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"So you're saying nobody else has a key?" he asks, examining the deadbolt.

"Just me and Mrs. Patterson across the hall. She checks on my cats when I'm working late or staying somewhere overnight. I suppose the building manager has access, too."

I regret mentioning overnight stays the moment the words leave my mouth. Enzo's penthouse. His beach house in Malibu. All those nights I spent believing I was somebody special instead of somebody's mistress.

Daniel makes a note in his little notebook. He's wearing dark trousers and a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he looks considerably less intimidating than he did in the interrogation room.

"Any chance Mrs. Patterson let someone inside?"

"No. She wouldn't do that without asking. Besides, she was as horrified as I was when she found out what happened."

"There's no obvious damage to the lock. We're checking who might've had access to a spare or master key." He looks up. "Did you ever give Lorenzo Moretti a key?"

I laugh, although there's nothing particularly funny about the question.

"Enzo's never even been inside my apartment."

His eyebrows rise. "Three weeks together, and he's never been here?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

I glance around my living room. The couch has seen better decades, my bookshelves are overflowing, and Sir Pounce is currently licking his enormous orange ass in the middle of the rug.

"Have you seen the way that man lives?"

Daniel follows my gaze. "I think your place is nice."

"That's sweet, Detective, but Enzo lives in a penthouse with furniture that probably costs more than this building. I was embarrassed."

"About having a home?"

"About having a home that looks like a yard sale threw up in it."

He smiles, but the question leaves me thinking about how little Enzo has seen of my everyday life. He's watched me wearing expensive dresses in beautiful restaurants, but he's never seen me eating cereal in my pajamas while arguing with Murder Mittens about whose pillow belongs to whom.

That doesn't make my little embarrassment anything like the secrets Enzo kept from me. I wasn't hiding a spouse or an entire criminal organization. Still, I wish I'd been brave enough to let him see this place when I thought we had a future.

"Have you received any threats since the incident?" Daniel asks.

"No. Unless you count an obscene amount of flowers and jewelry from a man who apparently thinks diamonds can fix adultery."

"Moretti's still contacting you?"

"He sent apologies, presents, books, and a cat tree the size of a small condominium. I returned everything. He's stopped showing up, though."

Daniel's expression grows serious. "I meant what I told you at the station, Bridget. The Morettis are dangerous people. If anyone approaches you about the stabbing, I want you to contact the department."

"Believe me, I've learned my lesson. The next man I date is going to be a boring accountant with a mortgage and absolutely no ties to organized crime."

"Sounds reasonable."

"And if he has a wife, I'm going to make her sign something confirming they're divorced."

He laughs, shaking his head. "Can't blame you there."

Before leaving, he confirms that my emergency contact information is current. Elise is listed, along with her telephone number, which is reassuring. At least somebody will know whom to call if this ridiculous situation gets worse.