“Yes,” I said, my voice thin. “I just walked in.”
“I need you to leave the apartment immediately. Do you see or hear anyone inside?”
“No. I don’t think so. It’s empty.”
“Good. Go back outside, get somewhere safe, and do not touch anything. Officers are being dispatched now.”
I backed towards the door, my heart pounding. “Okay. I’m leaving.”
“Do you have a vehicle nearby?”
“Yes.”
“Go wait in your car, lock the doors, and stay on the line with me until you’re safe. If anything changes, tell me immediately.”
“I’m outside,” I said, my breath coming fast. “I’m in my car.”
“Good. Help is on the way. You did the right thing.”
Once I ended the call I waited outside in the parking lot as the dispatcher instructed. I couldn’t stop shaking while I waited, wondering if whoever had done this was watching me. Wonderingwhothey were. Why had they targeted me?
It was an out-of-body experience, watching the sheriff’s vehicles as they pulled into the parking lot. Four men headed into my apartment. After fifteen minutes one of them came out, he was an older man with salt and pepper hair, and as he strolled towards my car there was an air of authority about him. I rolled down the window as he approached. “Good evening, ma’am, I’m Sheriff Hudson Cross,” he introduced himself. “Miss Moreno?”
I nodded. “Call me Eliana,” I somehow managed even though my throat was so tight it felt difficult to breathe.
“I’m guessing your place wasn’t like this when you were last here?”
“No,” I answered. “Definitely not. I was at work all day and just arrived home. I don’t know why anyone would do this to me.”
“Did you see the entire apartment?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I saw the living room and that was enough. I got out and called 911.”
The sheriff’s expression was carefully blank. “I need you to come with me. Stay close and don’t touch anything.”
I nodded and got out of my car. I followed him into my apartment, past the wrecked living room and down the hall where the bedroom and bathroom were located.
“Prepare yourself,” he warned and then opened the door before I could answer.
When I stepped inside, I understood why. There were photos on my wall, maybe a hundred or more, and every last one of them was of Zoya. From us playing in the front yard. Some from her at the playground with a younger redheaded girl and others with an older woman I assumed was her previous babysitter.
My knees went weak and I dug my feet into the ground to keep myself from falling. “Oh my god!” I cried out, suddenly sick and terrified. “I need… I have to call Sle—Mr. Kerris.” He would blame me for this, probably hate me. Definitely he was going to fire me. I yelped when the sheriff’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Sorry.”
“How do you know Sledge?”
My gaze narrowed at his use of my employer’s club name. “I’m Zoya’s nanny. How doyouknow him?”
His lips twitched. “We have an understanding that requires occasional cooperation.”
I didn’t know if that was true or not, so I nodded and found Sledge’s contact info. Then I braced myself for his anger as I made the call.
Chapter Seven
Sledge
The phone rang just after ten. I was halfway through a beer, sitting on the couch with my boots off, legs up on the coffee table while I stared at the TV without seeing a damn thing. Eliana’s number flashed on the screen, producing a frown as I stared at the damn phone. While she was nosy as fuck, I kind of liked her, and I hoped this call wasn’t another damn babysitter giving up on me and Zoya. I sucked in a deep breath and answered. “Quittin’ already?” The words came with a bitter smile because as much as her resignation wouldn’t surprise me—she lasted longer than most—there was something that burned in my chest at the thought of not seeing her again. It was fucking stupid, getting all soft and gooey about a damn nanny, when she was leaving.
There was a silence on the line between us that unsettled me. “Sledge,” she stammered out. “I need to tell you something.”
