Platinum Prey Page 10

  “Tomorrow,” I announced to the empty apartment, “I’m heading over to Georgetown. I’m going to find Blake myself.”

  Before that moment, I hadn’t considered really going to track down Blake in the flesh. Cyberstalking was one thing. Actual stalking was just plain creepy. Except, I wasn’t doing it to be creepy—I was searching for his girlfriend.

  Plus, I had no intention of making contact with Lark’s mysterious boyfriend. It was just an urge that overcame me with no warning: I wanted to see him in person. Because Lark was so descriptive of her feelings and their time together in her journal, I felt…I felt like I knew him. Which, yes, was obviously a little weird, but my entire life was so far past weird at this point, it barely even registered.

  So, yeah…I’m going to do this. I’m going to find Blake, I decided. How to find him among the vast sea of other preppy people in Georgetown—that was going to take some thought.

  I’d worry about that tomorrow.

  Unfortunately, no stroke of genius occurred while I was sleeping. On the plus side, I woke up in the same place I fell asleep—my bed—and didn’t have to spend my first waking moments confused and full of panic. Until the night I found the butterfly necklace in my car, it had been years since I’d sleepwalked. Attempting to brush it off, I told myself it was stress; stress over finding Lark, but also stress over devoting all my time and energy to an activity that was above my pay grade when I wasn’t even getting paid. I should have been finding a job and concentrating on building a life for myself.

  Deciding a little fresh air might give me a new perspective on the situation, I took my laptop and the Lark files to the nearest Starbucks for an overpriced cup of strong coffee and free Wi-Fi. But once I was wedged in between a woman with a double stroller and a truant teenager, I still had no clue how best to find Blake. On the one hand, I felt pretty certain that I’d recognize him once I saw him. But going to Georgetown’s campus, wandering aimlessly, and hoping to stumble across Lark’s boyfriend didn’t seem like the best strategy. No, I needed a more concrete plan of attack.

  Taking a gulp of my rich, peppermint mocha for good luck, I opened my laptop. Last night’s Google search was still up on my browser, and I clicked one of the links at random. Unsure of what to do next, I stared blankly at the Georgetown University’s homepage. It showed an eclectic mix of students sitting in a lecture hall, attention focused on the former First Lady standing at the front of the room. Finally, an idea: since Blake was classified as a sophomore, he’d likely be taking classes specific to his major. If I could figure out what his major was, all I had to do was sit outside that building or section of campus and wait for Blake to show up. Admittedly, it wasn’t the greatest plan devised—Lark was the mastermind, not me. But it was all I could think of at this point, so it’d have to do.

  Next to me, one of the children in the double stroller let out an earsplitting wail. The sudden noise made me jump, and I fought the urge to cover my ears. The children’s mother must have noticed my reaction because she was quick to offer an apology.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “The twins are usually so well-behaved in public. This place,” she made a small circle with her index finger meant to encompass the entire coffee shop, “is a little overwhelming for them. Especially little Evie.” The woman beamed with pride as she bent down and swept a tuft of unruly, dark hair from her daughter’s forehead.

  “Johan is usually my little troublemaker,” she added.

  The tiny toddler, Johan, cooed at the mention of his name, and then reached a pudgy arm over and placed it around his sister.

  Unable to help myself, I grinned. The twins were adorable. Watching them interact tugged at my heartstrings. For as long as I could remember, I’d desperately wanted a sibling—someone to share not just life’s ups and downs, but family vacations and Christmas mornings; someone who loved me, even when they didn’t like me; someone who wasn’t my parents.

  Was that why I felt so close to Lark? Reading her journal gave me a perspective on her life that even her closest friends didn’t have. It created a bond between us that few ever shared with another person. Despite all the odds, I knew the real Lark—her insecurities, her worries, her secrets. When this was all over, would we become friends? Would I share with her all the parts of me that I hid from the rest of the world?

  The mother blew on her coffee, worry darkening her gaze. She shifted in her seat, and I realized that she was waiting for me to say something.

