Did she have a stalker?
The same guy from the park, even?
Or, worse yet, could it have been the same person who’d gunned down Matthew?
Or just some random crime? An empty apartment? An easy target?
I flew down the stairs, my bare feet slapping on the steps as the man charged faster still downward.
I pushed myself faster, wanting to grab the fuck, slam him against the wall, and get some answers out of him.
But when I heard the bar on the lower door depress, indicating he was already out, I knew the chances of catching up to him on the streets were slim to none. Especially if he managed to dip into a store or duck into a cab.
I followed still, but when I scanned the street, I didn’t see the guy anywhere.
“Damnit,” I grumbled, heading around the building to talk to the doorman.
But he hadn’t seen anyone matching the description either. And he certainly didn’t remember letting him into the building.
It looked like I had yet another job for Zeno, I decided as I made my way back up to Blair’s apartment, closing and locking the door behind me. Then I made a beeline for the hall bathroom, washing my street-dirty feet, knowing Blair would have a stroke about me spreading that kind of filth through her apartment.
Finished with that, I walked through her apartment, flicking on all the lights, looking for any signs of why the man had been there.
As far as I could tell, all of her valuables seemed accounted for. She hadn’t even been trying to hide her jewelry in the primary closet. Everything was set carefully in a cream-colored case. There were no obvious gaps.
All of her TVs were accounted for. Her very expensive desktop was on the desk in her new study.
It took me a long time to even figure out what could have made that loud crash I’d heard before.
But in the spare bedroom, I found it.
A safe was on its side in the closet. Like maybe he’d dropped it, then in his haste to right it, put it back wrong. Or maybe he’d been planning to take it until I came into the apartment and foiled his plans.
Very possibly petty crime, then. Of course someone would zero in on a safe if they would take one. Even if common sense would tell you to grab the easier-to-transport items.
I likely didn’t have to worry.
But what if it wasn’t random? What if someone was looking for something belonging to Matt?
Torn, I reached for my phone, deciding I had to text her.
Hey, Blair. Where are you?
That was the best I could come up with after trying a few times. I didn’t want to freak her out. I figured I could ease her into the truth myself in person.
And that had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to see her.
JFK. Just got in from Georgia. Trying to get a cab. Is everything alright?
No wonder I hadn’t seen her in a few days. She’d been traveling for work. Likely curating a collection for some rich southern family with tons of money and no personal taste in art.
I shot back a text about speaking to her when she got home. In response, she told me when she slipped into a cab.
I made my way out of her apartment, figuring she’d freak out less if I greeted her in the hallway.
About half an hour later, I watched the elevator lights count her way up to the floor. Then saw her slowly appear as the doors parted.
She looked like it had been a long night. Or a long trip.
