Platinum Prey

by Sophie Davis

  To be safe, I did a sweep of every conceivable nook and cranny. A nervous giggle escaped my lips and echoed off the bathroom walls when I threw aside the shower curtain to make sure the tub was empty—it felt like I was reenacting the shower scene from Psycho. Haphazardly, I tore garments off their hangers to assure myself that no one was lurking amongst the sundresses and pullovers. Kneeling on the floor beneath the clothes, I examined the panel covering the safe. Unfortunately, all the scraps from when Asher and I pried it loose were still lying on the carpet, so it was impossible to tell whether someone else had attempted to do the same. When I flipped up the bed skirt, I half expected a hand to dart out and grab my ankle. But underneath, I found only dust bunnies.

  No longer in stealth mode, I turned on every light in the apartment—electricity bill be damned—and performed similar searches in the guest bedroom and second bathroom. Never in my life was I so relieved to come up empty-handed.

  After opening every closet door, and even the gigantic refrigerator, I was finally satisfied that I was, in fact, alone. Relieved to the point of hysteria, I started to laugh. The short, high-pitched bursts of laughter bounced off the walls and made me feel like the apartment was mocking me.

  “Oh, come on, someone was in here,” I grumbled.

  Who, though, had been in the apartment? That was the million-dollar question.

  I’d come to The Pines as an escape, to physically distance myself from Asher. Though, given the circumstances, facing the guy I’d kissed in a moment of weakness seemed the lesser of two evils.

  All the clues I’d found thus far were in my messenger bag. Before running into Deidre, I’d planned to revisit those clues for something I might have missed. But I was no longer interested in pouring over notes and articles that I could recite verbatim. No, now I was intent on uncovering the identity of the visitor. If it wasn’t Blake Greyfield, then who was it? Who else had Lark trusted enough to give a key to her apartment?

  Slightly more clearheaded, I performed another search of the apartment, this time looking for items that were out of place. The apartment was just as neat and tidy as I’d left it. The doors were only askew because I’d opened every last one in my search for the intruder. The clothes in the walk-in were only piled into a heap on the closet floor because I’d tossed them there. Nothing was amiss. Except….

  The noise. The thump that came from Lark’s bedroom. What fell?

  Sans butcher knife, I returned to the master bedroom. Standing in the doorway, I scanned the room, just as I’d done earlier. This time I wasn’t looking for a person, but rather an object. Something had to be out of place. My gaze zeroed in on the culprit almost immediately—a book lying on the floor next to the bed. It was so obviously out of place that it was a wonder I’d missed it before.

  Kneeling down, I retrieved the book of sudoku puzzles. Last I was able to recall, it had been on the bedside table. It wasn’t the only item on the ground; the manila envelope from the safe had fallen, as well.

  Had I left them so close to the edge? Or had the visitor been looking at the contents?

  I picked up both the envelope and the puzzle book and sat on the bed. The passport was still inside the envelope, just where I’d left it. Absently, I thumbed through its pages. Maybe when this is all over I can add some stamps to this thing.

  Every muscle in my body suddenly froze, an unsettling realization causing temporary paralysis: the claim ticket. What if the guy had been looking for the claim ticket to Larry’s Pawn? That ticket was a stepping stone to the safety-deposit box with the envelope addressed to Blake. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one following clues that Lark had left behind. Maybe this guy had found another apartment key in a train locker, his glove box, or even under a freaking rock.

  Was it possible?

  Lark was a planner and plotter worthy of her own detective show. I often wondered how a girl like that could leave so much to chance. But maybe she hadn’t. Maybe the guy Deidre had seen entering the apartment was the Hardy Boy to my Nancy Drew. If I found him, we could work together. Two heads are better than one, and all that.

  How to find him, though….

  While I pondered that conundrum, I flipped through the sudoku book without really paying attention to the puzzles, except to note that they were all completed. Apparently Lark kept her mastermind skills sharp by obsessively playing number games.