  “It’s no bother,” I said, waving off the woman’s apology. And then for good measure, I added, “They’re really adorable.”

  The mother swelled with pride, the slight blush of embarrassment that had crept into her cheeks began to disappear. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  With one last smile at the twins, I returned my attention to the search for more information on Blake. I browsed several more articles about his soccer matches at Georgetown. The write-ups were impersonal, mentioning little beyond his position—center midfielder—and stats. Even the one interview I stumbled across failed to list his major or hint at where he spent his free time.

  Feeling defeated, I clicked over to Georgetown’s athletic department page in a last-ditch attempt to learn something that might help me find Blake on a campus of nearly eight thousand students. I finally struck gold—the university’s soccer team practiced at 6 p.m. daily, at the stadium on Hoya Drive.

  Yahtzee! I thought, faith in my sleuthing abilities renewed. Maybe after this was all over, I really would open a PI business. Solving a case like this—saving a missing diamond heiress—would definitely give me street cred.

  Glancing at the digital clock on my laptop, I was surprised to find that it was already just after noon. There were still over five hours to kill before Blake’s scheduled practice time. This meant I had just over five hours to work up enough courage to spy on Lark’s boyfriend.

  Now that I’d confirmed Blake’s existence, my heart broke for him. What must he have gone through since she’d vanished? What must he still be going through?

  Even if his love for Lark was a mere shadow of her love for him—doubtful, after everything I’d read—the guy must be in agony over her disappearance. When I saw him, would I really be able to keep all I knew inside? Didn’t Blake have a right to know that Lark hadn’t just decided she was done with him and taken off? Whether it was because she’d been kidnapped or that she’d run away to save herself, Lark’s disappearance wasn’t her choice. Her choice was to be with Blake, no matter the consequences.

  But did he know that? If I were Blake, would I want to know?

  Too many questions, too few answers.

  One thing I knew for sure: Asher was so not coming along to watch me stalk Blake. For that matter, it was probably best if I didn’t even divulge what I was going to do. Given my neighbor’s protective instincts where I was concerned, it would just cause a problem.

  With my plan in place, I packed up my things and started walking home. Just as I began devising excuses to ditch him for the evening, Lady Luck paid me a visit in the form of a text message from Asher. To my utter astonishment and immense relief, eluding Asher for the evening was ridiculously simple:

  Asher: Got plans tonight?

  Me: Nothing special.

  Asher: I have class until 7:30. Wanna do a late dinner around 8:30?

  Me: Sounds good. I’ll buy.

  That earned me a smiley face from him, matching the one spread across my own features. I felt bad lying to Asher. He’d been nothing but kind and caring and helpful since our very first encounter.

  I’ll tell him all about it over dinner, I decided, appeasing my conscience. Maybe. Who am I kidding? That’s unlikely.

  Since I wasn’t going to speak to Blake, it wasn’t likely that I’d learn any new, vital information that would help us find Lark. Besides, Asher might think I was nuts for going to find the guy from a stranger’s diary. I didn’t want, or need, my only friend in D.C. questioning my mental stabil
ity.

  after a couple of hours of mundane distractions, I was nervously awaiting the time to head over to Georgetown. I listened at my door for the sound of Asher leaving for his evening class. Then I waited while fifteen long, agonizing minutes ticked away before I exited the Gibson Street row house. Once in my car, I punched the address for Georgetown’s stadium into my GPS. It was a little before five o’clock, and the GPS had my ETA at 5:08 p.m. That gave me about an hour to find public parking and hoof it to the stadium.

  Of course, once I reached the cobblestoned streets of the posh district, I found that parking was even worse in Georgetown than Petworth. Unable to find anything closer, I had to park in a residential neighborhood three blocks away from the shopping mecca and bar scene that Georgetown was known for.

  The evening was cooler than the previous few, though I was still comfortable in my wine-colored J. Crew shorts and white t-shirt. If my calculations were correct—though I was, admittedly, directionally challenged—it would be a ten-block walk through streets filled with tidy townhouses and luxury sports cars. Stretching my legs felt good, and the walk went a long way toward burning off the nervous energy coursing through my veins.

