RED NIGHT ~ VAMPIRE FILES TRILOGY (Book 1)

6

*** Watch the BOOK TRAILER for RED NIGHT. Find it on my blog page at RKCloseBooks.com

I don't know how anyone else deals with stress, but for me, I get busy. Usually I get busy with work, but it can be organizing a closet, throwing myself into a good novel, learning something new, or anything else that keeps me busy. There's healing in work. It helps me stay grounded, and my mind preoccupied.

I stayed at Dayna's Saturday night, but I've slept at home the last three. I hung bells on the patio doors to warn me if anyone should decide to pay me a late-night visit. Pretty smart, if I do say so myself.

This week is flying by, and thankfully, no more bizarre meetings with blue-eyed, pushy stalkers. Nice normal days. Still, I've been waiting for someone to grab me around every corner.

Besides my crazy weekend, it's been business as usual this week. I'm currently working two cases, so I've had leads and paper trails to follow. My workload has kept me somewhat preoccupied, but my mind keeps wandering back to Adam.

I've been trying not to think about him, especially the feel of his lips on my neck and ear. That brings to mind all sorts of other inappropriate images, and feelings that I refuse to have for a possible psycho. I must need therapy.

I haven't told a soul about our encounter, and I'm wondering if this is a mistake. If I mention this to Dayna or anyone else, I'll be under lockdown for sure. That would most certainly cramp my style.

On the other hand, if I file a report with the police, what am I going to report? I don't even have a name for him. Ultimately, it would cost me my current job, and bring me unwanted attention.

So far, Blue Eyes has been sneaky, and careful about the lines he crosses. No witnesses, only my word against his. I'm sure his fingerprints would not be found on my car or in my condo. Certainly not after I've rearranged the entire living room, vacuumed, dusted, and sterilized the hell out of this place.

Dayna would be so proud.

I need to know who he is. I'm running out of rooms to rearrange and closets to organize.

***

It gets dark early this time of year. Mill Avenue is ablaze with lights already. Being a stone's throw from the university, Mill Avenue is Tempe's hot spot with shopping, restaurants, and plenty of bars. There is always something happening here on any given night.

I stroll through the entrance of an Irish pub named Rúla Búla. I'm running late when I spot Dayna and several of our friends at a large table in the corner. Robert, her on-again boyfriend, sits next to her. These two have been on and off for five years now. We all assume they will get married eventually.

Next to Dayna is Eric, my ex-boyfriend, with a pretty young blonde that I don't know. Eric and I were friends before we dated, and somehow beat the odds and remained friends. Maybe because we've been friends much longer than the short time we were an "item."

I broke things off with him almost a year ago, but this is the first time I've seen him with someone else. I have no right to be jealous, but I can't help but feel a little twinge of regret.

Beside Robert are Tim and Ed. They're brothers, both single, and both know how to steal the show. They're always cutting up, hitting on girls, or making a scene. The rest of us are merely here for their amusement. At times they can be a bit obnoxious, but mostly they're fun to be with.

We've been friends since college with, and without, significant others joining our gang. We try to get together regularly. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Tonight there are dueling pianos at Rúla Búla. Music is loud, and the atmosphere is festive.

"Hey there, Gorgeous," Tim yells to alert everyone in the bar that I've arrived. Both Edward and Eric stand to give me warm hugs. I say hello to everyone, and Eric introduces me to Jessica. He doesn't call her his girlfriend, only Jessica. I give her a warm smile, but inside I'm already picking her apart.

She's trying too hard with a skirt that's dangerously short and double-D breasts threatening to pop out of her plunging neckline. They're big enough that even I can't help but look at them. From my quick evaluation, Jessica needs this type of attention to feel worthwhile. Give me a minute and I'll actually start to feel sorry for her. She doesn't seem like Eric's type but maybe with her attributes she doesn't need to be.

Eric seems to be avoiding eye contact with me. Either he knows what I'm thinking, or maybe it's awkward for him too.

I've only had two real boyfriends, one in college, and then Eric. I've dated a lot, but I've never clicked with any of them. Usually, I don't make it past one or two dates.

I haven't given up. I'm still a hopeless romantic, but Dayna thinks I'm too picky. She also calls me a "relationship virgin" because, according to her, Eric didn't count, and neither did the one in college that only lasted three months. Pretty sure I'm doomed to be the old spinster cat lady in the group.

Wilbur would like that.

"Order two, you're behind," Dayna says even though she knows I won't drink more than two the entire evening.

I toss my jacket and bag on a chair and head to the bar. I lean on the wood counter and order a Guinness from the woman working on the other side. Before she can draw my beer, another male bartender with an Irish brogue and plenty of tattoos takes the glass from her and says, "I got this one, Gina."

Sean gives me his killer smile. He has tattoos covering both arms, and some that crawl up his neck and peek out of his collar a bit. They're incredibly intricate and well done. I've always wondered how much of his body is covered in tattoos.

Sean is attractive, with a nice lean body and dark hair that's almost black. His eyes are so dark you can't tell he has pupils. It gives him an otherworldly look at times. Sean's charming, and women love him. On the weekends, he has groupies around the bar like flies. I would say he's incredibly charismatic; someone men respect and women fight over.

I do appreciate that he is easy on the eyes, and a real sweetheart, but he's not my type. Whatever my type is.

Giving him a warm smile, I ask, "How's my favorite bartender?" He seems to love when I call him that, especially when other people are around to hear it.

"My day is almost complete now that I've laid eyes on you, my beauty." I love his light brogue, and his attention does wonders for my ego each time I see him.

He hands me my beer and refuses my money, as usual. He always insists on buying my first beer. This has been going on for about a year and a half. I'm flattered, if not a little guilty. After the first six months I quit arguing with him.

"When are you going to go out with me, Sam?" He leans on the bar like he has no other customers, and it's only us. I notice a couple patrons and a waitress waiting impatiently at the other end. A little blonde who obviously has been sitting at the bar to flirt with Sean gives me a dirty look that I ignore.

This is our thing, Sean and I.

"I can't go out with you, Sean. I won't date my favorite bartender or guys whose names start with 'S.' It would spoil all that is good and pure in the universe," I say, taking a sip of my beer, and raising my eyebrows at him. He gives me another brilliant smile, but it doesn't make it to his eyes this time.

That's not part of our thing.

Now I'm feeling guilty, and maybe confused. I thank him, and leave a hefty tip as I always do before turning to rejoin my friends.

Rúla Búla gets cranking on Wednesday nights. The place is already full of people, and I'm trying not to spill my beer as I make my way back through the crowded bar.

As I'm squeezing between bodies I get a little tickle in the back of my head, like someone's watching me. I stop and look at the sea of people around me. I'm about to blow off the notion until I glance out at the patio and almost drop my beer.

Sitting at a table, watching me, is Adam.