  “Think, Raven. Who did Lark trust? You have her journal, for heaven’s sake.”

  The journal.

  If I was a cartoon character, a light bulb would have just appeared above my head. Lark’s journal was documentation of the last year of her life. She wrote about school, parties, the Elite Eight, Blake, and her parents. If the mystery man wasn’t Blake, maybe he was one of the Eight?

  Worth a shot, I told myself, ignoring the nagging voice in my head reminding me that I was not one of the people Lark mentioned in her journal. At least, not yet, but I hadn’t read the entire journal.

  Is my name in those pages? In the lines of looping scrawl, would I learn how, and why, Lark had chosen me?

  Goosebumps sprang up on my arms and legs, as though someone had cranked up the air conditioning. My hands began to tremble, and I dropped the sudoku book. I stared down at my shaking fingers as though they’d betrayed me.

  What is wrong with you? I wondered. Answers, real answers, might lie in those pages. Go get the journal.

  I stood, obeying the voice in my head guiding my actions, but my legs wobbled and my knees buckled. The room began to spin. I sunk to the carpet, head pounding as though a drummer was having a jam session inside my skull.

  What is wrong with you? I thought again. Darkness tinged the edges of my vision. Don’t you want to know the truth?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LARK

  EMERGING FROM THE darkness into the brightly lit lobby, I took a moment to let my senses adjust. The sounds of the latest billboard hit, played by the most talented cover band in Manhattan, emanated from the ballroom. A few, small clusters of family, school friends, and society acquaintances mingled in the lobby, but most partygoers were inside—where I was supposed to be, blowing out the candles on my birthday cake.

  With my and Blake’s fight fresh in my mind, I found it hard to care about my mother’s schedule. My “dirty little secret”? Was he serious? There was nothing dirty about our relationship. It was the most pure, most honest thing in my life. It may be the only pure and honest thing in my life. How did I make Blake understand? The truth might scare him away, and I couldn’t risk losing him. Not yet.

  Is it ever going to be the right time? I wondered.

  Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I had too many balls in the air, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the juggling routine. My secrets had secrets, my lies led to more lies. And I was drowning in ugly truths that a part of me wished I could forget.

  No. You’ve been ignorant too long, I told myself.

  Instead of heading toward the open doors and the music, I sought out a deserted bench; I needed a minute to pull myself together before returning to the spotlight. Mother would just have to wait. I leaned forward to rest my forehead in my hands. I used my fingertips to massage my temples and focused on clearing my mind. If I didn’t turn my mood around pronto, everyone would spend the next week talking about how unhappy I looked while blowing out my candles.

  Personally, I couldn’t care less about what the gossip columns said about me. They could call me an ungrateful brat, or create some wild story about how I’d been caught having an orgy in the suite upstairs and was annoyed that I’d been forced to leave to appear with my cake. But this wasn’t all about me—I didn’t want a scandal after my mother had given so much of her time and my father had given so much of his money. And I’d already put them through enough of that type of malicious gossip in the past. Seeing Adam had reminded me of that. The worst part? There had been a lot of truth behind those rumors.

  “You okay?”

  There w
as no need to look up, I recognized the voice. “Yeah, I’m good,” I answered, as Adam eased down beside me.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Yep.” The lie wasn’t up to my usual caliber.

  “Want me to beat him up for you?” Adam asked, tone equal parts playful and concerned.

  I tensed and slowly raised my head to meet Adam’s gaze. Had he heard Blake and me fighting? If so, how many others had witnessed the scene?

  Instead of admitting the truth, I tried to call his bluff. “Who?” I asked, widening my eyes in feigned innocence.

  His expression suggested the alcohol had impaired my lying abilities. “Oh, I don’t know, that guy you were shouting at in the shadows—your dirty little secret, I believe he said his name was.”

  I cringed. Adam had heard our fight. Over a year of tiptoeing around our parents and friends, sneaking away for romantic interludes, and lying to everyone we knew…it was all for nothing. We’d finally been caught.

