“I’ve been quite entertained, thank you.”And,“She’s so intriguing. A wonderful mind and a delightful conversationist. Winning over so many people.”
Yes, that’s my Vicky.
I kill the treadmill and head back up to my apartment. I can’t remember anything I’ve just done. I stop because my muscles are tired. The passage of time, who’s entered, who’s left—no idea. My thoughts have only been on her.
People don’t even know why they’re drawn to her. But I do.
It’s her vulnerability.
Most don’t see it, but they don’t know her like I do. How the strength she shows is her illusion, her defense.
It bothers me that Van Wyk did, too. I don’t think it’s a coincidence she was dancing with him. He’s a predator, and for all her strength, she’s prey. She pulls in men like him… like me.
Yes, I’m a predator. I don’t deny it, why would I?Mankind is born to be predators, even if most people prefer to be sheep. We’re the apex predators.
But I’m done with this intellectual masturbation. It’s time to get her back.
It would be a lot simpler if she’d just unblock my number. Then I could do that new-fangled thing and call her, instead of having to show up in person. So inconvenient. So nineteenth century.
After a shower, I dress in dark designer jeans, a fitted turtleneck in charcoal, and a casual blazer. It does the job.
Brooklyn’s a forty-five minute drive. I park my Audi R8 outside her apartment building, and play my usual hit-a-random-apartment-number game until the door clicks open. I don’t see why these people have security when it takes thirty-two seconds to bypass it.
It’s ten-thirty when I knock on her door. Plenty of time for Vicky to be up, yet early enough—I hope—for her not to be out. She’ll be sore; that much I’m certain of, so I’m guessing the plan is Saturday spent lazing about.
I wonder which pajama bottoms she’s wearing today, and bet myself it’s the one with the rainbows and the clouds.
The door opens, but it’s Carol. Her eyes narrow.
“Good morning,” I say, giving her my best smile. It’s easy; I’m in a good mood. I look past her, into the empty apartment. “Where’s my girl?”
“Not here.” Carol crosses her arms.
“Out?”
“Gone.”
I blink. “Gone out?”
“No,gone.”
“Oh. Where?”
Carol lifts her chin and looks down at her nose at me. Impressive, given that I’m a foot taller than she is. “She didn’t tell me.”
Perhaps Carol’s not such a good friend after all. “Disappointing,” I mutter. “She didn’t say anything at all?”
“Oh, she said loads,” Carol assures me. “Mostly how she needs space away fromyou.”
Fuck.
“Uh-huh. And she went where?”
“Like I just said,” Carol replies, each word enunciated slowly, “she didn’t tell me.”
And with clear intuition, I know why.
Because Carol likes to talk, and Vicky knew I’d come here. Because Carol would’ve given it away, and Vicky wants to hide.
