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Odd.
I didn’t pay it any mind, though, because the instant we pulled up to the front of my apartment complex my shower started crying out my name. The salt water still matted to my scalp had been itching for well over an hour. I had crevices that needed a good cleaning as well as clothes that needed to be washed. So, after tipping the driver—much to his protest—I made my way up to my apartment.
Only to find that my front door was ajar.
No, scratch that. My front door had been jarred open.
“What in the world?” I whispered.
It didn’t take a genius to see that someone had kicked the damn thing in. I’d born witness to enough crime scene pictures in my career to know what it looked like. There was an indentation in the lower middle of the door. The wood from the doorframe had splintered and scattered shards all over the ground. Hell, the lock itself on the side of my door sat cockeyed, ready to pop out altogether at the next point of pressure.
My blood ran cold as I sat my bag down onto the ground.
“Hello?” I called out. “Is anyone here?”
I held my breath and waited for any sort of sound. The creaking of a floorboard, or someone grunting. Something being knocked over, or even someone’s coat brushing against my couch. I drew in a deep, silent breath before reaching a trembling hand out. My skin grew clammy as my heart leapt into my throat. Every single one of my senses went on alert as I eased my front door the rest of the way open.
And the chaos I found behind my door slammed my lower jaw against the floor.
“What in the absolute hell?” I asked breathlessly.
I didn’t have to breach the threshold of my home to know that I needed to call the police. My couch had been upturned. Cushions had been slashed. There was glass all over the floor, and I recognized a few larger chunks. The outer rim design, however shattered, told me that someone had smashed my god damn dinner plates all over the floor.
I couldn’t get my cell phone out of my bra quickly enough.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.
I backed up to the other side of the hallway. “Yes, I need police at my residence. Brookdale Heights Apartment Complex. I’m on floor ten, condo 1003. Someone’s broken into my place.”
“Alright, I’m sending units. Are they still there?”
“I, I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Quicker than I anticipated, officers arrived at my home, swarming with guns and flashlights just in case the intruder was still hiding inside. Even surrounded by armed police, I was still terrified out of my fucking mind.
“And when did you get home again?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Thirty minutes ago. No, forty. I landed at LAX forty minutes ago.”
“And you were coming from where?”
I cleared my throat. “The Maldives.”
“Vacation?”
I nodded softly. “Weekend getaway. Work has been mounting a great deal lately.”
The police officer taking my statement sighed. “Miss Rochere, I have to admit that I’m familiar with your work. Is there any way this could be connected to a case you’re working on? Someone who isn’t happy you’ve taken on a client?”
I knew I was using work as an excuse to fall off the map with my family, but the truth of the matter was that I didn’t have any high-profile cases in the works. So, I simply shook my head. “The biggest thing I’ve got going on right now in terms of cases is a grand theft auto case that’s about to go belly-up.”
“Anyone upset at that?”
I shrugged. “Other than my client? No. And before you insinuate that this is my client, my client is in a wheelchair, and this place isn’t wheelchair accessible.”
He nodded as he scribbled things down. “If you’re up for it, we’d like you to walk through your apartment. See if anything’s been taken.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, yeah. I can do that.”