  Maybe I should go blow out my candles, I thought wryly, because I really needed to use my birthday wish just then.

  Staring into Adam’s eyes, it was like someone had pressed mute on The Lark Show: no more music, no more happy chatter, no plates clanging as the caterers collected them, no more melodic pings of crystal being knocked together. Nothing.

  “Lark?” Adam asked, his voice sounded as if it were coming from somewhere far away. “Lark? Are you okay?”

  He blinked, and I snapped out of my trance. The concerned expression on Adam’s face reminded me that once upon a time I’d trusted him implicitly. For years he’d been my best friend, my confidante. And I had been his. Even though we hadn’t spoken in years, he’d covered for me with my mother about the whole date night situation, and hadn’t asked for an explanation afterwards.

  When Adam took my hand, it was as though no time at all had passed since the days of sleepovers and movie marathons.

  “I…” While thinking about how to complete that thought, something occurred to me. “Wait, were you following me?” I asked, uncertainly.

  “What? No, of course not,” he replied, looking at me like I’d grown a second head. “After downing two drinks with your friends, I had to use the bathroom.”

  “Two drinks?”

  “Yeah, you’d been gone for twenty minutes before I excused myself. Why would I follow you?” he asked, probably wondering when I’d grown so paranoid.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean that how it sounded,” I said quickly. Pull it together, girl. “I just…I just thought we were alone.”

  “When I was walking over to the bathrooms,” Adam pointed over to a large “Restrooms” sign across the lobby, “I heard you talking with someone in the hallway. I wouldn’t have said anything—obviously, it’s none of my business—but when you came out, you looked so miserable. Sort of like you do now. And the guy you were with, well, let’s just say I’ve seen death-row inmates with happier expressions. You sure everything is okay? I really will beat him up for you if you need me to.”

  Even knowing that Adam was trying to lighten the mood, I couldn’t muster the appropriate reaction. “No, really, I’m okay,” I said. “I don’t need a champion to fight my battles. But thanks for the knight-in-shining-armor offer.”

  “Always,” Adam replied, giving me a gallant, seated bow. A smirk tugged one corner of his mouth upwards as he added, “My white horse is in the shop anyway.”

  At that, I finally smiled. Adam’s goofy antics reminded me of the old days, when he’d make a fool of himself just to hear me giggle.

  A tuxedoed waiter passed by on his way to the ballroom. Adam waved him over and snagged two sparkling glasses of champagne. He raised his flute in toast before taking sips of the bubbly.

  “So, I get it’s none of my business, but was that the real secret boyfriend?” Adam asked.

  I sighed and tasted my champagne, nodding slowly. “His name is Blake,” I admitted, the weight pressing down on my shoulders becoming lighter.

  “He’s cute,” Adam said, with a wink.

  “Hands off, buddy,” I said, giving him a gentle nudge with my elbow. “You know I don’t share. Blake is mine.”

  Adam laughed. “Yeah, I seem to remember an incident with stuffed shark…You didn’t talk to me for like two weeks.”

  “I was eight!” I exclaimed with mock incredulity.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Adam’s smile faded. “So why exactly is Blake a secret? Eleanor doesn’t approve of tall, dark, and handsome guys?” He raised an eyebrow. “Or is that something you people do here in Manhattan? Are secret boyfriends the new black?”

  I tried to stifle a laugh and ended up snorting. “Don’t be ridiculous. Polka dots are the new black. Everyone knows that.”

  Adam shook his head. “My bad. I must have missed my last issue of Vogue.” There was a shift in his expression, and he squeezed my hand. “Seriously, though, what’s the deal? Why the secret? Do his parents disapprove of your humble Connecticut childhood? Does his publicist think it’s bad for his image? Do his friends hate diamonds?”

  “Where do you come up with this stuff?” I asked, laughing.

  “US Weekly—duh.”

  “Right, of course,” I intoned. “That makes total sense.”