  The envelope addressed to Blake was in my messenger bag, the weight of it causing my shoulder to ache after only a few blocks. Maybe I should’ve put it in the outgoing mail first thing that morning, or stopped at a post office on my drive over to Georgetown, or put it in the numerous public blue boxes I passed on my walk to the stadium.

  But I didn’t.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t have every intention of mailing it—I did. I was definitely going to get the envelope to Blake, and it would most likely still be unopened when I did. In the last twenty-four hours, I’d told myself this over and over again. It was just that, unfortunately, burning curiosity was a powerful moral inhibitor.

  I need to see Blake first. Then I’ll feel better about mailing him the envelope, I kept telling myself.

  Finally, I reached the entrance to Georgetown’s stadium a little before six. Though it seemed highly unlikely that Blake would have any idea who I was, I had no interest in being called out as a crazy stalker chick. As such, my face was obscured by oversized sunglasses and partially hidden behind a pole.

  Strangely, I was finding it hard to take deep breaths, hard to think, hard to…anything. This felt like such a defining moment. Though I had no idea what line I was about to cross. All I knew was the thump of my heart overtook all other sounds, and the only thing in my sight was the path leading to the front of the stadium—where I might finally catch a glimpse of Blake Greyfield. I didn’t just want to see Blake, I needed to lay eyes on the guy who had stolen Lark Kingsley’s heart.

  And then the man, the myth, the Blake Greyfield walked toward the entrance gate.

  My strategy for the stakeout location had been a good one. I was near enough to the entrance that I would see Blake, but not so near as to be obviously lurking around it. As bits of conversation drifted my way, I felt satisfied with my decision. Until Blake and his teammates veered off course.

  They moved farther from the entrance gate and closer to where I stood—right next to an unmarked door that I’d stupidly assumed led to something as inane as a closet. My lungs felt tight from lack of oxygen. Reminding myself to breathe was almost more than I could handle.

  “Dude, Rachel is hot. What more do you need to know about her?” One of Blake’s friends asked him. The guy was the blonde, surfer-type, the kind that belonged in California and a wet suit.

  A sudden urge to punch the kid in his slightly-crooked nose came over me. But an alarm in my head, telling me I needed to move so that Blake wouldn’t pass so closely by me, was more intense. Briefly warring with the emotion, I felt something akin to…envy. Who was this Rachel chick and why did it matter whether she was hot?

  Needing to hear more, I took a step back into the shadows and remained within ear’s shot.

  “She’s pretty,” Blake agreed, his tone indifferent.

  A fierce pang of jealously caused my stomach to cramp. Blake thought another girl was pretty? Your girlfriend is missing, you asshat! I wanted to shout the words so badly that I dug my nails into the flesh of my palm to fight the urge.

  “But I’m not really in the dating mind frame right now,” Blake added.

  The words were like a balm to my scorched heart.

  The third guy, an exotic mix of dark skin and baby-blue eyes, laughed before chiming in. “Who said anything about dating?”

  “I’m not in that sort of mind frame either. Going to the mixer with her would be mean when I’m not interested,” Blake insisted.

  Exactly. Don’t lead the poor girl on. And don’t forget about the love of your life, while you’re at it.

  The three guys were at the door, just ten feet from where I lurked—err, stood. Caught up in their conversation, my presence didn’t register on their radar.

  “Seriously? Come on, Greyfield, have you hooked up with a single girl since coming to college?” Blondie asked as he reached for the door handle.

  Yes, Blake, I thought, have you “hooked up” with a girl since coming to college?

  As nuts as my life had become, I was still surprised by the vehement feelings their conversation was bringing out in me. The thought of Blake with someone other than Lark truly bothered me. I was indignant on her behalf. Secret relationship be damned; it didn’t give him the right to go off and hook up with another girl. There was a nationwide manhunt going on for his girlfriend, for heaven’s sake.

