The door, although shut, has been forced open, and a small gap of light from inside shines through.
“I’m assuming you didn’t leave it open?”
“The hard drive.” He goes to walk past me, but I stop him.
“Think,” I admonish, tapping my head, before reaching behind my back and pulling my jacket up, removing my Glock.
“You took a gun into the police station?”
“Always be—”
“Prepared. Yes, yes. You know you stole that line from the boy scoutsor something,” he whispers.
I hold my finger to my lips, my mask slipping into place.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I leave Owen standing in the empty hallway and slowly step into the apartment, my gun raised.
Using the walls and doors as cover, I search the small apartment room by room.
From the outside, the apartment block looks plush and modern. On the inside, his apartment is no bigger than the safe house.
Open planned modern living, accented with simple furnishings and two bedrooms. One is the master suite, with built-in wardrobes and a double bed with neutral, warm tones throughout.
The second bedroom has been turned into a study.
Masculine, simple, Owen.
“Clear,” I call from inside.
Owen walks in and heads straight to the bathroom. I follow, leaning onto the door frame and watch as he removes the lid of the toilet.
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “This is literally the least inventive hiding spot, and didn’t you tell me it was in a safe?” He ignores my comment and sticks his hand into the water, rummaging around and comes back empty-handed.
“Let me guess. Gone?”
“Exactly.” He grins at me, and I shake my head, frowning.
“Why does that make you so happy?”
He ignores me, instead walking back into the main living room area and stands in the centre, looking at the empty drawers with his belongings thrown across his space.
“Now what are you doing?”
He stomps his foot, and takes another step forward, stomping another foot.
“Here,” he says, pointing to the floor.
“Ok-ay…”
“Help me move the sofa.”
I do as instructed, placing the gun on the countertop before we move the sofa off the rug that is covered in teal, blue and white abstract shapes, which Owen is now pulling back to unveil the modern, luxury, laminate flooring.
He stands and stomps again and grabs a knife from one of the kitchen drawers, kneeling on the floor.
I watch speechless, as he places the knife around each edge, and lifts the laminate piece, laying it next to his knee.
Leaning forward, he sticks his arm into the floorboards and rummages around. His tongue sticking out, that cute frown line back masking his features, his eyes look off into space. And suddenly, I am a young Lucy and Owen is a young boy, and we are off on one of our many adventures.
