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“Again, what are you doing?” Quinn said, this time with more curiosity.
“Just a bit of research. This shouldn’t take more than half a minute.”
“Are you . . .” Quinn said, following me around the king-size bed. He stopped at the two desks in the middle of the room. “Are you snooping?”
“I prefer to call it investigating,” I said, scanning the corkboard of pictures overhanging the desks. One of these shots might be the one. Quinn stood with his arms folded, shaking his head. I glanced and added, “But I suppose I could live with sleuthing, too.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. Lifting pictures to see the ones hidden underneath, I asked, “And what are you doing here?” I couldn’t deny I was marginally curious as well.
Quinn shrugged. “Confession: I wanted to find you. I rang up the Scribe and some girl, Hannah, I think, said you mentioned you would be here tonight.”
“Hannah?” I asked, ripping my gaze from the corkboard for an astonished second.
“Yeah, I know someone who lives here and it was pretty easy to get a ticket. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.”
“I’d have thought I was the last person you’d want to see. Or if not the last, close to it.”
He ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip. “It’s just . . . you haven’t been at home. Every time I go there you never answer.”
Quinn had visited? “I’ve been working late.”
“Fine, but I needed to finally tell you that I’m sorry. What I said last weekend, well, I was a complete prick, and I never should have been so cruel.”
I re-focused on the pictures. “Stating a fact isn’t cruel.”
He winced. “Look, Hunter seems to think you’re the best so, you know, I had no right to say what I did.” He tried for a small smile and then reached out his hand. “Do you think we can start again?”
My fingers brushed over a blurry picture of a figure in the darkness, wearing a hood. Was this the picture Dylan had taken?
I ignored Quinn’s hand as I searched for more. Nothing. The fuzzy photo didn’t capture any facial features or give any clue about where to find The Raven.
“So, can we?” Quinn asked again, perching himself on the bed’s patchwork quilt.
“Well—”
A scuffling sound outside the room startled me.
I guess I had expected I’d get out of the room without having to confront anyone, because suddenly I jumped a step in Quinn’s direction. What was my excuse again? Where was the fake note?
Flustered, I couldn’t quite figure out my next move.
Just stand there and take it as it comes, ad lib.
Quinn stood quickly, and we both would have faced the music of getting caught investigating if it weren’t for what happened next.
Among the sounds of pants, groans and kisses, came the sound of a zipper being undone and a girl’s plea. “Turn off the light in there.”
There was only time for an awkward glance to Quinn, who looked as uncertain what to do as I felt, before a male’s arm stretched through the gap in the door, fishing for the light switch—
Click!
Darkness. Slurping smooches assaulted my ears.
I flew to the ground, crawling for a space to hide myself. I glanced toward the door at the live silhouettes of legs imprisoning us in this room. I yanked on Quinn’s pant leg, making him drop to all fours too. He came down lightly without a sound, like he’d done this before.
The bed. It was our only option for hiding. The desks were too small, and there wasn’t any other furniture.
So, the bed it was.
I slithered under and thought I heard a soft curse as Quinn pressed himself in behind me. “Snooping, snooping, snoopster!” he said.
Thankfully, I could only make out the wooden slats and the corner feet of the bed because, tangled around my legs, was something that felt like clothing and I prayed wasn’t dirty underwear.
Quinn sidled in closer until his breath tickled my side and his deodorant filled my nose with every breath. Jazz music beat through the thin carpet and against my stomach, legs and arms, and I hoped it would disguise our breathing.
More groans sounded, and then footsteps moved into the room, followed quickly by discarded clothes hitting the floor, slick kissing sounds, and light slaps. The horrific sounds got closer and closer until, looking over Quinn, I glimpsed two pairs of feet.
Was it too late to start praying they’d do it somewhere other than the bed?
Kaplank! Boing!
“Christ!” Quinn whispered as their bodies hit the mattress.
I pressed my finger to my lips, instantly realizing it was too dark under the bed for him to see my cue, so I fished for his mouth and pinched it shut. His lips grazed the length of my finger as he turned his head in my direction. I yanked my arm back. We flinched as the slats groaned above us, followed by a moan that sounded as if it were trying to harmonize.
