Chapter 8
Devon stopped at the store to pick up a few groceries and made it back to her place with lots of time to get ready for her date.
All she needed was a shower, a change of clothes, and a little sweet almond oil on her hair when she took it down to refresh her curls.
She used to spend a lot more time and money on her hair, but with her recent “fuck it all” attitude she’d adopted, she’d let it grow out natural for the first time in…
longer than she could remember. And she was surprised to discover she really liked her own hair.
A bag in each arm, she climbed the stairs to her second floor apartment and entered the interior hallway. Her place was about halfway down, and as Devon approached, she slowed her steps. Her door was partially open.
Frank appeared from the stairwell, a basket of laundry in his arms. He silently questioned her with both eyebrows raised when he spotted her standing in the hallway talking on her cell.
He shook his head. “Your door was shut when I went down to the laundry mat.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About twenty minutes? Just long enough to get my clothes out of the dryer and fold them.”
She relayed the information to the operator who called it in to the squad car on its way.
The operator then told her to take her friend and leave the building until the police showed up, so she grabbed Frank and dragged him back out to the stairwell with her, leaving her groceries in the hall.
Hopefully, their other neighbors would stay in their apartments.
When they got outside, he set down his basket. “What the hell’s going on, Dev?”
“I think someone broke into my apartment. The door was open when I got home just now.”
“Are they still in there?”
“I don’t know. I called the police as soon as I noticed it and then you came in.”
Frank looked up at the building. “Why the hell would someone break into these apartments? They gotta know we are the brokest motherfuckers in Austin. At least on this side of the highway.”
Devon had a good idea who it was, and it had nothing to do with how much money she made—or didn’t make—and everything to do with what had happened at the club. Swallowing down the rush of horror and mourning that had kept her up most of the night, she just shrugged. “Here comes a police car.”
She and Frank spent the next twenty minutes giving their statements while a female officer went up to check out her place. She came back outside ten minutes later and gave them the thumbs up that it was all clear.
“Okay,” the officer who was taking her statement said. “Let’s go up and have you take a look around. See if anything is missing.”
Devon nodded and led the way back to her apartment, even though she knew in her gut everything would be just as she left it. They weren’t after her stuff. They were after her.
Frank gave her a kiss on the cheek and took his clothes in to put them away after making her promise she’d come get him when the police left.
Devon opened the door to her place and went inside, the two officers close on her heels.
It took her all of about two minutes to look around and confirm that everything was exactly as she’d left it.
Even her money stash, in a spot that was quite obvious for anyone who knew where to look, was still there. All seventy-nine dollars of it.
She smiled at the officers. “Everything is here. Maybe I just didn’t shut the door all the way.” Bullshit. Devon always made sure the door was closed and securely locked. “I’m sorry to waste your time.”
“No apologies necessary, ma’am,” the male officer said. “We’d always rather be safe than sorry, as the saying goes.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you again.” She shook their hands and showed them out, waiting until they were in the stairwell before she went to get Frank.
He opened the door, and a cloud of skunky smoke preceded him out.
“It’s safe now,” she told him as she waved her hand in front of her face. “You can come over.”
“Thank God. I hate cops.”
“And yet that doesn’t stop you from lighting a joint when they’re right across the hall.”
“It wasn’t a joint. It was my bong. And I told you, they make me nervous.” He closed Devon’s door behind him and went straight to her fridge. “So, who’s breaking into your apartment, Dev?” He peeked over his shoulder. “And don’t bullshit me. I know you know. Or at least have an idea.”
She sat at the table and started tracing circles in the condensation left by her glass of iced tea earlier, and decided to tell him.
She needed to tell him. If for no other reason than so someone would know if anything happened to her.
“Remember yesterday when I was so hung over from going dancing Thursday night?”
“Yeah.” He found a jar of peanut butter in her pantry and brought it and a spoon over to the table, sat down, then immediately hopped back up to get a glass of her tea. “What about it?” he asked when he got back to the table.
“I wasn’t hung over. At least, not from drinking. I went to The Caves.”
Frank nearly choked on his peanut butter. “What the fuck, Devon? Why did you go there?”
She swirled her finger in the ring of water, strangely calm.
Frank was one of the few people who didn’t work at Parasupe who knew the same things she did about the owners of that club.
Because she’d told him after she knew him well enough to know that in spite of his frequent ridiculousness, she could completely trust him.
