Empty.
Dark, cluttered, lifeless.
No corpse.
No signs of a struggle.
My guys were long gone.
The older cop scratched his head. The other turned back to Lyla, looking even more dubious than before.
“I swear, he was here,” she said, her voice breaking. “He tried to drag me in. Then the other guy…he killed him! And…and…I ran.”
Silence.
The older officer looked at the younger one, then sighed and murmured something into his radio while his partner took some notes.
I watched Lyla’s face fall, watched as the disbelief twisted into something close to humiliation.
They didn’t believe her.
They stepped back and shut the door of 3B.
“It’s not illegal to leave your door unlocked or cracked open. Stupid in this part of the city but not our issue,” the younger cop said.
“Without any evidence of there being a crime—and unless you’re filing a report against someone specific—there’s not much we can do.”
He handed her a card and told her to call if anything else happened.
They left without looking back.
As soon as they were in the stairwell, her shoulders collapsed.
She stood in the hallway for a long moment before going back to her apartment.
Once inside, she went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of vodka, and took a long swig.
Didn’t even flinch.
I didn’t know whether to be impressed or worried.
But at least for tonight she was safe.
Tomorrow, I’d have to decide what to do with her.
Because no matter what I told myself, she was now my responsibility. Her fate was in my hands.
But for now, I wanted nothing more than to get home and take my own shot of vodka—or three—so I would have some semblance of a chance at getting a decent night’s sleep.
For a few more minutes, I stared at her through the screen, brushing my thumb over the image as if I could touch her.
What the fuck was I doing?
She was a complication.
An indulgence.
A very pretty liability wrapped in stubbornness and sweet Tennessee sunshine.
