"We need to talk," I said firmly, watching her face carefully for signs of use. Her pupils seemed normal, but she looked exhausted, her skin waxy and pale. "About what I found in your bathroom."
Her hand flew to her mouth, and tears immediately filled her eyes. The reaction confirmed my suspicions. "You went through my things?" she whispered, the betrayal evident in her voice. “It was you?”
"I was worried about you," I said, keeping my tone even. "And now I'm more worried. Lottie, whatever you're using, there are better ways to deal with—"
"Using?" She stared at me in confusion, then understanding dawned on her face. "You think I'm on drugs?"
"I have contacts that can get you help." I stood and took a step toward her, but she backed away, her back hitting an old dresser.
“Get out,” she ordered. “Just get out.”
“Lottie—” but she was still holding her purse and with what sounded suspiciously like a sob she simply threw it at me. I caught it reflexively. “Look in there. Look then get the hell out of my life.”
I pulled open the purse, my hands suddenly clumsy with dread. Inside was a small zippered case. I flipped it open to find a glucose monitor, test strips, two needles, and a nearly empty insulin bottle. Not drugs.Diabetessupplies.
"You're diabetic," I said, my voice hollow as understanding crashed over me. The trembling, the urgency to get home, her reluctance to let me see her apartment—it had nothing to do with addiction. She'd been having a medical emergency, and I'd completely misread the situation.
"Type two, since I was seven," she said, her voice shaking with anger and hurt. "Congratulations on figuring it out by breaking into my home and violating my privacy."
Shame burned through me, hot and sickening. "Lottie, I'm so sorry. I was worried about you, and I—"
"Stop." She held up her hand, tears streaming down her face now. "You don't get to justify this. You broke into my apartment—twice!"
"Twice?" I stared at her, confusion cutting through my shame. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't pretend you weren't here yesterday," she said, wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "You moved everything. Organized all my things. Left Mr. Snuggles on the floor."
Ice crawled up my spine. "Lottie, that wasn't me. I swear to you, I've never been in your apartment before today."
Her face paled even further, if that was possible. "But...someone was here. Someone went through all my things."
"When?" I asked, all my security instincts kicking in at once.
"Yesterday. While I was at work." Her voice trembled. "Everything was rearranged, but nothing was taken. I stayed with my neighbor last night because I was scared."
My mind raced through the implications. Someone else had been in her apartment, someone methodical enough to go through her things without taking anything obvious. Someone who might come back.
"The new bolt," I said, nodding toward her door. "Your neighbor did that?"
She nodded, still watching me warily. "Her husband installed it last night."
I ran a hand over my face, trying to process everything. I'd completely misunderstood her situation, invaded her privacy, and now discovered someone else had done exactly the same thing. I'd never felt like more of an asshole in my life.
"Lottie, I know I have no right to ask this, but we need to call the cops. Someone broke into your apartment, and it wasn't me."
She shook her head immediately. "No police. They never come to this neighborhood anyway, and what would I tell them? Nothing was stolen."
"This is serious," I insisted, taking a step toward her. "Whoever was here might come back."
"Don't." She backed away from me. "Just don't. You don't get to scare me. You think you know better. Living in your fancy house—” But then she swayed and I had her in my arms.
“Baby, you need to see a doctor.”
She shook her head even as tears rolled down her cheeks but she didn't try and get away. “Then let me take you home. See my doc. You know him.” I was ten seconds away from insisting onit, but I’d already screwed up enough and consent was a major tenet in my life. “Please,” I whispered, holding her.
Lottie sagged in my arms, and I wasn’t happy her agreement tasted more like defeat, but I carefully laid her on the couch then grabbed her insulin, shoving it in her purse, texting Doc a pic of the drug vial. At the last second I remembered her bear. I had her in my car within ten minutes.
Chapter six
