“Hello?” she croaks.
“Finally. Lauren, oh my God,” I shout. “Someone was in my house. There’s a knife stuck in my bed. There’s something super gross on my bath towel. My robe was in the shower.” I haven’t taken a breath, and I’m talking a mile a minute. I scan the main room of my place. “What else did that creep do in here?” I mutter.
“What? Wait. Slow the hell down, Mac. What the hell are you talking about? There’s a knife in your bed?”
Panting, I attempt to slow my words. “I got home this morning. My door was ajar. Sam checked the place out, and it didn’t look like anything was missing. I just assumed I left it open yesterday morning. But I think someone was in here. Notthink. Iknowsomeone was in here.”
“There’s so much I need to know about that first statement, but we’ll get to why you’re coming home in the morning with Sam later. Did you call Sam?”
“No. I’m not going to call him. He’s not my boyfriend.”
I hear a sigh on the other end. “He’s a security expert. It’s what he does.”
I remain silent.
“Fine. Call 9-1-1. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m throwing my clothes on right now. Hang tight. Call the cops.”
I hang up and press the three numbers. “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“Someone broke into my place last night. There’s a knife?—”
“What is your address?” she interrupts.
“Thirty-three-oh-four West Walnut. West Garfield. Basement apartment. The door is on the back of the house.”
“Calm down, miss. The officers have been dispatched and are en route. ETA, six minutes.”
I hang up the phone because what else is she going to do? I grab my coat and make my way around to the front of the house. I can wave them over as soon as they arrive. With lights flashing but no sirens, the patrol car pulls up and parks in front of my gate. Two police officers step out and saunter over to me.
“You called in a break-in?” asks the older of the two men. He’s probably in his forties. He’s got salt-and-pepper hair at his temples and laugh lines around his dark-brown eyes. He looks like he could be of Hispanic heritage and believe me when I tell you: he’s gorgeous. I blink a couple of times, trying not think of him as a sex object.
“Um, yes?”
The second officer, probably closer to my age, speaks up. “Care to lead us to the scene, ma’am?”
This guy is even better than the first one. He’s several inches taller than his partner. He’s got dirty-blond hair and a twinkle inhis blue eyes. I look at his name badge and readSawyerprinted there. His eyes move from my face down my body, and I see a tiny smirk appear.
Okay, he’s not checking me out. No such luck. It’s then that I realize that (a) I’m in Pops’s old ratty coat, (b) it’s gaping open, and (c) I’m still in the towel that I threw on after my shower. Oh, and I’m barefoot. Not a pretty sight. “Right. Follow me.”
I lead the men to my door and explain how I came home this morning and found the door ajar. I also told them how it didn’t appear that anything was gone but that the robe was in the bathroom, the towel was sticky, and the big issue—the knife in my bed.
The officers walk through my place and make their way to the bedroom. “So, is there anything else out of place?”
“I don’t know. I just got home an hour ago. I haven’t had a chance to see what other creepy stuff is going on.”
The younger man chuckles, but the older cop pulls out his cell phone. “Kent? Yeah, it’s Martinez. You got time to stop by a scene this morning?” He pauses. “Uh-huh. Yep.” I can hear the sound of someone talking on the other end of the line but can’t make out his words. “Thirty-three-oh-four West Walnut. Right. Yep. See ya.” He hangs up the phone and walks toward me. That man is almost, almost as sexy as Sam. “Miss Parker?”
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly.
“Would it be possible for you to walk through your apartment and scrutinize the place? See if anything else is wrong? Try not to touch anything. We’re going to see if we can get any prints.”
I nod to Martinez. I turn and walk out into the main part of the house. I start in the kitchen. The first thing I notice is that all of my fridge magnets are upside down, and they’ve been arranged in order of smallest to largest and from left to right. “Um, Officer?”
Officer Sawyer steps into my tiny space. He’s crowding me a little bit. It’s enough to smell his cologne. It’s sweet and musky. “Yeah,” he grumbles.
“The magnets are all arranged.”
“That’s nice.”