  “It’s complicated,” Blake said with a sigh, as if he’d said those same words many, many times. “I’m just…. It’s just…. It’s complicated.”

  One by one, the three guys filed through the door, without so much as a glance in my direction.

  “Well, then could you put in a good word for me?” I heard the blonde guy ask from somewhere beyond the door. “’Cause to me, it’s pretty simple: a hot girl needs a date to her sorority mixer. I’m so there.”

  Just before the door clanged shut, I heard Blake reply, “She’s all yours, man. She’s all yours.”

  Right answer, Blake.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LARK

  “Are we cool?” I held my breath waiting for Adam’s reply.

  “Of course,” he replied. Putting his hand on my arm, Adam gave it a gentle squeeze.

  The tension between us lessened another notch with his assurance.

  “Are you sure? What happened must’ve been so weird for you.”

  “It wasn’t weird, Lark. I was just worried about you.” Sincerity shone in his caramel eyes. His words were not simple platitudes meant to make the situation less awkward. “You left without ever saying goodbye. I called, sent texts, and you never replied. I didn’t know what to think, and I worried about you.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. I can’t begin to imagine how you felt and what you thought. I wanted to call, honestly. My parents, they flipped. And they…“overreacted” is a severe understatement, that’s like saying this is a quaint space to have an intimate party. They lost their shit, and….”

  Lost in a flood of emotions, I didn’t notice Adam had closed the gap between us until his strong arms wrapped around me. The hug was comforting, and I laid my head on his chest. He’d grown so much in these last few years, no longer my short, scrawny childhood friend but nearly a full-grown man.

  “I didn’t know you called. My mother took my phone. I figured you didn’t want to see me or talk to me,” I said against his lapel. “I thought you were angry or humiliated or…I don’t know. I thought you hated me.”

  “Hate you?” Adam scoffed. “Of course I don’t hate you. I missed you. I do miss you.”

  I fought hard against the tears that pricked at my eyes every time I thought of what happened that summer. I kept it pushed to the furthest recesses of my mind; I didn’t want to remember.

  Squeezing Adam hard, I let his warmth envelope me. His presence had always soothed me
when we were younger, like aloe on sunburn. And I hated my parents a little for cutting him out of my life.

  “I missed you, too,” I said sadly.

  Giving Adam one last, tight squeeze, I drew back from the embrace to take another good look at the boy who’d been my best friend for so long. I smiled up into his caramel eyes and then frowned at what I saw in my periphery.

  Not fifteen feet away stood the Eight, staring at us with blatant interest. Annie was quietly admonishing the others in a failed attempt to give Adam and me our privacy. Slightly worried, I wondered how long they’d been watching me hug a guy who, to them, was a complete stranger.

  “Come on, time to meet the crew,” I said, grabbing Adam’s hand and dragging him over to my circle of friends.

  “Hey guys! This is Adam,” I called, my smile a little too bright, my voice a little too cheery.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” Annie said, the first to step forward. She sounded overly enthusiastic, and her cheeks were flushed—she obviously took more shots in my absence. She offered Adam her hand. “I’m Annie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Annie,” Adam said, shaking her hand and shooting her his effortless smile that always put people at ease.

  “Alistair, pleasure to meet you, mate.” Alistair stepped forward, straightening up to his full height so he was eye-level with the unknown guy. “Can’t say we’ve heard much about you, though,” he continued.

  “I know,” I said, interjecting before the manly chest thumping went any further. “I’m just full of secrets.”

  “Well I, for one, am just thrilled to finally meet you!” Cam exclaimed, leaning in to brush a kiss on Adam’s cheek. “I simply can’t fathom why our Lark has been keeping you all to herself.”

  Adam’s smile never faltered, but he shot me a sidelong, questioning look. I shrugged, as if to say, “Alcohol, it does funny things to people.”

  The twins and Ilan took their turns greeting Adam, with Everett pumping Adam’s hand a little too hard and Barrett making a point to stare down his nose at the newcomer.