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Authors: Kylie Brant
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some ID.”
The officer was young, no more than mid-twenties, with the regional drawl rounding the vowels of his words. But his gaze was sharp, shrewd, and he hadn’t lowered his weapon.
“Abbie Phillips. This is my SCMPD identification badge.” She unclipped it from the pocket of her shirt and handed it to him. He scanned it, looked at her.
“Special consultant? To what?”
“I’m working with the serial rapist task force.”
The other officer returned to the room. “Place is empty.”
“You shouldn’t have entered the place before we got here, ma’am.” A hint of censure colored the first cop’s tone as he handed the badge back to Abbie. “Whoever broke in here could have still been on the premises.”
She didn’t want to complicate the matter by explaining that she was armed. That Raiker refused to allow his investi gaters to work without weapons. The cop, Dale Mallory, was right, in any case.
“Doesn’t look like anything is missing,” she said. The only things of value she brought on a case were her Sig and laptop, and she’d had both with her. “Just vandalism. Is this neighborhood prone to that sort of thing?”
Mallory had holstered his gun and pulled a small notebook from his back pocket. “Not really, but there’s a high school a block from here. Could’ve been kids.”
An all-too-familiar apprehension knotted her stomach. Now that she’d been over the premises, she was anxious to have the officers gone. Anxious to be alone to consider the complicated ramifications of the situation. But the cops methodically took down her information, asking her questions that she couldn’t answer entirely truthfully. No, she hadn’t lived here long. She’d only gotten to town a couple days ago. Yes, she was living alone. No, she hadn’t met anyone outside of work since arriving. She had no idea who could have done this.
She uttered the last lie without a qualm. She’d long ago mastered the art of delivering one without hesitation. Remarkable how old talents surfaced under times of stress.
“Officers.” Abbie’s head jerked at the familiar voice. Ryne stepped in the back door and flashed his shield at the two policemen. “What have you got?”
Both men’s attention switched to the newcomer, and Abbie attempted to hide her dismay. His presence seemed to shrink the already small area of the kitchen in a way the other officers’ hadn’t. She didn’t miss the deferential tones with which the two men addressed him, nor the fact that after that first lightning glance over her, his attention hadn’t strayed in her direction again.
She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want that shrewd focus narrowed on her, on her personal effects, asking questions she had no intention of answering, and drawing his own conclusions.
His appearance rattled her in a way the break-in hadn’t. Abbie got a garbage bag from beneath the sink and left the officers explaining the situation to the detective. Swiftly, she returned to her bedroom and gathered up the fabric littering the closet floor, stuffing it in the bag. Then she removed the ruined shirts from their hangers and discarded them as well. There was no way of salvaging the shirts after the sleeves had been hacked off, in any case.
She suspected the “vandal” had counted on that.
“So, the uniforms said there wasn’t much damage.”
Abbie rose, the half-filled garbage bag clenched in one fist. The doorway framed him, and she knew, with a sinking certainty, that the image of him standing in it would prove difficult to dismiss from her memory. He was an intriguing man, even when he annoyed her. Which so far was most of the time. “More of a nuisance than anything else.”
His gaze went beyond her, lingering on the open closet and empty hangers. “Weird sort of thing for an ordinary vandal to do.”
“Breaking and entering falls under the ‘weird’ category altogether, doesn’t it?” She brushed by him, went back to the kitchen, dropping
The officer was young, no more than mid-twenties, with the regional drawl rounding the vowels of his words. But his gaze was sharp, shrewd, and he hadn’t lowered his weapon.
“Abbie Phillips. This is my SCMPD identification badge.” She unclipped it from the pocket of her shirt and handed it to him. He scanned it, looked at her.
“Special consultant? To what?”
“I’m working with the serial rapist task force.”
The other officer returned to the room. “Place is empty.”
“You shouldn’t have entered the place before we got here, ma’am.” A hint of censure colored the first cop’s tone as he handed the badge back to Abbie. “Whoever broke in here could have still been on the premises.”
She didn’t want to complicate the matter by explaining that she was armed. That Raiker refused to allow his investi gaters to work without weapons. The cop, Dale Mallory, was right, in any case.
“Doesn’t look like anything is missing,” she said. The only things of value she brought on a case were her Sig and laptop, and she’d had both with her. “Just vandalism. Is this neighborhood prone to that sort of thing?”
Mallory had holstered his gun and pulled a small notebook from his back pocket. “Not really, but there’s a high school a block from here. Could’ve been kids.”
An all-too-familiar apprehension knotted her stomach. Now that she’d been over the premises, she was anxious to have the officers gone. Anxious to be alone to consider the complicated ramifications of the situation. But the cops methodically took down her information, asking her questions that she couldn’t answer entirely truthfully. No, she hadn’t lived here long. She’d only gotten to town a couple days ago. Yes, she was living alone. No, she hadn’t met anyone outside of work since arriving. She had no idea who could have done this.
She uttered the last lie without a qualm. She’d long ago mastered the art of delivering one without hesitation. Remarkable how old talents surfaced under times of stress.
“Officers.” Abbie’s head jerked at the familiar voice. Ryne stepped in the back door and flashed his shield at the two policemen. “What have you got?”
Both men’s attention switched to the newcomer, and Abbie attempted to hide her dismay. His presence seemed to shrink the already small area of the kitchen in a way the other officers’ hadn’t. She didn’t miss the deferential tones with which the two men addressed him, nor the fact that after that first lightning glance over her, his attention hadn’t strayed in her direction again.
She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want that shrewd focus narrowed on her, on her personal effects, asking questions she had no intention of answering, and drawing his own conclusions.
His appearance rattled her in a way the break-in hadn’t. Abbie got a garbage bag from beneath the sink and left the officers explaining the situation to the detective. Swiftly, she returned to her bedroom and gathered up the fabric littering the closet floor, stuffing it in the bag. Then she removed the ruined shirts from their hangers and discarded them as well. There was no way of salvaging the shirts after the sleeves had been hacked off, in any case.
She suspected the “vandal” had counted on that.
“So, the uniforms said there wasn’t much damage.”
Abbie rose, the half-filled garbage bag clenched in one fist. The doorway framed him, and she knew, with a sinking certainty, that the image of him standing in it would prove difficult to dismiss from her memory. He was an intriguing man, even when he annoyed her. Which so far was most of the time. “More of a nuisance than anything else.”
His gaze went beyond her, lingering on the open closet and empty hangers. “Weird sort of thing for an ordinary vandal to do.”
“Breaking and entering falls under the ‘weird’ category altogether, doesn’t it?” She brushed by him, went back to the kitchen, dropping
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