And, she wanted to make sure he knew what he’d be getting himself into if he were ever invited there.
“I don’t know why I went there. I just wanted to be around people, without being around people. You know?”
He snorted. “Uh, yeah.”
“Honestly, I just needed to get out of this box, and you weren’t home, so I just started driving, and somehow I wound up there.”
“I need bread.” Frank got up and went back to her pantry.
“There was a shooting while I was there.”
The pantry door slammed. Frank spun around, a loaf of bread in one hand and a jar of dill pickles in the other. “Holy shit. Inside the club?”
“Yeah.”
“How many shooters?”
“I don’t really know. Two? Three, maybe.”
“Who the hell would do…” The words faded away as he saw her face. His neck reddened the way it always did when he was angry. “Son of a bitch.”
Devon sighed and got up to get a towel to wipe up the water on the table. “Yeah.”
“How many people?”
“Everyone on the dance floor.” Her voice was thin. She cleared her throat.
“Just the humans?”
She shook her head. “No. Human and vampires, both.”
“Definitely your old company.”
“Sounds like it. But I’m not convinced. Why would they do something like that?” She stared at her friend, searching for an answer he couldn’t possibly have. “The vampires said one of the shooters told them they were after me, but it wasn’t Parasupe.”
He came over and wrapped his arms around her—bread, pickles, and all—and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad you made it out of there, Dev.”
She hugged him back hard. “Me, too. I was lucky. One of the bartenders saw it happening before any of us slow humans comprehended what was going on and knocked me out of the way.” And then she lost it completely.
She thought she’d cried herself out last night after Kohl had dropped her off.
She was wrong. Once again, the terror and sorrow and outright rage of seeing and hearing people mowed down by bullets hit her full force.
Their screams rang in her ears and the pungent smell of blood and fear filled her nose.
Frank held her the entire time. When her sobs turned to sniffles, he asked, “Do you think the shooters were really after you?”
“The vampires think so,” she told him as she went for the box of tissues on the counter. Blessedly numb again, she wiped her face with trembling hands. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure why they let me leave. Though they did wipe my memory before they stuck me in a cab.”
“Then how do you know this happened?”
“Because I remembered last night.” She peeked up at him from beneath wet lashes as she grabbed a hand towel and wiped the table dry. “With a little help.”
One eyebrow went up. “A certain bartender, perhaps?”
“I went back to the club during the day yesterday. It was like my subconscious knew something had happened there, but there was just this big blank spot in my memory. And I knew I’d had nowhere near enough vodka to black out.
So, I went back. The back door was unlocked and I went in.
I just wanted to look around, see if anything jogged my memory.
It’s disconcerting not to remember hours of your life. ”
“For you, maybe,” he said, slapping a pickle on his peanut butter sandwich. “I actually prefer it that way.”
Devon laughed. She couldn’t help it. All of the horror and stress and longing that had been fighting for the top spot in her emotional wheel for the past sixteen hours finally broke. She laughed until tears ran down her face and she could barely breathe.
While she had her second breakdown of the day, Frank calmly ate his disgusting sandwich, completely ignoring her.
And that made her laugh even harder.
But, eventually, the laughter lightened to the occasional giggle, which then disintegrated into soft sobs. God, she was a mess. Even Frank put down his sandwich and came over to hold her again.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’ve probably been in shock, that’s what’s wrong with you.
” He patted her back. “It’s okay, my love.
Just get it all out. You’ve been through a traumatizing experience.
Anyone would be a little wacky right now.
And then you come home to find out someone’s been in your apartment—because I know damn good and well you didn’t leave the door open.
You’re worse than my mother when it comes to locking doors. ”
Embarrassment took the place of her hysterics. Devon wasn’t a girl who cracked easily. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m okay now.”
Frank pulled away and studied her for a few seconds. “Annnd, she’s back. Good. Unlike a lot of gay men I know, I’m not good with girls and their emotions. I try to avoid them whenever possible.”
Devon grabbed a tissue off the counter and wiped at her face. “Girls or emotions?”
“Both.”
“As your one night stand record proves.”
Picking up his sandwich, he took a bite and made a face. “This is really gross, yet strangely satisfying.” Then he took another bite.
It wasn’t until she’d chased him back to his own side of the hallway and got in the shower that she remembered she’d promised Kohl she’d call him if anything happened.
Well, there’s nothing he could’ve done anyway. It’s the middle of the day. And no one was here.