22
I
cleared our plates, putting them in the sink and rinsing. “So, shoe shopping, huh? Sounds good to me.”
George stood and carried his almost-empty coffee cup over to me. “I figure it will be pretty easy to keep you safe in a crowded shopping mall.”
I nodded, squinting my eyes at him. “And we could check in on Kayce in the afternoon. Make sure she’s feeling better. Let me go put some clothes on.” I scurried off to my bedroom and threw on a pair of jeans. I examined my neck in the mirror. The bruises were still there but almost gone. I decided to go with a short-sleeved fitted turtleneck again, just to be safe, and slipped the panic button necklace back on over my head.
I did what I could with my hair for only having five minutes. Scrunched some mousse in and fluffed it at the roots. I tapped a little concealer under my eyes, brushed a bit of blush across my cheeks, and put on a coat of mascara. I stepped back and checked myself in the mirror. Not quite so put together as I usually look, but not bad for a succubus with next to no powers. I definitely didn’t want to waste what little energy I had superficially.
I walked back out to the kitchen, dressed and ready to go.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” George pulled the pendant I had lent Kayce from his pocket. “Kayce wanted me to give this back to you.” I turned around, lifting my hair, letting him clasp it behind my neck. He then took my hand and twirled me around the kitchen. “Lovely as always.” As he raised my hand to his lips, giving it a soft gentlemanly brush across the knuckles, there was a knock at the door. We both froze and stared at the door.
George slid a glance to me. “You expecting anyone?”
I shook my head. “No. But I’ve been getting a lot of unannounced visitors lately.”
George headed for the door. “Stay here.”
“Hell, no!” I followed after him, peeking around his shoulder. “Let’s just not answer. They never have to know we’re here,” I whispered.
George sighed and turned to face me, putting both hands on my shoulder. “I may not be an overt badass like Kayce or an angel or even an ArchDemon, but I am one of the oldest known incubi in existence. I think I can take whomever this is. Now, at least stay
behind
me, please.”
George swung the door open and coming up the stairs was Damien. He wore black dress pants and a royal blue button-down shirt. He had a light leather jacket on and looked positively delicious. He looked so put together that I instantly regretted not taking the time to apply another coat of mascara.
I peeked out from behind George. “What are you doing here? How did you find my apartment?”
He gave me a
duh
look. “I’m a detective. I can find anyone.”
“Except for the murderer, huh?”
He put a hand to his heart. “Ouch.” He gave a nod to George. “Nice to see you again. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
George shook his hand and scoffed at the idea. “Hardly. I’m her bodyguard today.”
“Bodyguard? Got some stalkers, do you?”
I nodded. “Something like that.”
He looked back at George. “I’d say you need to boost your security a little.” He pointed to the outside of the door. George and I had both been so paralyzed by Damien’s presence, we hadn’t even noticed the knife sticking out of my door, piercing an envelope with my name on it and a sprig of lavender. The word
WHORE
was written in big red letters underneath.
“Holy shit!” My hands raised to my mouth. “Do you—do you think that’s
blood?
”
Damien perked up at this remark. “Blood? Why in the hell would it be written in blood?”
“What will the neighbors think?” I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed Clorox—the only cleaning solvent I owned—and paper towels.
I ran back to the door, where Damien intercepted me, catching me midrun around the waist. “Are you crazy? You might destroy evidence. Now someone explain to me—why would this possibly be blood? What would make your mind go there?”
“Monica’s been having some
intense
stalker issues lately.” George shrugged.
“With notes made in blood?” Damien asked.
We both nodded, and Damien stepped closer to the door, examining the writing. He put a hand to the door and closed his eyes. I could hear a slight buzzing, and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention.
“It’s not blood,” Damien said after a minute. “And
whore
was not written by the same person who knifed the note and lavender to the door.”
“So now can I wash it off?” I could not stand the thought of my neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Libschticky, going on their morning walk with their poodle and seeing this graffiti strewn across my door.
He laid his hand to the door again and nodded. “Whoever did this, both actions just happened recently. Within the hour.” He pulled a gun out of his waistband and peered to the left and right outside my front door. “I’m going to go look around a bit. See what I can find.”
I spent at least thirty minutes scrubbing the damn door before Damien came back into my home. He was panting slightly, and a small sweat had broken out across his hairline. “The area is clear. I don’t think whoever did this stuck around.” I heard him walk back to the kitchen and open my fridge.
I looked over at George, who was still standing guard at the door. When I looked back over, Damien was now drinking one of
my
beers. In fact, it was my last beer, with his feet up on my kitchen table. “A bit early for a drink, isn’t it?”
His mouth tipped into a crooked smirk. “It’s never too early for a beer.”
I turned back to scrubbing my door. “By the way,” Damien continued, “your door tells me it hardly ever gets cleaned. It feels neglected.”
I muttered some curses under my breath. When it was faded enough to where only people up close would see the word, I figured it was good enough for now. Until I could get some paint, at least.
George reached up and grabbed the knife and the envelope while I closed the door. “Would you like to do the honors or should I?”
I gestured to him. “Please. Go right ahead.” I walked back into the kitchen and slapped Damien’s leg. “Get your feet off of my dining table.” I was in a really bad mood, and I had a feeling my day was about to get worse.
“Okay.” George slid another greeting card out of the envelope. This one was a Valentine’s Day card with a glittery heart on the front. “Roses are red,” he read aloud, “lavender for you.” He swallowed before continuing, eyes shifting back and forth between Damien and me. “I will not stop”—his voice cracked—“Till you’re dead, cold, and blue.”
A nervous giggle escaped my lips. And then a full-out laugh. And suddenly, I couldn’t stop laughing. I was laughing so hard that tears were spilling from my cheeks and my stomach hurt. “I’m sorry,” I said, gulping for air. “I just can’t believe the big, bad stalker resorted to a ‘roses are red’ poem.”
