I dedicate this chapter to @Leila_Adams, Wattpads author of Offering - A New Adult, Urban Fantasy—a roller coaster ride of a story. Leila has a different take on vampires that I know you will enjoy. Offering is full of steamy romance, tough choices and non-stop action!
The view of the city from the roof is beautiful. Blue skies as far as I can see today. I had Harold let me onto the rooftop to take some pictures. I wonder if I can get a key for myself.
I walk around the entire roof looking for anything out of the ordinary. Finding nothing amiss, I make my way over to the edge of the building that is directly above my balcony. There are no rope marks, which I would expect to find if someone had actually rappelled off the roof.
I'm out of theories as to how he's gained access to my condo—twice.
After finding nothing helpful on the roof, I head to the lobby on my way to the gym.
My hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and I'm wearing a tank top, loose sweat pants, and sneakers. The temperature is in the 80s for the next couple of days. So much for our cold front.
I'm in deep thought about my current late night visitor when I hear, "Hello, Samantha." I jump a bit before realizing that Gabe is sitting on the sofa in the lobby.
I try to recover quickly, but there is no hiding my over-reaction. I smile. "Hi, Gabe. I didn't see you there." I love to state the obvious around him.
He stands, gives me a warm smile, and says, "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me on Saturday."
I'm stunned, and it must show on my face, because he quickly adds, "I know it's short notice, so if you're not available I understand. Maybe another time." He actually breaks eye contact as he looks down at his shoes.
That's a first.
I snap out of my daze. "No, I'd love to have dinner with you Saturday. You surprised me, is all."
This seems to make him happy, and he perks up. "May I stop by at seven?"
"Yes, seven would be great." I feel like an idiot—but a happy idiot.
"Great. There's a nice Thai restaurant downtown that I'd like to take you to. Do you like Thai?"
"That's one of my favorites," I say, trying to keep the dumb grin off my face. "I'm looking forward to it."
We smile at each other before he heads to the stairs, and I float out the door to find my car. Can my day get any better than that?
Cue music: Walking on Sunshine.
***
I'm ready to kick some bootie by the time I walk through the doors of the gym. I am high on happiness. Maybe I should get a pedicure before Saturday.
I head to the back and a tall, lean Hispanic man with a thin, tight mustache looks up from a clipboard as I walk up.
"You're late," he says, and goes back to his writing. I'm in such a good mood that even Eddie can't bring me down.
Eddie is the boxing and martial arts coach at my gym. I've been training with him for the past three years. We have a standing date on Thursdays. He talks tough, but he's a big marshmallow.
"Your clocks are fast. By the way, I had some trouble this past weekend, and I want to go over the situation with you, if that's all right?" I ask.
Looking up from his clipboard, he narrows his eyes at me and gives me his full attention now. "What kind of trouble?"
I tell him a condensed version of the situation between Adam and me Saturday night.
"Uno, don't go walking alone after dark. You make yourself a target that way.
Dos, be aware of your surroundings at all times. If you did this, he wouldn't have been able to get you in that position.
Tres, you can't go up against someone who outsizes you by that much if they know what they're doing. You need to be in a position to outrun them.
Quattro, if you followed one and two, you wouldn't have to deal with three. Sounds like you're lucky to be alive. Now take your position so I can kick some of that stupidity out of you," he says, tossing his clipboard onto a gym bag.
Eddie then proceeds to kick my ass for the next hour. Fun.
***
I hurt from head to toe by the time I drive home. I have several new bruises that hopefully won't show for my date on Saturday.
I still can't believe Gabe asked me out. I'm still humming the Walking on Sunshine tune when I pull up to my building.
I stop humming at the sight of several police cars, an ambulance, and a crowd of people standing behind some yellow tape.
I park my car, and make my way through the crowd. I have to ask permission to cross the yellow tape. "Officer, I live here. What's happened?" I ask with a growing feeling of dread.
"What's your name, and which apartment is yours?" the officer asks.
"My name is Samantha Lewis, and I live in 405. Can I go up to my place?"
He motions to another uniformed officer, and says, "This officer will escort you in and ask you some questions. If you're on the fourth floor, you'll be able to enter." Both officers refused to give me any more information.
I spot Harold and his wife Mabel on the sofa in the lobby being questioned by a plainclothes detective.
Mabel gives me a sad smile before turning her attention back to the detective. Her eyes are puffy and swollen.
I'm shocked that something bad has happened in our building. Nothing ever happens here. It's a pretty safe place to live.
As I'm being escorted to the elevator, I spot a middle-aged man with a kind red face and a little too much weight around his midsection. He walks over to me and gives me a big hug.
"I was tipped off that something happened at your building and rushed right over. My phone ran out of juice or I would have called to make sure you were okay. Let's go up to your place to talk," he says, taking me by the elbow and leading me to the elevator.
Russell Thomas is old school so he and technology are not the best of friends. His phone is always dead. I bought him a car charger for Christmas last year, and he probably doesn't remember he has it.
"How have you been, Russell?" I ask as we step into the elevator.
Russell was a dear friend to my father. He also oversaw my parents' will, and stepped in to pick me up when I fell apart after their deaths. I always called him Uncle when I was younger, but he's not actually related to me.
