, a debit card for First National Bank, and a credit card. Every single item bore the same name. And it wasn’t Lark’s…

  Raven Ferragamo.

  I stared down at the picture on the passport, unable to believe what was right in front of my eyes. It was definitely me in the photograph. Later, after several shots of cheap liquor, I’d calm down enough to realize that it was my senior year school picture. But in that moment, coherent and rational thoughts weren’t possible. One thought continuously resonated through my mind. Finding Lark’s journal wasn’t random. Somehow, some way, she’d orchestrated the whole thing.

  Now I had the biggest question of all to answer: Why me?

  Platinum Prey (Blind Barriers Trilogy #2) Available Christmas 2014

  Vacant Voices (Blind Barriers Trilogy #3) Available June 2015

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  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Fragile Façade!

  As a reader, reviewing books is the most important things you can do: they allow little-known authors like me to gain new readers! When finding a book that they’ve heard nothing about, many readers will give it a try if they’re able to check out opinions of the books from readers like you!

  So, I hope you’ll consider leaving me a review—whether good or bad—on both your E-reader’s site and Goodreads.com. Read on!

  xoxo, Sophie

  There are more people than I can possibly name to thank for contributing in so many ways to the completion of this book...but I’ll do my best.

  Firstly, of course, my partner-in-crime – we make quite a team, huh? Thank you for always be
ing there for me, for your support, your encouragement and, most of all, your loyalty. All of our success so far is definitely due to all of your hard work. I’m really glad we decided to do this whole thing together, and I am so excited for what we have coming up.

  To my family- thank you for supporting me and believing in all of this.

  To my street team: thank you for your unwavering devotion, and for the time and energy you devote to me and the books. Whether it’s spreading the word about the books, coming up with slogans, or giving me your opinions on book covers, I really appreciate that you always come through for me. I’m really looking forward to us growing together!

  To all the indie authors, large and small, who have embraced us and kept with the true nature of this community. There has always been someone there to help when I’ve had questions, concerns, or could just use a little light in my day. (Shine on, Madison Daniel!)

  To the bloggers, for reading my books and posting about them. Some of you have been around since I first released Talented! The fact that you were not just willing, but even eager to read it, despite the fact you’d never heard of me is nothing short of amazing. I am so grateful to all of you, for that and everything since then.

  To Ashley, for being a super fan, and for allowing me the gift of reading your writing. You’re going to be a huge success someday, I just know it. Thank you for showing the world that there isn’t anything that can’t be overcome.

  To my readers, for taking a chance on an unknown, and for the enthusiasm you’ve shown towards both me and my work.

  And finally, to the girls who are closest to my heart, who have done more for me than I can begin to think of, let alone say. Thank you Barb and Justine for being so incredible. Thank you for the time you give me, the assistance and the advice, and for joining the SDB team. You guys are both such an integral part of my days, I can’t fathom getting by without you anymore.