That was it. Deven listened to the message again then hung up. Erika Garrett? She immediately recognized the name from one of the prescription bottles she had found in Kennedy’s bathroom. Whoever this mystery woman was, what the hell did she have to do with her sister? Deven pressed the first few digits to call Officer McKinney, then stopped. No, this wasn’t really the time for the police. She needed someone else to track down this Erika woman. And she knew just the person. But the million-dollar question was, would he be willing to help? Because at this point, Deuce was her only hope.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-seven

She probably should’ve been afraid. But thankfully she wasn’t. Deven had resolved that if Deuce wanted to do something to her, he would’ve done it already. He had the means, he knew where she lived, and he couldn’t deny that he knew exactly what she was up to. So, he wasn’t trying to hurt her. Scare her maybe (which he had already succeeded in that aspect). But at this point, the chances of him trying something were probably pretty slim. At least that’s what Deven told herself as she made the drive back to his place. She prayed her assumption was right.

Unlike before, there was a new car parked in Deuce’s driveway, an ice blue Tesla that looked like he drove it straight out of the showroom. Again, Deven parked on the curb and walked up to his porch trying not to admire his fancy new ride. Or the financial means it took to get one. It was clear whatever he did, he was good at it. She knocked and waited.

When he didn’t readily come to the door, she knocked again, struggling to calm her rapid heartbeat. Unless the car belonged to his neighbor, which she doubted, then he was definitely home. Deven wondered if Deuce was sitting just inside the door, amused at her impromptu visit. So far, she’d shown her natural black ass with him, so to ask for help, or even show her face around here had been a bold risk on her part.

Deven had just about given up when she heard the locks slide out of place and the door opened on its squeaky hinges. He’d gotten his locs freshly twisted, she immediately noticed but she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because it added to his mystery, now hanging loose to frame his angular face. Once again, he was smoking, and Deven fanned the air to waft the stench in the opposite direction. His expression was unreadable as he waited, and she knew that was her cue to justify her presence. But at least he looked calm, which was a good sign.

“Hey Deuce. Can I come in?”