“Because I didn’t call them.”
Tara rubbed her forehead. “Umm, Reagan…”
“I called them the first time. They didn’t believe me. I overheard them. They thought I was imagining things.”
“This isn’t the first time this has happened?” Tara squeaked, her eyes widening with alarm.
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Alex watched her closely.
“Why would I tell you?”
“Because we’re friends.” Tara tugged her over to sit on the sofa. “Listen, Reagan, I know you don’t understand all the ins and outs of friendship. But friends tell their friends when sick assholes break into their apartments and scare the shit out of them.”
“I will remember that.” Maybe she should tell them everything. But Tara already seemed so upset she didn’t want to worry her further. Plus, she didn’t have any proof. Just a feeling and Reagan didn’t like to rely on feelings. She liked facts. Evidence.
“What? For next time this happens?” Tara’s voice rose.
“Yes,” Reagan told her. Tara was clearly upset, and it was starting to make Reagan anxious. Emotions weren’t something she dealt with well. Hers or anyone else’s. Part of it was the way she’d been raised. Her parents hadn’t been emotional people. Reagan had never had to read between the lines with them. They had simply told her how they felt.
Their disappointment in her had come up often.
Sadness mingled with her anxiety. Her relationship with her parents was damaged, and and while they hadn’t been the best parents, she still mourned the loss. Tara was her only real friend, she didn’t want to ruin their relationship.
“Alex,” Tara pleaded. “Help me out here.”
Alex sat in the armchair across from them. “What Tara is trying to say is that we wish you had told us this the first time it happened. Friends help their friends when they are in trouble. If you’re in trouble, we want to know so we can help you.”
“What kind of sicko does this sort of shit?” Tara asked.
“A sicko who knows Reagan well,” Alex said slowly.
Yep, that’s the conclusion she’d reached as well. And it only made things worse. Someone knew exactly how to rattle her.
Tara paused. “Because they know she likes to have everything in a certain place?”
Alex nodded. “And how to get in here without setting off the alarm or the breaking the lock on the door. Does anyone have a key? Who would know your alarm code?”
“The building manager has a key.”
“But no one else?” Alex pressed.
“No. I have no reason to give anyone a key.”
“And your alarm code? Have you given it to anyone? Written it down anywhere?”
“Of course not,” she scoffed. “You should never write your passwords down.”
“Alex? What do we do? Should we call the police again?” Tara asked.
Reagan shook her head. “There’s no point. The police think I was making things up. I don’t want them in my apartment again.”
“I’ll have a chat with Jack. He’s out of town until tomorrow so I’ll call him when he’s back.”
Jack Wyatt was a detective for the Austin Police Department and a member of Club Decadence.
“So what do we do?” Tara nibbled on her thumb nail. “What if Reagan’s here next time? He could hurt her.”