My fur baby’s picture caught my attention. The only one I had out in the open, I was drawn to where it was positioned on the bookshelf. In the same place that it had been since the last time I’d dusted, there was no reason to believe anyone had touched the frame.
But something told me a ghost had wanted to remember. “What are you doing, girl? He’s dead.”
While I sensed no one was hiding, I’d learned from my father to never take a single chance or not follow my instinct. That was how I would get myself killed.
There was no one in the space, including hiding in the crammed full closets. Yet I could feel him. His presence. The weight of his aftershave.
Or you’re losing your mind.
The scent was a different fragrance but still musky, the barely there hint of sandalwood bringing one too many memories.
Frustrated at not finding anything, I returned to the living room. When I glanced toward my makeshift artist’s table, my pulse surged all over again. The just-so requirements included the drawings. They might look as if they were scattered everywhere, but I called the mess controlled chaos. I knew exactly what order they were supposed to be in.
And they weren’t. I picked up the stack, gasping when a sketch floated free.
The single one I’d drawn from my memory of Kazimir.
Think. You need to think.What if someone else had been searching for Kazimir? That was possible, more so than bringing a dead man back to life.
I’d sketched his face a little over a year before. Until then, I’d tried very hard to forget him.
Yet there he was, his eyes reflecting the last time he’d looked into mine. With my body shaking, I looked away, unable to take the emotions surrounding the memories. This wasn’t enough, just like what I’d seen at the event wasn’t.
Now I was angry.
With him. With myself.
With my father.
With the fucking life I’d been born into, but rage was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Whoever had been inside my apartment knew the connection had been stronger than I’d led anyone to believe.
I raced into my bedroom, glancing at the perimeter. I could swear the scent of him was even stronger. After searching the room and the closet and finding nothing missing, I turned in a full circle.
Still cursing at myself, I yanked open my dresser drawer.
If I wasn’t so anal, maybe I could fall asleep without thinking Kazimir was hiding somewhere in the apartment. Why? Because my favorite purple thong, the one I’d placed directly on top of my freshly washed lingerie so I wouldn’t forget to pack it was missing.
Golden had finally padded into my room and she was still on full alert, now sniffing like a hound dog. “You’re not helping.” I riffled through the drawer, not finding the panties, finishing by looking in my very empty laundry basket.
I slunk back into the room, forced to accept one tiny little thing.
The lacy undies were missing.
CHAPTER 20
Rafaela
“The scene is still active and the police are asking that you stay away from the area.”
The woman’s voice, the light French accent used for the English news channel was certainly not what I’d expect when reporting some a heinous crime. I stared at the screen, easily recognizing the area.
A murder had occurred the night before on my street.
Three blocks away.
My nerves were instantly on edge.