George was looking at me with concern, and Damien was now leaning forward, forearms rested against his knees. He stared at me like I was an escapee from a mental institution.
My laughter faded, and as I wiped my cheeks my muscles shook. An uneasy gnawing at my gut made it feel like my insides were twisting. My knees were trembling, and I used all my focus to not pee my pants. I didn’t trust myself to say anything else just yet.
George rushed over just as my legs turned to Jell-O and caught me in his arms. “Maybe we should forget shoe shopping. Staying in and watching some movies sounds pretty good right about now.”
“Sounds to me like there’s a little more to this story than an overzealous stalker.” Damien stared at us, still sitting at the head of my dining table.
“You!” I pointed at Damien. “Elemental! What did the guy who dropped this off look like?”
“Damien,” he said. “My
name
is
Damien
.”
I knew that, of course. My body was humming his name. “Right.
Damien
. Sorry. So,
Damien,
what does this guy look like?”
He rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that. I don’t
see
what happens in some sort of ethereal flashback. The door just sort of—
tells
me what it experienced.” He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, massaging the back of his neck. “Christ. That sounds just as ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“Well, could you please
ask
the door to give us a description of him?”
He smirked and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “I could.” He continued to sit there, doing nothing.
“Well?” My voice was starting to shriek. Not an attractive quality, I realized, but these threats were getting really old. My tolerance had long been surpassed. “What are you waiting for?”
He sucked his teeth and slowly got up and strolled over the front door. He put his hand to it, and once again a low buzz rumbled around the apartment. After another minute or so, he pulled away and stuffed his hands into his black trouser pant pockets. “Mm, yes, that’s very interesting.” He leaned casually against the kitchen doorway.
“You have a description of him?”
“Oh yeah.” He shifted his muscular shoulders and raised his eyebrows arrogantly. “Him and a few others who’ve been in and out of the apartment in the past couple days. Sounds like you had quite the interesting night last night.”
I could hear the blood rushing around my brain, and my heart pounded against my chest. With gritted teeth, I answered, “
That’s
not any of your business. Tell me—what does he look like?”
“Oh, I’m getting a strong gut feeling that there’s more to this stalker. And I have even stronger suspicions that it relates to my murder case.” He pushed off the wall and walked toward us. “I’m happy to help you.
If
you help me in return.”
He was very tall and towered over me, my heels doing nothing to balance out our height. He flicked a glance at George, who still had a protective arm around me. “Is there a reason we need a chaperone?” He jerked his head in George’s direction.
I tilted my head and snaked my arm around George’s back. “It seems like a good idea to keep a bodyguard with someone like you around.”
His eyes raked over me from head to toe. “In a turtleneck? Hardly the sort of look that requires a chaperone, babe.” He said one thing, but there was something in the way he licked his lips that made me want to call bullshit.
My eyes narrowed and George answered for me. “I don’t trust you.” He squeezed me closer to him. In actuality, I don’t think Damien was a danger. At least not to my life. Now, to my pants—that’s another story.
Damien slipped off his jacket, pulled the gun back out of his waistband and a knife out of his sock, and placed them all on the counter out of his reach. “On second thought . . .” He took the gun, pointed it at himself, and passed me the grip. “There. If I attempt anything—she can shoot me.” His dark eyebrows arched. “Can we have a minute now?”
George looked at me for approval, and I gave a little nod. He released my shoulder and headed for my bedroom. On his way, he muttered, “You are bat shit crazy to give that woman a gun.”
The door to the bedroom shut and Damien held my gaze. “Well?”
I lowered my eyes. “Well,
what?
”
“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on here, or am I going to have force it out of you?”
“And just how would you go about doing that while I have a gun pointed at you?”
His eyes twinkled. “I have my ways.”
“You’re seriously not going to tell me the description of a man who clearly wants to harm me? You’re
that
stubborn?”
“I will tell you. As soon as you update me on the situation, I will happily give you any and all information that I think will help.”
I sighed and put the gun on the counter. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw him relax slightly. “I can’t tell you. My . . . superiors have instructed me not to tell anyone.”
“Ah yes, Lucien, if I’m guessing correctly. Nevada’s good ol’ ArchDemon.”
“Exactly.” I paused, looking again into his dark eyes. I thought back to our kiss in the car. It was unwanted, I reminded myself. He pushed himself on me.
Yeah, right,
I thought, inwardly rolling my eyes.
That’s why your nipples are pushing through your shirt right now
. I cleared my throat and fiddled with the gun on the counter. “I could ask Lucien. When I see him next—tell him you have information you would be willing to share. That’s the best I can do.”
His breathing grew heavy and he stepped closer to me. “Don’t play with that.” He pushed the gun away from my grasp, backing me against my cabinets, and placed his hard thigh between my legs, applying just the right amount of pressure. “You’ve had a lot of men in this house the past few days.” The tip of his nose touched mine, and his hands were wrapped around my rib cage, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts.
I swallowed. “It’s my job.”
He shook his head slowly. “These visits weren’t work related.” His eyes flicked to the kitchen table.
Great! Of all the doors in this city, mine has to be a fucking gossip!
He brushed his lips across mine, a light and feathery touch and I felt a sudden surge of annoyance that he thought I would just add him to this list. In a swift movement, my hand rose, as if it had a mind of its own, and slapped him across the face. A loud
clap
sound echoed through my kitchen. He smiled, and as I thought he was going to lean down and kiss me again, he paused, taking notice of my necklace. His head cocked to the side and he looked closer at it. “Where did you get this?” He moved to touch it and I slapped his hand away.
“A . . . client.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Not long,” I answered honestly.