Dead Pretty Read online

  I work my way through the locks that keep the world out and me safely inside.

  I open the door, revealing him.

  He’s still wearing the clothes I saw him in earlier, sans the leather jacket. His hair is ruffled, like he just ran his fingers through it.

  And close up, he is even better-looking.

  Crap.

  “Hi.” He has a smile on his face, but then his expression seems to click into recognition. “Oh. Hey. You work at the library, right?”

  My heart thuds in my chest.

  He’s seen me there.

  And there I was, thinking I had been inconspicuous.

  “Um … yes, I do.” My words come out croaky, like I haven’t spoken in years.

  “Yeah, I thought I recognized you.” He glances over my head into my apartment. “So, you have Eleven.”

  “Eleven?”

  “My cat.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I’ll just go get her for you.”

  I turn away, and I shut the door.

  Right. In. His. Face.

  It’s out of habit. But also rude as hell.

  I cringe.

  Then, I pull the door back open and give him a sheepish look. “Sorry,” I say to him.

  He just laughs. It’s an easygoing laugh but nice too. “No problem.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll just go get her.”

  God, I’m acting even more awkward than normal.

  Remember the days when you used to be a normal person, Audrey? And also when you didn’t talk to yourself in the third person?

  Oh, those were the days.

  Sigh.

  I retrieve Eleven, as I now know her to be named, from the sofa. Holding her to me, I walk back to where Jack is waiting for us in the doorway to my apartment.

  “Here she is.” I hand her over to him.

  Jack’s hand brushes mine in the exchange. A zing of heat shoots up my arm, and my pulse increases in tempo.

  It surprises me. Enough that I step back away from him.

  I’ve never had such an instant physical reaction to a man before.

  And I shouldn’t be having one now.

  I wrap my arms over my chest.

  “Thanks,” he says. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I honestly have no clue how she got out of the apartment,” he tells me.

  “I did check for a collar on her,” I feel the need to tell him. I don’t want him thinking I go around, taking in stray pussies.

  And thank God I didn’t just say that out loud.

  “Yeah, I gave up on collars a while back. She always gets them off and ditches them. She is chipped though.”

  “Clever cat,” I muse.

  “Too clever. I’m going to have to check the apartment, find where she escaped from. Whereabouts did you find her?”

  “In the hallway. She followed me to my apartment. When I unlocked my door, she walked on in. I knocked on everyone’s door on our floor, but no one knew who she belonged to. Well, except Chloe said she thought she might belong to you. I did try knocking on your door, but you weren’t there. Obviously. I was going to try later …” I trail off, realizing I sound like a complete moron.

  “I fed her too. I hope that’s okay. It was just a can of tuna. It was all I had.” And yet, I just can’t seem to stop.

  He smiles. It’s warm and friendly. “That was really nice of you.”

  I shrug, turning my gaze down.

  “Well, Eleven and I appreciate it,” he adds.

  “I like her name,” I say, feeling like I should say something.

  “Stranger Things,” he says.

  “Stranger things?” I echo.

  “The TV show. Eleven is a character from it.”

  “Oh. Of course. Yes, I have heard of the show, but I’ve never watched it.” I shake my head.

  “You’re missing out.”

  “Scary shows aren’t really my thing.” I shrug.

  Honestly, I avoid watching anything remotely scary now. I have enough scary memories trapped in my head without adding to them.

  “It’s not scary.”

  “No?” I tip my head to the side in question. “What is your definition of scary?”

  “The Witches.”

  “The witches?”

  “Yeah,” he deadpans. “From the Roald Dahl book. Well, not the book. The movie. Those freaky, toeless, bald-headed witches used to scare the absolute shit out of me when I was a kid.” He squares his shoulders. “And I am man enough to admit that they still freak me out now.”

  He shudders, a wry grin on his lips, and a laugh flies out of my mouth.

  It shocks the hell out of me. I can’t actually remember the last time I laughed.

  When I was still the old me.

  My laughter dies as quickly as it appeared.

  I place my hand on the door, ready to close it.

  He seems to understand the gesture, as he moves away. “Well, thanks again for looking out for Eleven.”

  “No problem.” I shut the door before he even starts to walk away.

  I lean back up against it and squeeze my eyes shut.

  How can a laugh make me feel so off-kilter?

  It’s pathetic.

  Not even taking into account that the whole conversation with Jack was the longest exchange that I have had with another person since I moved here.

  And my weekly calls with my brother don’t count.

  I know it’s my choice not to get close to people.

  But it’s the only choice.

  Only … I didn’t realize until now just how starved for conversation I actually am.

  And Jack seems harmless.

  I bet Ted Bundy did at first too.

  But do I actually think this guy is a serial killer?

  No.

  Possibly.

  Oh, I don’t know.

  I don’t know anything anymore.

  I barely even know myself.

  Sighing, I push off the door. Lock it back up. Resist the strong urge to do a check of my apartment again.

