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Brianna knew something was wrong the minute she stepped inside her apartment and switched on the light.
She couldn’t explain why. The place looked just the way she’d left it. And the front door had been locked. But she had the creepiest feeling—one she couldn’t shake.
“Something’s not right,” she told Lina, glancing around the living room.
“What do you mean?” Lina asked.
“I don’t know.” She peeked into the kitchen and then headed for the bedroom.
She flipped on the light switch, took one step inside, and let out a shrill cry. “Oh no! No!”
Her lingerie drawer was yanked open. Her bras and thongs were tossed about in total disarray. There was a tangled trail of underwear leading from the dresser to the bed. The toiletries on
her dresser had been shifted around, and her perfume bottle was open, the cap sitting purposefully beside the naked-looking atomizer.
And there, in the center of a visibly mussed bed, were a dozen white roses, with one red rose in the center. The whole arrangement was snuggled in white tissue paper, with a lacy bra wrapped around the stems.
The scene was Brianna’s worst nightmare.
“Oh my God,” Lina said from behind her. She grabbed Brianna’s hand and tugged. “We can’t go in there. He might still be inside. We’ve got to get Mr. Nickels.”
Brianna was shaking so badly she couldn’t answer. She was frozen in place, reeling from the terrifying invasion of her space, her life.
“Brianna—come on!” Lina dragged her friend out of the apartment, where they crashed into John Nickels in the hallway.
“What is it?” he demanded, already reaching for the gun inside his shoulder holster.
Lina blurted out what they’d found.
“Both of you stay out here,” Nickels ordered.
Pushing the door open with his foot, he crept inside, pistol raised. Slowly and methodically, he checked each room. When he was sure no one was in the apartment, he holstered his weapon and whipped out his cell phone. In rapid fire, he snapped a series of photos, sending them right off to Casey. Then he returned to the front hall. “Come in,” he instructed the girls. “But stay just inside the apartment. Don’t touch anything, not even the door handle. This is a crime scene.”
“We won’t.” Gently, Lina guided Brianna back inside. “We’ll stand right here until the police arrive.”
“I didn’t call the police,” John told them quietly. “I’m about to call Casey. She might want to handle things differently.”
“I…” Lina’s eyes widened. “Okay.”
“He touched my things. He was on my bed,” Brianna whispered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Well, you can’t be,” Lina said, trying to snap Brianna out of her hysteria by using humor. “There’s no receptacle to be sick in. We can’t touch the trash can or the toilet. So pull it together and forget the idea of throwing up.”
Brianna managed a wan smile. “Thanks, Li.”
“Hey, it’s as much for me as it is for you. When someone near me vomits, I immediately begin doing the same. And I happen to like the outfit I’m wearing.”
John was about to punch in a number when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, although he knew full well who it was.
“I was giving you a minute for the photos to go through,” he answered without prelude. “So I’m assuming you got them.” A nod. “Yes, Brianna and Lina are both fine. Shaken but fine. They’re right here with me.”
A long pause as he listened to Casey’s instructions.
“How long?” he asked. A pause. “Then that’s what we’ll do. But I think it’s about as far as we can push it. Okay, done.”
He pressed the red phone button to end the call.
“We’re going to have to wait about an hour or so,” he said, turning to Brianna and Lina. “Then, we’ll call the police.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll have to amend our story—specifically the time we arrived. I’ll go over the script with you after I turn off the lights.”
