Courtney's Secrets (The Clandestine Series)

Admit Eight

Courtney dashed across the street after me. The crisp air burned my lungs as I nearly hyperventilated and pounded on Davianté's door. I shot a look back. I was in a horror movie where the ghost reappeared closer in each frame. I pressed the doorbell over and over. The sound of a little dog barking on the other side gave me hope, and then feet thumping.

"Deja-," her voice beseeched me, "Deja, please listen. I was wrong. Please don't mention it." She had grabbed a scarf and wrapped it over the top of her hair, grasping the ends with her hands balled into fists under her chin, and eyebrows turned up with worry.

I pressed my back against the door, not ready to trust her.

She strode up the driveway. "You know that cell phone you've always wanted?"

I stared at her blankly. Talk of a cell phone seemed irrelevant as I was trying to run for cover.

"You were right about me getting one for you. You're mature enough. You've proven that." I don't know how she managed to flip the switch on her emotions to the point where she was bargaining with me. "Just don't mention any of—"

The door opened, and I lost my balance, nearly falling into the entryway, but instead, I landed in the warm arms of someone. Davianté gazed down on me. He up-righted me, and I grasped his shoulders. It was an awkward moment knowing Courtney was watching me in the arms of a friend she severely disapproved of. I gawped at him, unsure of what to say after Courtney's apology. The immediate need for help had fled.

A Pomeranian barked and pranced around us. "Lucky, go lay down," Davianté said, and Lucky ran over to a dog bed and sat and stared at us.

Sheriff Young walked up behind Davianté, casting a shadow over us under the light of the foyer chandelier. He gave a nod to Courtney, and then to me. "Miss Gardner, Deja, what brings you here tonight?"

I was surprised he knew my name. I had never met him before. I wondered if Davianté talked about me.

Courtney's face flushed red from the collar of her shirt to the top of her hairline at the tone of his voice.

Davianté smiled but his forehead creased in a puzzled expression. "It's a really cold night for the two of you to be out without coats. Everything okay?" He grasped my arms for balance. The contour of his cheeks curved perfectly down to his square jawline. His fingers slid down and brushed against my burn. I pulled my arm closer to my body and cradled it sucking air in through my teeth.

He angled his head to get a better look. "Oh, that doesn't look good."

Courtney cleared her throat. "Actually, that's why we're here. Deja was cooking and had a little accident. We don't have any Neosporin, and we were wondering if we could use some." She said it so fluidly that I almost believed her.

Davianté turned my arm to examine it. "You should probably ice it. It looks inflamed."

Sheriff Young had prominent eyebrows that made a hedge over his brown eyes. It was obvious where Davianté got his handsome genes, but his facial features were softer, and he had an optimism and brightness in his expression that his father didn't.

"How did it happen?" Sheriff Young asked. The question was a probe, preliminary to an accusation. His eyes rested on me.

Courtney tried to answer, but he hushed her with a wave of his hand.

"I-I," I stammered, thinking up a way to bend the truth to fit the situation. "I fell back onto the skillet."

He took his thumb and finger and pinched his chin, lowering his voice, "That's interesting. What made you fall back?"