“Yeah? Former job requirement?”
Slade glanced over, surprised by the question. He thought for sure Atticus knew what his previous occupation was. After all, that was something they had in common.
“Not really. Didn’t do a lot of B and E’s when I was hunting a bounty.” Breaking and entering was a skillset he’d acquired back when he was a rowdy teenager growing up in a small town.
Atticus slowly turned his head. “You were a bounty hunter?”
Slade nodded as he pulled into an empty space near the building with the large two on it. It was a small complex, with only four buildings in total.
“Do you miss it?”
“Not for a second,” he said honestly, turning off the truck. “You ready to do this?”
Atticus was out of the truck before he was. Slade followed him up the steep flight of stairs and down the open corridor where there were six doors. They went to the third one on the right.
He knocked and stepped back, waiting a minute to see if someone would answer.
When they didn’t, Slade gestured toward the door lock. “You want the honors?”
“Go ahead.” Atticus took a step back, glancing both ways down the hall before shifting around him to block the view if someone happened to be looking out from the apartment across the hall.
Slade pulled his little tool pouch from his pocket and retrieved what he needed. He wasn’t breaking any records today, but he did manage to get the door unlocked without incident. Once he did, he turned the knob and skimmed the interior.
“Hello? Maintenance. Anyone home?”
No one answered.
Slade looked at Atticus, who gave him a nod of encouragement.
Pushing the door open, Slade stepped inside the dimly lit apartment.
“Holy shit,” Atticus whispered when Slade flipped the switch on the wall. “What the fuck?”
Slade was wondering the same thing. It looked as though someone had wallpapered the whole fucking place with Baz’s face. Every inch of wall space was covered with various pictures of Baz. There were a lot of duplicates. His face, that was. The background on the photos was different, as though someone had photoshopped him into them.
“I thought you said they didn’t have a baby together,” Atticus said, leaning in to look at one of the pictures on the wall.
“They don’t.”
Atticus pointed.
Slade moved closer, frowning at the photo of Baz and the chick he assumed was Molly. They were holding what looked to be a baby bundled up in a blue blanket. It was obvious it wasn’t real, but the fact she’d gone to that extreme to create it was unnerving.
What was worse was the fact Slade was so close to Atticus. Close enough he could smell his body wash, or maybe it was his shampoo. Whatever it was, he smelled good. Too good.
Forcing himself back, he started searching the room, skimming the stacks of papers sitting on the small desk and the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.
It wasn’t an overly large space, but it was decent. The furniture was cheap but in nice condition. The decor seemed more suited for a young girl than a grown woman. There were fairy lights dangling all over the place. The kind his nieces would string up in their bedrooms.
“She’s got more pictures,” Atticus said, pointing at a stack near the printer. “Guess she hasn’t had time to glue them up yet.”
“See if there’s any pics of the redhead,” Slade told him. “We need to know how she knows him.”
“The consensus is that he’s working with Molly?” Atticus asked, although it sounded like he was merely working through the problem. “What’s the end game? She’s clearly obsessed with Baz. And JJ’s with Baz. So take JJ and … what? Trade her for Baz?”
“Maybe,” Slade said because it sounded as logical as anything he could come up with.
“Luca said she was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Based on this, I think she’s living in a delusion. Maybe she thinks JJ stole her man.”