  I sit back down on my sofa, pick my book up, and make a conscious effort to be a normal person while also ignoring the loneliness surrounding me, which somehow seems so much more prevalent than usual.

  “Hello again.”

  I jump at the sound of the deep voice behind me, the book in my hand falling to the floor.

  Spinning around, I see Jack standing there.

  My heart takes off for a few reasons.

  Adrenaline, fear … the hot guy standing in front of me.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Giving me a sheepish smile, he bends down, picking up the book I just dropped.

  “It’s fine.” I shake my head. “Don’t worry.” My heart doesn’t agree, as it currently tries to bat its way out of its cage.

  Jack holds the book out for me to take. I make sure to avoid touching him in the exchange.

  “I just came over because I wanted to thank you again for looking after Eleven last night.”

  “It was no problem at all.” I clutch the book to my chest.

  Then, there’s this moment of silence—you know the kind.

  The kind where someone needs to speak, or it will just get weird.

  People hate awkwardness. It makes them uncomfortable, and they need to get as far away from it as humanly possible.

  And usually, I would just continue on with the silence, allowing it to become uncomfortable, knowing the other person would make their excuses and walk away, leaving me alone. Because that’s what I want.

  But this time … I don’t.

  I’m the one to speak. “So, how is Eleven?”

  He smiles. It’s wide and happy, and it gives me a pleasant feeling in my belly. I choose not to delve into the why.

  “Well, she’s not happy with regular old cat food now. She turned her nose up at it this morning. I think she’s gotten a taste for tuna.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” I screw
up my face, apologetic.

  He laughs. It’s rich and warm. Like melted chocolate in my mouth.

  “No need to be sorry. You did me a favor. Not many people would have looked out for her like you did.”

  I shrug, looking down at my feet. “Sure, they would.”

  “No, they wouldn’t.” It’s the insistent tone of his voice that brings my eyes back up to his.

  There is something incredibly hypnotic about his eyes. I find it hard to look away from them—and him.

  The quiet between Jack and me is here again, but now, it’s filled with something else … something that I shouldn’t be feeling around any man.

  But I still can’t seem to look away.

  Thankfully, Jack breaks the spell he put me under.

  “So”—he clears his throat—“I was wondering if you would let me buy you a coffee, as a thanks for taking care of Eleven yesterday.”

  Of course, my hormones immediately say yes.

  Thankfully, my head is smarter and more in control than my long-underused female parts.

  “That’s not necessary. But thank you for the offer.”

  See, I can say no politely.

  “Come on. You’ve got to let me do something. Buy you a takeout coffee at least?”

  He pushes his hands into his jean pockets, rocking back on his heels. His smile is boyish. And the old me would have fallen for it in seconds.

  Well, to be fair, the old Audrey would have said yes to the first offer of coffee, quite likely sitting in a coffee shop with him right now—or well on her way to one.

  But this Audrey won’t. She can’t.

  “Honestly, it’s not necessary.” I keep my face pleasant but my tone firm.

  “Okay.” He nods, seeming to get the hint. “But the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”

  I won’t.

  “Thanks.”

  His smile is congenial. “Right, well, I’ll leave you in peace. Have a good rest of the day.”

  “You too. Have a great day, that is.”

  For Christ’s sake. I really wish I could be normal, just for once.

  Jack hesitates a moment, like he’s going to say something else. I hold my breath, waiting. Wanting him to both go and stay in equal measure. It’s a weird feeling for me.

  Usually, all I want is for people to leave me alone.

  With him … it’s definitely mixed.

  I want to push him away with one hand and pull him back with the other.

  It’s confusing and disconcerting. I have known the guy not even twenty-four hours.

  Okay, I was maybe watch-stalking him for a little longer than that.

  But that doesn’t mean I know him because I most definitely do not.

  You never really know anyone.

  “So, I’ll see you around, Audrey,” he says.

  The feelings his deep voice elicits in me have me turning away from him, giving him my back. “Probably not. Bye, Jack.”

  I sound like a bitch. But it’s best he thinks of me as one.

  I don’t need Jack to think we’re neighbors who can chat.

  Yes, we might be neighbors, but my avoidance skills are second to none. If avoiding people were an Olympic sport, I would be a gold medalist.

  I lift the book in my hand, ready to put it back in its place on the shelf.

  I hear Jack sigh softly behind me, followed by the sound of his footsteps as he walks away, leaving me alone.

  Alone, like I want to be.

  I stare down at the silent cell phone in my hand.

  I used to have a phone that rang often. Dinged with text messages. Social media notifications.

  I had friends. A life.

  Now, I have a phone that stays silent. No text messages from friends. No social media accounts, as I deleted them all.

  I have no friends. No life.

  I basically have this cell phone in case of emergency and so I can call my brother, Cole.

  I have to call him once a week to check in. It was our agreement when I told him I was moving away from the only home I had ever known.

  I bring the screen to life and dial Cole’s number.

  He answers on the second ring.

  The sound of his voice saying, “Hi,” fills my chest with warmth.

  It’s that feeling of home. Only my brother can give me that feeling now.

