Alexandra Ivy: Predatory

“You can’t hunt down a killer,” I said, my voice sounding breathless and desperate. “You can’t do it alone. You need backup.”

Pike paused, listening, and I moistened my suddenly dry lips. “You need me.”

A hint of exhausted smile pushed at the corner of Pike’s lips. “And you’re credible backup?”

I pressed my teeth together, feeling the familiar push of my razor-sharp fangs. “You’d be surprised,” I muttered.

If this were a movie, our vestibule exchange would be followed by a musical montage of Pike and me with heads bent as we studied files and photo books over greasy takeout boxes of congealing Chinese food. The music would speed up as the scenes sped up to show the change of seasons, the stubble growing on Pike’s chin as we grew more and more disillusioned. But this isn’t a movie.

“How do we start?” I said after what seemed like an hour had passed.

Pike rested a hand on my shoulder, his eyes intense as he looked directly at me. “I meant what I said, Nina. Go upstairs. Lock your doors. Don’t go anywhere alone.” He spoke slowly, like a father explaining dating rules to his daughter and though I should have been offended and indignant, all I could muster up was a cold fist of fear gripping the bottom of my stomach. As Pike turned to go, I knew with every fiber of my being that he was about to fall into something grittier, dirtier, and far more dangerous than even he expected.

“Do you want to know why I couldn’t feel the fire?” I said to the back of his head.

He stopped, his hand on the door, back still toward me. I swallowed heavily when I saw his hand close over the door handle, the muscles at the back of his arms flicking as he went to push it open.

“Do you want to know why you can’t take my picture?”

Pike stopped. His shoulders straightened and he turned to me, his face open, eyes soft. I saw a sliver of pink tongue dart out of his mouth, moistening his lips. “Why?”

I took a step down, unsure of how—or why—I had bartered my biggest secret to find the murderer of a woman I couldn’t stand and a man I barely knew.

“Upstairs.”

Vlad actually looked up from his laptop when Pike walked in. I felt my eyebrows rise and a sweet warmth spread in my stomach when Vlad’s dark brows shot downward, his thin lips pulled into a menacing scowl as his eyes flickered over Pike.

Aw, Vlad. He cared.

“I’m sorry,” Pike said, looking from Vlad to me. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

“He’s not company, he’s my nephew.” I crossed over to Vlad. “Vlad, this is my friend”—my breath caught on the word—“Pike. Pike, my nephew, Vlad.”

The two men regarded each other casually, critically, before offering each other one of those barely perceptible manly head nods.

Vlad went back to his screen and Pike followed me to the couch.

“All right,” Pike said, sitting down beside me. “What’s the big reveal?”

I saw Vlad stiffen in his spot at the dining table. His eyebrows shot up over the screen, his eyes, wide and accusing, following. “Can you come here for a second, Nina?”

I beelined over to Vlad and leaned my head in, certain of what he was going to say. “Please tell me your big reveal entails your tits or your ass or something else that won’t potentially ruin my life or make you have to eat Pike.”

“I know what I’m doing, Vlad,” I hissed. And, because I felt like I should, I added, “And watch your language.”

Even though I had no idea what I was doing.

Pike edged to the side of the couch. “So?”

A knock on the door stopped him and I celebrated my good luck. I snatched open the door and was greeted by Felipe’s strangled cries, his shoulders shimmying under the dead weight of his emotion.

“Nina, Nina, oh, it’s awful!” He plunged himself into my arms and I was forced to hug him, to think of friend over fashion as a snot bubble popped on my dupioni silk blouse.

“Felipe, what’s going on?”

“It’s my Reggie,” he huffed.

Pike and I shared a very déjà vu look. “What about Reginald?”

“He didn’t commit the suicide. He—he—he was murdered.” The admittance came out with another rash of hysterical tears and Pike rushed over.

“What do you mean he was murdered?”

I knew what I heard at the cocktail party, but Felipe’s crushed face was painful confirmation.

“I just came from the police station. They did the”—sniff—“the”—sniff—“autopsy. It came back positive. Or whatever you say. My Reggie was murdered!”

Pike snaked his arms in front of his chest. “First Reginald and now Emerson,” he said just under his breath. He shot me a sidelong glance and I knew exactly what he didn’t say: that I was next.

We spent the next twenty minutes listening as Felipe filled us in on what the police had told him—which wasn’t much. By the time he left the sun was dipping into the Hudson and I was pacing. Pike grabbed both my shoulders and I stopped my march.

“What’s up?”

“What’s up? There is a murderer on the loose. And you and I both know who’s next on his list. Me.” Being mainly immortal I wasn’t all that nervous. But still, getting stabbed or hung would be nothing short of an enormous pain in my ass, not to mention the havoc it would wreak on my wardrobe.

“I’m not sure that’s what you should be most concerned about,” Pike said.

I raised a brow.

“Suspect.” Pike mouthed the word.

I shook my head. “No, no, that’s just a theory. And a flimsy one at that. You have more motive.”

“Like I said, Emerson and I barely spoke. The whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing was completely in her head. Emerson and Reginald were both your competitors. With both of them gone, you’ve technically won the competition. That’s your motive.”

I yanked my shoulders away from Pike and gaped. “Are you seriously accusing me of killing off my competition? I’ll have you know that I would have whipped their asses fair and square. God rest their souls.”

“I’m not accusing you. I’m telling you.”

“They don’t think it’s me. They think it’s you.” Pike rolled his eyes and I dropped my voice. “Or me.”

“How much do you know about Emerson? You said you used to run into her all the time. I know you two weren’t friends but—”

“But what? I knew nothing about her other than what I told you. I didn’t even know she had a sister for God’s sake until she showed up in my face.” I paused. “That’s it. The sister. We need to talk to her.” I bit my bottom lip. “But she probably wouldn’t talk to us.”

“Because she was apparently so hysterical?”

“Because she might think that one of us killed Emerson.”

Pike pinned me with a stare and I sighed, dropping my head in my hands. “I will be the hysterical one if I have to go to prison. They make everyone shower together. And you have to wear those stupid plastic shoes!” I frowned, my eyes skittering over the apartment and seeing bars, one of those ugly metal toilets, and a thin cot with four-thread-count sheets.

And then I saw Vlad.

Slowly, his eyes came up from behind the screen. “What?”

I felt a smile playing at the edge of my lips. “She’ll talk to you.”

“What?” Pike asked.

I stopped, excitement building in my chest. “She’ll talk to Vlad. He’s young, he’s charming,” I said and glanced at Pike. “He’s not you. She’ll open up to him.”

Pike looked over at Vlad and then back at me. “No offense to your nephew, but do you really think a girl who just lost her sister to murder is going to suddenly go all boy crazy for him?” He jerked a thumb toward Vlad, and threw in a, “No offense, bro,” for good measure.