What if it’s not the cops?
I had been watching a lot of murder shows lately, and the murderer always returned to the scene of the crime, so I fished my gun out of my purse just in case.
The door squeaked open and the sound offootfalls came closer. Cursing Dylan’s tiny apartment, I stayed low and peeked around the island. All I could see was a pair of black-jeaned legs and what looked like motorcycle boots, then another set of blue-jeaned legs with Nikes.
Definitely not cops, and so they had no right to be in Dylan’s apartment without her consent. I leaned back and clicked the safety off my gun, ready to defend myselfif either of the intruders came at me.
“What are we lookin’ for?” a low voice asked.
“I don’t know. Whatever she’d store files on.”
“Looks like the place is pretty trashed. Do you think we’ll find somethin’ the cops haven’t?”
“They don’t know what they’re looking for.”
“Technically, neither do I.”
“Right, well, keep an eye out then,” the second man demanded. “I’ll look.”
I bit my lip andslid my phone from my pants pocket. Luckily it was on silent. I fired off a quick text to my brother and then sat and waited.
“Do you think they know who actually killed the asshole?” the first man asked.
Dammit! I should have been recording this!
“Don’t know, don’t care. Shut up so I can focus.”
Frustrated I hadn’t thought of it sooner, I slid my finger to the camera icon on my phone, andstarted to record.
Doors and drawers were opened and closed.
“Holy shit!” the first man said. “Did you spread blood in her bathroom? That’s brilliant!”
“When would I have done that? I was with you the whole time. Now go back to the door while I check the kitchen.”
Well, damn it!
“Don’t forget to check the freezer. People are always hiding shit in frozen meat in the movies.”
“Good idea,”the second man said.
His footfalls grew louder, and I set my phone down and braced my gun. He took one step into Dylan’s kitchen.
I held my breath.
Another step. Now I could see his black boot. Sirens screamed outside.
He froze.
The sirens grew closer.
“Check that out, would you?” the second man asked.
Footsteps shuffled across the carpet. “Shit, five-o’s pullin’ into the lot.”
“Oneof her nosey-ass neighbors must have called them. We’ll have to come back.”
They left. I counted to ten, then poked my head up to confirm they were in fact gone. Setting my gun on the island, I fisted and unfisted my hand, trying to get it to stop shaking. The front door slammed open, banging against the wall, and two uniformed cops, guns drawn, rushed inside.
