Violet is Blue (Hothouse series) by Tawny Stokes, Vivi Anna

feel wanted. He made me feel everything . It was a far cry from the numbness I’d felt with Jordan.
    I rang the doorbell and waited. No lights came on. No sounds of footsteps came through the door.  Devon then knocked, hard.  But still nothing.
    “He’s not home. Let’s go.”  I stepped off the front porch, but Devon grabbed my arm.
    “This is the perfect time to find evidence against him.”
    “What are you suggesting?”
    “That we have a peek inside.”
    “Devon, I’m not going to break into his house.”
    He smiled. “You don’t have to. I’ll do it.” He started around back.
    “Wait.”
    “You want your stalker to pay, don’t you?”
    I nodded. “Yes.”
    “Then let me help you do that.”
    I thought about it. If Patrick was the stalker then it would be good to get some evidence I could provide to the police, but if he wasn’t, then hopefully he wouldn’t be too pissed that we broke into his house and that he would understand.  Both scenarios sucked. But at least both would give me some closure.
    “Okay, but hurry.”
    He went to the gate.
    “Devon!” I whisper yelled.
    He stopped and turned toward me.  “What?”
    “He has a big dog.”
    “Thanks.”  He pushed open the gate and disappeared into the back yard.
    I stood on the stoop and waited, shuffling from one foot to the other. I peered around at the other houses. What if someone was watching and called the cops?  My parents would kill me if I ended up arrested for B&E. And my future would be ruined. There’d be no way NYU or any other good university would take me if I had an arrest record.
    I was just about to go around back and tell Devon to forget about it, when the front door opened making me jump and he stuck his head out.
    “Welcome, little girl,” he said in a creepy deep voice.
    I smacked him in the arm and went into Patrick’s house. “Don’t do that.”
    We walked through the living room to the kitchen.  I had no idea where to look or even what I was looking for.
    “Where’s the dog?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “I didn’t see a dog anywhere.”
    “Weird.”
    “We should check his bedroom,” Devon suggested.
    “Okay.”
    He led me down a hall toward three other rooms. One was a workout room, one a bathroom, and the last was a bedroom.  I felt like a creeper from rummaging around through Patrick’s stuff.  It felt not much different then what the stalker had done to me.
    Devon riffled through the dresser drawers and the closet. I opened the drawer of the table next to the bed. I found a couple of paperback books, thrillers, a roll of antacids, Kleenex and a picture of a pretty woman with Patrick’s dog.
    “Find anything?” Devon stepped up next to me.
    “No. Nothing weird.”
    “I saw him with a camera sometimes. There has to be pictures of you around here somewhere.”
    We returned to the kitchen.
    “This feels wrong. Let’s just go,” I said.
    “Just one more minute.”  He looked at the closed door by the hallway.  He opened it, and it led to a set of steep stairs that went down.  “Jackpot.”
    “You don’t know if anything is down there but dirt and cobwebs.”
    “C’mon. One quick peek, and then we’ll go.” He took out his zippo lighter, flicked it on, and started down the stairs.  I followed him because I didn’t want to be left alone in the kitchen.
    There wasn’t much downstairs except for a washer and dryer, another refrigerator, some shelves with what looked like some canned goods and tools and other manly stuff that I didn’t recognize except knowing they had to do with cars and stuff, stacked on them. It was cool and musty in the air.  I shivered, and wrapped my arms around myself.
    “There’s nothing. Let’s just go.”
    “Wait. What about that?”  He pointed to a door, with a padlock on it.  “No one puts a padlock on, unless they are hiding something.”
    “Maybe, but there’s no way to get in, so it doesn’t matter.”
    “There’s always a way.”  He