Page 21 of Below The Surface
“Curiouser and curiouser,” I say.
Mr. Arie nods. “Just wanted to let you know. I didn’t talk to this one, though. They also wore a hoodie with the hood down. Can’t make out the face, but printed them out just in case.” He hands Dallas a blurry picture.
“Can you send that video to my email, too?” I ask sweetly.
“Already done.” Mr. Arie pushes up his glasses and nods. “That’s all.”
“Thanks,” I say as he closes his door.
“Well, fuck.” Dallas glares at his apartment door. “What do we do now?”
“Keep the plan?” But now I have a proper weapon and my phone in case someone’s in there.
Dallas huffs out a sigh. “Okay, I don’t see why not.”
He unlocks the door, and the scent of roses hits us in the face. It’s as if someone spritz the fuck out of the living room with some floral perfume and I stumble back just to breathe fresh air.
“What the fuck?” Dallas chokes out as he waves his hand in front of his face. His eyes go wide and we both narrow in on the slim vase with the single blue rose.
“There’s a note,” I say and snatch it off the vase, making it tumble to its side. “To the only man that’s ever made me believe in myself.”
“Oh.” He pulls off the ball cap and hangs it on the hook by the door.
“Oh? What does oh mean now?” I ask and stomp toward him, waving the note.
“Ow!” I stick my finger in my mouth to suck where the paper cut me. “Ew!” I pull it out and hold it away from me. “Band-aids?”
Dallas takes my hand gently, but stops leading me wherever the band-aids are.
“Shouldn’t we look for more clues first?”
“Probably? But my finger hurts,” I pout and cradle my hand.
“Wow. You can be all bad ass, but a paper cut takes you down?”
“My skin isdelicate.” But he doesn’t know I’ve already clocked the camera in the corner. It’s tiny, but I know it’s there.
Dallas rolls his eyes, but leads me to the bathroom and turns on the water. He’s distracted, and thank fuck, I don’t notice any cameras here. I open the medicine cabinet and the cupboard below the sink, much to his annoyance.
“Stand still.”
I grab him by the hair and yank him down to me. “Shush. There’s a cam in your living room and probably a mic.”
His eyes go wide and I love when they do that, but it’s almost comical.
“What do we do?” He starts to turn off the water, and I stop him. We might need it to drown out what we say.
“What do you know about who left the rose?”
He swallows. “I’ve been emailing with a fan for the last couple of months. She usually signs off with what the note says. Or something like it. I always thought it was a little quirky. Now?—”
“Now it’s creepy as fuck. Do you have any self preservation skills at all?” I release him from my hold and back up a little.
“Yes.”
“Answer me this.” I sigh. “What address do you use for your newsletter?”
He looks to the sky and holds his breath. After a few moments, he lets it out. “The gym.”
