Sabrina’s gut twisted. She knew what that meant. This was the kind of place you ended up when you needed to disappear. When running was safer than staying.
A woman emerged from the stairwell, caught sight of them, and immediately reversed direction. The maintenance guy didn’t even blink.
“We’re not here for them,” she said quietly. “Just Annie.”
Something in her tone must have registered, because the worker nodded slowly. “Unit 3C,” he repeated, softer this time. “Think the blonde one moved out a few weeks ago. Real quiet-like. Middle of the night.”
Sabrina’s stomach swooped. They were getting somewhere.
The door to 3C looked identical to all the others lining the dingy hallway—cheap wood with peeling numbers, deadbolt showing signs of recent replacement. But something about it raised the hair on her neck.
The worker’s key stuck slightly in the lock. “Dang thing’s always screwy.” He jiggled it with practiced motion until the mechanism clicked.
“We’ve got it from here,” Noah said smoothly, already palming a twenty that appeared from nowhere.
The worker hesitated, looking between them. “You’ll lock up after?”
“Scout’s honor.” Noah’s easy smile got him nowhere with this guy. But Sabrina appreciated it.
“Whatever. I’m on break.” The worker disappeared down the stairs, taking his cigarette stench and Noah’s twenty with him.
Noah gestured to the door with an exaggerated flourish. “Ladies first?”
“Such a gentleman.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress her answering grin. Sometimes his ridiculousness was exactly what a moment needed.
The apartment door swung open on protesting hinges. Stale air carried traces of cheap air freshener and abandonment. The walls created three distinct living spaces in the cramped quarters—mattresses lay in the living room, in the converted dining room and in the actual bedroom. There were signs of a hasty departure everywhere.
“They left in a hurry,” Noah murmured, examining scattered papers near the door. He held up an envelope. “The mail’s still coming. But it’s all addressed to Camille Lancaster. Utility bills, bank statements and a hospital bill from last month. That’s pretty recent.”
Sabrina frowned. “Nothing for Annie?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Everything official is in Camille’s name.” He held up a rental agreement with Camille’s signature at the bottom.
“Did the maintenance guy get it wrong?”
Noah shrugged. “Could be. Might have been trying to give us the brush-off.”
Frustrated, Sabrina moved through the space with measured steps, cataloging details. Three coffee mugs by the sink, one chipped but carefully glued back together. A bulletin board covered in job listings, red circles around anything paying cash. A stack of applications filled out in different handwriting.
What a far cry from most people’s world, where companies had websites and electronic submission processes. Everything here screamed,Leave no trail!
The kitchen told its own story. Store brand everything, except the prenatal vitamins lined up on the windowsill. Those were name brand, likely handed out by a free clinic. Three different kinds of peanut butter and a bottle of barbecue sauce but barely any real food.
Her throat tightened. She moved on.
The bathroom revealed more. Two different brands of shampoo—cheap stuff and one pretty bottle of an expensive brand, probably a gift. Makeup scattered across the counter, some high-end items mixed with drugstore brands. Little touches of luxury in a life stripped down to basics.
Noah appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the small space instantly. He even smelled good.
“Found something interesting,” he said, holding up a photo. Three young women squeezed together for a selfie, Annie in the middle. All smiling. All looking incredibly young.
“Happiness looks different in hindsight,” she muttered, more to herself than Noah. But his hand settled warm on her shoulder, and she let it stay there. Just for a moment.
“Annie must have been crashing here unofficially. Smart, if she was trying to stay under the radar,” Noah said and went back to the living room to continue his search.
The bedroom was last on Sabrina’s list. Clothes still hung in the closet—cheap polyester uniforms from various service jobs. A dress that must have been for interviews, price tag still attached. Something sat behind all the clothes.
Her hands trembled slightly as she pushed hangers aside. It was a small shelving unit. And it was full of baby supplies. Diapers, wipes, tiny clothes still with tags attached. An unopened crib box leaned up against the back wall of the closet. Someone had folded a pink blanket with painful precision.