  “Are you avoiding my question?” he asked pointedly.

  “Maybe a little,” I conceded. “It’s hard to explain. I mean…it’s complicated. At first, it was to spare him the judgment of my friends and, of course, my mother. And then it just felt so good to have something of my own, something that was unsullied by other people’s opinions, something that was just about Blake and me….” As I thought about our happy, little bubble, and how close it was to popping, I trailed off.

  “And then?” Adam prompted gently.

  “And then it became harder. Tonight, for instance—he wasn’t supposed to be here. Don’t get me wrong, I want nothing more than to share this, to share everything, with him. The last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings. It’s a really difficult situation.”

  Even though it was a huge relief to say Blake’s name aloud to another person, I wasn’t exactly ready to tell all. There was too much at stake, too many people who would get hurt—most of all, Blake and me.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Adam said, as if sensing my hesitation.

  “I know. It’s kind of nice to talk about it, though. That’s one of the hardest things about having a hidden relationship: I can’t talk about it with my friends.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, I’m here to listen.”

  “I really have missed you so much,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. “I love the friends I’ve made in Manhattan, but it’s not the same.”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” Adam replied, putting his free arm around me to give me a squeeze. “Coming out of the closet in the preppiest town on earth wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

  “You came out?” I asked, sitting up to give him an affectionate hug. “That’s amazing.” I hesitated, gauging his reaction before asking, “How did your parents take it?”

  Adam shrugged. “Better than expected but worse than I would have liked.” His laugh was derisive. “My father has actually been really supportive, but his publicist—um, Lark, man candy stage left, and he does not look happy.”

  I followed Adam’s gaze, and found Blake striding toward us. I started to pull away from Adam, but not before my boyfriend saw the embrace. Blake’s determined expression faltered, as did his steps. In the space of a heartbeat, too many emotions to count passed across his face.

  The words were out of my mouth before I considered the ramifications. “Blake, over here,” I called, waving him closer.

  Blake hesitated, unsure of the situation he’d stumbled upon.

  I gestured to him again. “I want you to meet a very good friend of mine,” I said as Blake neared, ignoring the obvious tension between us. “Blake Greyfield, meet Adam Ridell. Adam, this is Blake, the guy I wa
s telling you about.”

  Skeptical, as though unable to believe this introduction was actually happening, Blake extended his hand to Adam. “Hey.”

  “So you’re the boyfriend? It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” Adam replied, making it sound as though I’d been filling his head with talk of Blake for ages, instead of the few vague comments I’d made moments earlier.

  The transformation was instantaneous. Blake’s small, polite smile grew into a full-on grin, and his handshake was a little more enthusiastic than necessary. “I am. It’s great to meet you, too. I don’t know many of Lark’s friends.”

  “I’m the only one that matters,” Adam joked.

  “So how do you two know each other?” Blake asked.

  He was obviously excited about the introduction, but also a little uneasy. Which I understood, since I’d never mentioned Adam to Blake.

  “Lark was my girlfriend. You know, before I was ready to admit to the world that I’m gay. Even though both she and I have known since the day we got into a fight over who was more likely to marry a Jonas brother.” Adam deadpanned.

  Blake froze, and then slowly looked from Adam to me with wide, shocked eyes. “Seriously?” he asked. “Of all the guys to end a relationship over, you two picked the Jonas brothers? I hope it was Joe.”

  All three of us burst out laughing at the joke. I held my hand out to Blake and beamed up at him. He accepted the peace offering and joined Adam and me on the bench. Despite the people milling about in the lobby, I gave Blake a quick peck on the cheek.

  “I’m more of a Nick fan myself,” Adam admitted. “But please, don’t hold that against me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Blake chuckled.

  The two of them quickly began chatting about college and a restaurant in Connecticut they both apparently loved. They also realized they’d attended the same sleepaway camp, though not the same years. Blake and Adam were genuinely hitting it off. It was like they’d been longtime friends and I was the third wheel, which I didn’t mind in the least.