I'm planted at my apartment door, refusing to budge. Every time Devon passes near me while he paces, my heart flutters strangely. It's strange to have someone who wants to protect me. But for some reason he prefers I wait in his car, because, according to him, it's safer than the doorway to my apartment, standing next to him.

I roll my eyes and filter out his muttering. I'm waiting here for the police to come, and if he tries to carry me out, I'll scream. Ignoring his muttered curses, I peer into my apartment, as if seeing it through a stranger's eyes. Beat up hard-wood floors that creak with every step, cracks in the ceiling, doors and frames that are crooked, ancient kitchen appliances that are probably fire hazards, not to mention my mess...

The pothos plants! I have five plants with green, trailing vines I almost forgot about. I'll have to sneak them out and get them to Devon's.

Devil's ivy suits him perfectly.

I give him the side-eye. He's glaring at me.

Footsteps ring on the stairs, coming up to the third floor, but instead of a policeman that I expected it's Conner. He pauses, taking me in, his lips quirked in a half smile.

He's cleaned up and I get the faintest whiff of soap and cedar rolling from him.

I expect Devon to get angry at seeing Conner, they almost fought this morning at the music studio, but Devon stops pacing.

"Took you long enough to get here, asshole," Devon snaps.

Conner winks at me. "I was reading my emails, you know, working when I got your message."

"That's a lie. I've seen your inbox."

"When?"

"When I have Dominic hack into them so I can see if there's anything that needs to be treated," Devon says.

"Find anything good?" Conner asks.

"No."

"That doesn't surprise me. It takes talent to get the good deals and they don't get discussed through emails."

"Keep dreaming. Where are the others?" Devon asks.

"On their way, some of them. I've got Bastian and Van setting up shop at the club."

Devon glances at him sharply and Connor clears his throat. "Next to your office."

I don't have time to wonder what they're talking about. The police are finally coming up the stairs, making enough noise to wake the dead souls that must haunt this ancient building. Ted has come out of his apartment to follow them, asking questions, demanding an explanation.

They reach my floor, and the detective introduces himself with just his last name, Patterson. Devon doesn't greet him, though, instead, steps back. Is this the guy he knows? After I motion for them towards my apartment, I see a quick exchange between the two of them and a subtle nod at Connor. Okay...so this is Devon's friend at the station, but they don't want to publicize it to the other two officers.

Apprehension crawls up my skin. There are secrets swirling around these men—these old friends of my brother.

***

No matter where I stand, I'm in the way of the investigation. Not that there is much of one. Apparently, I managed to do everything perfectly wrong. I touched stuff, moved it, went into my bedroom when I thought someone was still here.

"You did what?" Devon hisses at me under his breath.

I had just told the part of the story when I grabbed the broom to go to my bedroom and open the door.

Conner stifles a laugh. "Can you demonstrate how you held the broom and tell us what you intended to do with it?"

"This isn't funny," Devon mutters.

But now I'm holding back laughter, too. I can't believe how gung-ho I was—thinking I could fight off an intruder like Jackie Chan with random cleaning utensils.

"Continue, please," the detective says, motioning for me to hurry. He's obviously impatient to get out of here.

I go on, describing going into the room and finding the hair and sheet music while packing some items.

He sighs, annoyed. "How many things did you touch, move, pack, or otherwise disturb before you thought to call the police?"

I gnaw my lower lip in contrition.

"Seriously," Conner whispers. "Have you not seen a single episode of NCIS?"

"No. I live in a hole under the ground."

He leans closer, brushing my shoulder. "We need to get you out more often."

The way he says it is a promise of fun. Devon glares at us, I pretend to elbow Conner to make him stop interrupting me.

At an impatient hand-twirl from the detective, I explain how my neighbor must have seen and interacted with the man. That he convinced her he was my cousin, Billy. That he has a key....

"Interesting." Detective Patterson takes notes on his phone. "We'll interview her."

I hear a dog bark. She must be standing at her door, spying on the investigation. I grit my teeth. Of all the neighbors in the world, I have one who's nasty to me and loves the guy who breaks into my apartment, leaving me creepy presents....

"This isn't the M.O. of our guy," he says after only a few more minutes of going through my apartment. They have collected the evidence—the hair, sheet music and jar of money.

I whimper when they bag the money. That was my life-line for the next couple of weeks.

"Don't worry about it," Devon whispers. "Stay Gold takes care of its own."

"Easy for you to say. I can't even buy a coffee."

"You don't need to buy coffees. Free, fresh roast coffee is one of the job perks."

I snort at his dad joke.

Then Conner leans closer, from behind me, out of sight of Devon. He holds a one hundred dollar bill over my shoulder. "This is for the show earlier. And I would very much like a private show as soon as you are available."

I shiver as his words roll into my ear. I feel dirty somehow, like I'm selling myself. But I also feel powerful, sensual. I affect him with my voice, my presence, and he wants more. His desire is open and obvious and I hold sway over him. Heat floods my face, warms me all over.

Devon must have heard. He tips his head back and growls a threat.

"Make one more move towards her and you'll find yourself in the bottom of a shallow, unmarked grave. I know just the spot. Isolated. Full of weeds."

"I wouldn't dream of breaking the club rules. Private shows are hands-off, remember? And a Stay Gold tradition."

My heart flips. Devon's jaw clenches tight. Suddenly, there isn't enough air or space. I'm trapped between two men much larger than me and I need out. I side-step towards the door.

At the same moment, Ty appears there. He hitches his bearded chin at me and meets Devon's gaze.

"This is an ongoing investigation site, you need to leave, sir," one of the police officers say.

"Wait for us at the car," Devon says.

Ty nods, but looks at me, as if for confirmation. Tendons stand out on his neck, moving under his heavy tattoos, and he's fisting his hands to crack his knuckles, like a boxer getting ready for a fight.

"I'm fine. We'll be down soon," I say. That seems to reassure him and he leaves again.

The detective is wrapping things up. The two police officers leave, but he approaches us.

"Like I said earlier, I don't think this is linked to the other disappearances," he says.

"Why?" I ask.

He takes his time to reply, but not because he's stumped. He considers me, as if wondering if I'm important enough to answer. "Several reasons, some of them obvious. The other missing persons didn't report any break-ins before they went missing. There wasn't anything unusual, like the lock of hair, found at their residences, either. No one suspicious was seen or interacted with neighbors. And I have a feeling."

"What's his M. O., then, why haven't I heard anything about these other crimes on the news?"

Both Devon and Conner cough.

The detective's nostrils pinch on a deep inhalation. He's really running out of patience with me. "You haven't been watching the news, have you?"

He snaps the cover on his phone closed and moves for the door. "We'll be in touch if this turns up anything useful. I'll need you to come in and file a report, as well. Have a nice day."

He's gone before I ask what station to go to. Hopefully, Devon knows where he is. I stand in the middle of my apartment, lost.

Conner holds up my coat to help me put it on and Devon waits for me at the door, while I gather my plants, ready to drive me away from this place and the danger here.

Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. I might be lost, floundering, in so many ways.

But I'm not alone. Not anymore.

*** Avery might not be alone, but is she safe? Thanks so much for reading and hit the star! ONC 1440 word count. ***