It’s a small, empty apartment.
The door leads straight into the living room, and the kitchen is part of it. He has no furniture. The walls are white with three boxes stacked against them. To the right, a small bathroom door’s slightly ajar. I look to the side where there’s another room—probably his bedroom.
Shrugging, I walk toward the kitchen. Take a peek into the fridge. It’s almost empty with only almond milk, some grapes, and butter.
He’s been living here for a couple of months, but he has no food or furniture? No pictures? The place is spotless, overly clean.
His window is unlocked, so I close it, flipping the latch. He’s going to get himself killed leaving it open like that. What if someone dangerous got in?
I step into his bedroom, turn on the light, and spot a laptop on the desk. It’s as good a place as any to start.
The laptop opens immediately. No password, no security, nothing stopping me.
The window was unlocked.
The door took less than twenty seconds.
Now this.
Kelly doesn’t think or perhaps care about security. About who might want access to his life. He stitched me up, sent me on my way, thinking we were done. We’re not.
He’s at work right now with no idea someone’s in his bedroom going through his things. That’s dangerous—the kind of careless that gets people robbed, hurt, killed. He saved my life days ago, and this is how careful he is with his own? I just need to understand why he didn’t turn me in and whether he’s a threat. That’s logical. It has to be.
I comb through his history, his recent searches, and all his files. It’s full of nothing.
I’m so confused. He’s either the most boring person on Earth or he’s hiding something.
Is he a narc? Maybe he works for the police, undercover or something. I make a mental note to get Daniil to search the police databases.
I pause at his recent porn searches, eyebrows lifting. Amateur gay porn. Interesting.
I stare at the screen, and something tightens in my chest. Something I’ve spent years pretending doesn’t exist. I wasn’t expecting that. Shouldn’t matter. I’m here to check if he’s a threat, not to … whatever the fuck this is. My pulse hammers for reasons that have nothing to do with security checks.
I rub my jaw, trying to think clearly.
So aside from his boring porn preferences and the fact that he’s clearly gay, all he has is a Netflix account filled withHow I Met Your MotherandFriends, of all things.
No. There has to be something else.
I roll the chair back and accidentally push the laptop, taking in the paper envelopes under it.
So youarehiding something.
I almost burst out laughing when I read the first letter, and then the next, and then the next. Twenty letters. All unpaid parking tickets. I throw them onto the desk, and a manic laugh escapes me.
He doesn’t even have a car registered to his name, and he clearly rides a bike. How does he have so many fucking unpaid parking tickets then?
The whole thing feels off.
Something happened to him in the past few months.
Something is happening to him right now.
He had no record at all until those three arrests started, and something shifted. That kind of shift doesn’t come from nowhere. I’ll make it my mission to figure out what’s going onwith him—and whether he’s a threat. Consider it repayment for saving my life.
That thought should terrify me, but it doesn’t. It excites me.
I walk over to the dresser, run my fingers over the top, and pull open the drawers. Shirts, underwear, socks. I pinch the fabric. Nothing worth a second look, nothing hidden underneath. Next, I move to the closet and brush my hand along his jacket. A lot of green. Must be his favorite color.