"Better now that I know you're not involved. I talked to some of my friends in the department, and they said Phoenix may have a serial killer on their hands. Victims are all attractive, blonde, in their early twenties, and all missing a substantial amount of blood," he says, and takes a breath.
"Some sicko is trying to make it look like a Hollywood creature did this instead of a psychopath. Two had puncture marks on their neck and thighs, the third was missing a pretty big chunk of her neck. You know this is not public information. You need to keep it to yourself," he says.
"Are you telling me that someone fitting that description has been murdered in my building?" I ask as we walk into my condo together.
I sit on the couch because all the energy has left my body and I can't stand anymore. I have a million thoughts and questions rolling around in my head at the moment. Adam is at the center of all of them.
"Yeah, you could fit that description. That's why I got here so fast. When I arrived they told me it happened in a third-floor apartment. I was still worried until you walked in," he says, relief showing on his red face.
He truly has become like a father to me over the last six years. He was my mentor when I graduated from college and chose to become a private investigator.
Russell is a retired police detective, and he does private security and consultant work now. He wasn't crazy about me going into this line of work, but he liked it better than me joining the police department.
"Thanks for coming to check on me. Do you want to stay for lunch? I can make us sandwiches," I ask, heading for the kitchen.
"No thanks, Sam. I have some work that needs my attention. I need to get back to it. You call me if you need anything. And don't go running at night or anything foolish like that until this guy is caught." He gives me the stern father look now.
I walk over to him and give him another big hug. If it wasn't for him, I would have dropped out of school and who knows what else. He was there for me when I was at my lowest.
We say our good-byes and promise to get together for Thanksgiving next week. I lock the door behind him and turn to lean on it. What am I playing with here? I should have told him about Adam, but I didn't want to worry him.
Is Adam capable of doing something like this? There are too many coincidences here to ignore.
First, there was our encounter at the mall, and that same night there was a murder close by. I know he's entered my condo at least twice, and now a woman was killed one floor below me. I need more information. There's work to do.
***
I've followed Rebecca and Mr. CEO into the Hyatt hotel downtown. I walk in and sit in one of the chairs in the lobby while I pretend to read my phone. I'm already taking pictures.
They dropped off a small bag at registration, and then entered the restaurant connected to the hotel. I'm assuming they're staying overnight. I'll get more photos and call it a night. I've gathered all the evidence I need for this job. Time to wrap it up and get paid.
"You must be reading something extremely captivating," a smooth, deep male voice says to my left. I almost jump out of the seat. Either I'm a bit edgy these days or there's a conspiracy to scare the life out of me.
Standing a couple feet from me is a man with the second bluest eyes I've ever seen. His blond hair is almost white, depending on where the light hits his head. He has the face of an angel with the exception of a small thin white scar on his right cheek, right below his right eye.
He's wearing a fitted white t-shirt, jeans, and a black leather jacket. His clothes give him that sexy bad-boy edge, but they're high dollar threads, so how edgy could he be? He's also standing in the lobby of a high-priced conference hotel. It kind of shatters the notion for me.
He is beautiful though—almost unnaturally so. I'm not sure why that thought came to mind.
And he's speaking to me. Crap.
I recover from my surprise and say, "Sorry, I didn't notice you. I'm checking my emails." I smile, wave my phone at him, and then become engrossed with my phone again.
He's still standing there and I can tell he's still watching me.
"You're far too beautiful to be waiting alone in a hotel lobby. My name is Zac," he says, extending his hand.
His accent is European; maybe Scandinavian? Hard to tell.
"Hi, I'm Sam. It's nice to meet you," I say, placing my hand in his.
He holds it a few moments longer than necessary. I almost have to pull it back from him. Odd. I don't have time for this.
"Ah, I'm meeting my boyfriend here," I say, because it's now obvious he's hitting on me.
Good-looking men are coming out of the woodwork these days. Zac's eyes are remarkable, and the color reminds me of Adam, which only makes me want to get rid of him all the more quickly.
"The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure. It's unfortunate that someone has already claimed you. I think we would be good together," he says, and now there is a seductive promise behind the smile.
I laugh nervously because I'm not used to guys being this direct.
Maybe he's a male prostitute. That might make more sense. Does Phoenix have male prostitutes?
"Okay, Zac, that's nice, but I've got to go." I rise from my chair, move to the registration desk, and ask the woman several stupid questions, like how much a room is, how late the restaurant is open, etcetera.
I plan to ask her as many questions as necessary until he's gone. I glance over my shoulder, and see that he has already left. He must have taken the hint.
Good.
After Rebecca and Mr. Sleazy go up to their room, I have the final photos I need. They made my job exceptionally easy by tossing their printed receipt in the trash before entering the elevator.
After fishing it out and receiving a concerned look from the hostess, I'm ready to call it a night.
I walk down the empty sidewalk toward the parking garage. I'm relieved that Zac didn't make another appearance while I was waiting. That would have been more awkward than it already was. Can't wait to tell Dayna about that one.
I begin thinking about how to make my condo "Adam-proof" when I'm grabbed and thrown over a large shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. All the air leaves my lungs, and before I can even think about screaming for help we are moving so fast I can't tell what's up or down anymore.
If it doesn't stop quickly I'm going to throw up.