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Twenty-four hours later, Corrado was lying on the bunk in his cell when heavy footsteps slowly approached the door. He got up and eyed the door, hoping against hope it was finally over.
“Mail call,” the guy hollered, opening the slot in the door and dropping in an envelope. Corrado snatched it off the floor. Another false alarm.
Sighing, he eyed the ripped open envelope with the sketchy address, surprised yet again that it passed security. He pulled out the greeting card, eyeing the photo on the front. Corrado knew little to nothing about art, but even he could recognize the painting The Scream.
Hope your day is a scream the card read, sloppy handwriting under the typed message: I scream, you scream, we all scream . . . until somebody hears.
Corrado stared at the message, reading it again and again. He was so busy deciphering the short message that someone managed to sneak up on him.
“Moretti.”
Corrado looked over, eyeing the correctional officer. “What?”
“Show time.” He smirked. “The jury came back with a verdict.”
* * *
Haven darted across the busy New York street, long wavy hair flowing behind her as her feet zealously carried her down the block. Despite her best effort, she repeatedly knocked into others, elbows jabbing and shoulders bumping as she flew past.
“Sorry,” she muttered, breathing heavily as she ran along the sidewalk, heading straight for her brownstone apartment. The white envelope crumpled in her hand as she fisted it, making sure not to lose her grip.
Once she made it home, she bolted inside, no hesitation in her steps as she bypassed her door. She frantically took the stairs two at a time, heading straight for Kelsey’s apartment on the second floor.
She didn’t bother to knock in her haste. Grabbing the knob, she shoved open Kelsey’s front door. “Kelsey, you won’t belie—Oh, God!”
Startled yelps echoed through the living room. Haven shielded her eyes and quickly swung around as Kelsey and a male friend fumbled for their clothes.
“I’m so sorry!” Haven’s cheeks turned scarlet and warm from embarrassment. “I didn’t realize, well, you know . . .”
“It’s okay,” Kelsey said. “We’re dressed now.”
Slowly, Haven turned back around, tentatively peeking through her hands at them. “I should’ve knocked.”
“You think?” Kelsey stood as she motioned toward the guy. “You remember Fred, right? The architect?”
Haven eyed the tall man peculiarly, taking in his short blond hair and blue eyes. She didn’t remember him at all, but Haven politely smiled and nodded anyway. “Sure. It’s nice to see you again, Fred.”
“You, too,” he said. “Well, I should be going.”
He kissed Kelsey’s cheek before strolling past and disappearing downstairs. Haven stood there for a moment, watching her friend as she stared at the now empty doorway. “He’s hot, right?” Kelsey asked. “I think he might actually be the one.”
Haven’s eyes widened. “Did you feel it? The spark?”
“Oh, I felt it all right.” Kelsey laughed, turning her attention to Haven. “Anyway, what’s up? Why the speedy entrance?”
All thoughts of the awkward incident evaporated as Haven’s face lit up with excitement. She held up the crinkled white envelope, waving it frantically at her friend. “I did it! I got in!”
Kelsey’s brow furrowed. “Got in where?”
“The Novak Gala,” Haven declared. “Miss Michaels pulled me aside in the hallway. I came in thirteenth! They’re going to display my painting!”
Kelsey let out a sudden shriek. “No way! That’s amazing!”
The two of them jumped around and squealed, hugging as they celebrated the news. Tears sprung to Haven’s eyes, overwhelming elation running through her veins. She had done it. Out of three thousand entries, she had made the cut.
“This is so crazy,” Kelsey said, pulling away. “We have so much to do now! We need to get you a dress and shoes. You’ll need hair and makeup.”
She blanched. A dress? High heels? A makeover?
