Page 56 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

“Every damn day,” Noah said as he followed her into Annabelle’s home.

One minute, Annabelle was trying to figure out how to get rid of the burn marks on her wooden floor, and the next, Katrina was telling her to put on her game face because the district attorneyhad arrived. Seemed like everyone in Houston wanted to be in her old warehouse—invited or not.

“Ms. Simmons.” The DA made a beeline for her, his hand outstretched. “May I call you Annabelle?”

“Sure.” She shook his hand, all the while wondering why he was there. “Are you taking over from ADA Grant?” she blurted, unintentionally causing Margaret to bristle and glare at her boss.

“No, no, no. Nothing like that.” The DA beamed at her and the ADA. “I just wanted to meet our star witness and ensure you’re fine after last night’s drama.”

Annabelle was bewildered. She caught Noah’s eye, and he smiled his encouragement. “Well, I’m a bit rattled, and my aunt’s shop is ash and debris, but other than that, I’m fine. The team did a great job of making sure the gang didn’t get near me. I feel very safe with them.”

“Is that right?” The DA walked over to the window where she’d witnessed the murder. “This is where you were standing that night, isn’t it?” He smiled back at her. “I’ve reviewed the case file, which contains several photos of your apartment.” He glanced around. “Although I see some things have changed since then.”

Annabelle wasn’t quite sure which of his questions to answer first and was grateful when Rochelle spoke up.

“We spent some time fortifying this floor of the building after the first attack,” she told the DA. “Unfortunately, some of Annabelle’s belongings got damaged during the shooting.”

“Yes,” the DA said, opening a mirrored glass screen. “It’s clear Ms. Simmons was most fortunate to have you here that night.” He gave her another smile. One that didn’t make it to his eyes. “It was down there. The murder, I mean. Am I right?”

Annabelle was about to go over to him to point out what she saw, but Noah had crossed the room to stand beside her. Heplaced a hand on her back in a silent reminder to stay out of sight from the street.

“That’s right,” she said, staying where she was.

It seemed like the DA stared out of the window for far too long. At last, he closed the screen and turned back to the people inside the room. “I can’t tell you how lucky it is that you were here that night. We very much appreciate that you came forward to report what you saw. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this gang is serious business, and we owe it to the citizens of this fine city to get them off the streets. Isn’t that right, Margaret?”

“That’s what we’re trying to do,” she said through gritted teeth.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Ms. Grant just wanted to get on with her job, while her boss wanted to insert himself into the trial for the publicity. Annabelle, who watched the news like everyone else, knew full well it was an election year. The DA hadn’t hidden his desire to be reelected, and the media attention around the Demons case would go a long way toward making that happen.

DA Carpenter wandered through her loft, taking in everything with eyes that missed very little. “Great place you have here. A fantastic amount of space and a fine view of the downtown skyline. I can see why you want to stay at home rather than move to a safe house.”

Annabelle frowned. Surely someone had told him that it wasn’t a matter of choice. She literally couldn’t leave.

“Leaving my home isn’t an option,” she said. “I have a condition which means I have to stay here.”

“Is that right?” He spun to pin her with his intense gaze. “When was the last time you tested your theory that you can’t leave this building?”

His question caught her off guard, and she was about to blurt out that, actually, she’d tested the theory just last night, but again, Noah patted her back in warning.

“Sorry, but that isn’t how agoraphobia works,” she said instead. “You don’t test it by stepping out of your safe zone. That’s why we have therapists.”

“Yes, of course. You are such a brave young woman to live with such a debilitating condition.”

Annabelle didn’t know what to say to that, although the urge to order him out of her home was pretty darn strong.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to say anything. The DA had moved on to her work area and was studying some of the photos she’d pinned to a board on her easel. “ADA Grant tells me you’re quite the photographer. She says you’ve been taking photos of these streets for years. I imagine you’ve taken some fine shots. What with you being an artist and all.”

“It’s a hobby,” Annabelle said, feeling awkward. Politeness made her want to offer her visitors coffee, but the signals coming from her security team made it clear they didn’t want the DA and his police officers lingering.

The whole team were now in her loft, spread throughout, standing quietly, watching everything. She wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured by their diligence or anxious about what their presence might mean. It wasn’t often they all felt the need to watch over her. Did they really think someone in the room was the leak who’d sold out her location?

More to the point, did she trust everyone in the DA’s office enough to believe they wouldn’t do that to her?

Now that she thought about it, she was glad the team was paranoid on her behalf.

“You don’t show your photographs in galleries?” the DA asked.

“No, I’m a comic book artist. I don’t exhibit my work.”