  “Hey,” I say to him. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. Miss my sister. Wish she would let me see her.”

  “Cole …” I sigh.

  “I know; I know,” he utters. “I just think it’s crazy that you won’t let me see you. Even crazier is that you won’t tell me where you are.”

  “Can we not go over this again?” We have this exact same conversation every single time we speak. “You know my reasoning.”

  Cole doesn’t know where I am. I didn’t tell him when I left.

  It’s not that I don’t trust him; of course I do. He is the only person in the whole world I do trust. I just worry if he came to visit me here, and he was followed …

  A shudder runs through me.

  After the murders and Tobias’s trial, Chicago just didn’t feel like home anymore. There was the press, constantly outside my house, and then there were the crazies, fans of Tobias. I guess I just didn’t feel safe in Chicago any longer.

  I wanted to get away from people. Including my brother. I know that sounds awful, and I would never say it to him out loud. And it’s not that I don’t love him or want to be around him … but I just wanted a fresh start.

  To be somewhere no one knew me or about what had happened.

  “Just because I know your reasoning doesn’t mean that I agree with it. But fine, I will never bring it up again.” His tone is annoyed. It’s been like that a lot recently when we talk. And he also says that every time we speak—that he won’t bring it up again, but he always does.

  But I can’t be angry with him. He’s done so much for me. Taken care of me my entire life.

  “Thank you,” I say softly, trying to appease the situation, not wanting the only family I have left to be angry with me. “So, what have you been up to since we last spoke?”

  “Just the usual. Work. Go to the gym. Got a haircut yesterday.”

  “You change the style? Dye it? Let me guess … you got a blue Mohawk.”

  He chuckles, and the sound makes me smile.

  “Nothing that interesting. Just a trim.”

  “Damn. I think you would rock a blue Mohawk.”

  “Hardly.” He laughs again.

  My brother is a handsome guy. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, six feet tall.

  We don’t look much alike.

  “Have you been to the cemetery recently?” I ask him.

  Our adoptive parents died in a car accident. Just before Tobias made his appearance in my life.

  “No.” His answer is short and blunt.

  Cole doesn’t like to talk about our parents’ deaths. Their deaths hit him hard. They hit me hard too. Losing them was devastating. I loved them so much.

  Cole and I haven’t been lucky … if that’s the right word … when it comes to parents.

  Our biological parents died when I was four and Cole was eight. They were murdered.

  I don’t recall much about them, only the vague memory of what they looked like. But Cole remembers them. Not that he will talk to me about them either.

  I think it’s harder for him because he has those memories of our biological parents.

  Cole has lost two sets of parents that he loved. And I’m sure I would have loved our biological parents too. But it’s hard to mourn what you barely remember.

  After our parents were gone, we were placed in a foster home, and we were lucky to both be adopted by our foster parents. Not many kids in the foster system get to stay with siblings. Honestly, I don’t think I would have coped without Cole.

  Well, I know I wouldn’t have coped without him. He’s definitely the stronger of the two of us.

>   But it wasn’t until Tobias that I started to think that maybe I was cursed. First, my biological parents had been murdered. Then, my adoptive parents had died. Then, Tobias started stalking me and killing people.

  Death follows me around; that’s for sure.

  I think that Cole is safer, not being around me. Not that I would tell him this. He’d just say I was thinking crazy.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you,” I say softly.

  “You didn’t. I just don’t like talking about … them.”

  And that’s why I ask, why I bring them up. Because I don’t think it’s healthy, not to talk about things.

  But still, I say, “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying sorry and tell me what you’ve been up to this week. And don’t give me the same nothing answer that you give me every week.”

  “Actually, I—” I’m about to tell him about the cat and then stop. Because that conversation would lead to Jack, and for some reason, I really don’t want to tell him about Jack.

  My brother is overprotective of me. He always has been. I think that’s why he finds it hard, not knowing where I am.

  I know if I tell him about Jack, he’ll worry.

  Not that there is anything to worry about.

  I think.

  “You what?” he prompts.

  I quickly change gears. “I went to the grocery store yesterday. They had those Caramel Apple Pops that we were obsessed with when we were kids. You remember them?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he says.

  I can hear the smile in his voice, and I’m glad that I put it there even if it was due to a lie.

  It is scary to me just how quickly I pulled that lie about Caramel Apple Pops out of the air. I don’t even know if you can still buy them, to be honest. But I won’t overthink it.

  “So, yeah, I grabbed a handful of them. They’re gone already.” I laugh. “And I checked out a new book from work, so I’ve been reading that. What else? Oh, I started a new show on Netflix called Stranger Things.”

  Okay, so I got curious about it after Jack said how good it was.

  It’s not been too scary so far. But I am only two episodes in.

  Plenty of time to change my mind on it.

  “I’ve never watched it,” Cole tells me.

  “Not your kind of thing, to be fair.”

  Cole is more of a movie watcher, usually action films rather than TV shows. I love a good binge-watch of a new television show.