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Funny, he picked up a whiff of fresh air—at least as much as the city allowed. Flipping on the light, he noticed the edge of the curtain moving ever so slightly due to a breeze.
He crossed the room, and sure enough, found the window cracked. Instantly, he went on alert. Pulling out his phone, he texted Trace, asking if he’d noticed it during his search.
Trace responded almost immediately.Negative. I made sure all windows and doors were locked tight.
All his training and past experiences snapped his spine straight. He started to rush back to Amelia, then stopped himself. The Secret Service had just checked the entire apartment. There was no one hiding in the closet, or under the bed, ready to jump out and hurt her. Maybe he’d missed it in the rush to clean up the front rooms, and she had cracked it open herself to let some air in.
He had to get over this paranoia and look for other options before jumping to conclusions.
Returning to the kitchen, he apologized for the interruption and pulled Amelia aside.
He thought he looked casual and confident, but she immediately frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, but I wanted to ask, did you open the window in your bedroom when we came in?”
The frown grew. “No, why?” Her face instantly paled. “Are you saying someone broke in? I thought Beatrice had people watching the place.”
Initially, she had. When they couldn’t figure out a motive for the attack, nor find a solid suspect, she’d had to pull Trace and the others for different projects, including prepping for the move. Amelia was in no danger since she was at headquarters, and Beatrice had no intention of allowing her to return permanently to her apartment until they’d resolved the situation. Either they declared it a mugging, or found the culprit and made sure he was brought to justice.
Rory groped for other reasons. “Did your parents come by before they left?”
The frown disappeared and her shoulders relaxed. “Oh, my god. Was there food in the fridge?”
“Bagels, sliced cheese, some apples…”
She palmed her forehead. The bruise there had faded to a pale yellow. “That’s my mom for you. I chased her off, and she knew I was going to be living at SFI for a while, but she still brought snacks and dropped them off.”
He felt his own shoulders ease. “So she might have cracked open the window.”
“I don’t know why she would do that without mentioning it. I mean, the temperature is mild right now, and she does love to air things out when the weather is nice, but one good rainstorm and I’d need new carpeting. Don’t think the landlord would appreciate that.”
The landlord. Rory stilled. “Would he ever enter your apartment and not notify you?” It was illegal, sure, but plenty of them did.
“She,” Amelia corrected, “would never dream of it.”
She hobbled to the bedroom, Rory on her heels. At the window, she reached to close it and he stopped her. “If someone’s been in here, they may have left prints. Let me grab Connor’s kit and dust it.”
“Connor carries a fingerprint kit?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
His attempt at humor fell flat.
“Amelia?” Hannah called.
She gave Rory an exasperated look. “Fine, dust it for prints.” Then she turned toward the door. “Coming,” she called.
On silent feet, he followed her out, scanning every nook and corner as he went and reassuring himself there was no one inside except the three of them.
Downstairs, he motioned at Connor to roll down his window as he approached. “I need the fingerprint kit.”
Connor was instantly on alert. “Why?”
“Probably nothing, but I want to dust the bedroom window.”
As Connor dug into the set of equipment, stored inside the rear compartment, Rory scanned the street, including the buildings nearby. Nothing seemed out of place.
“Need help?” the kid asked, handing over the black plastic box.
