“I’ll still be here, I’m supposed to be working,” Sloan said, but one look at Matty told her a different story. “Unless…you want me to tag along?”
“Course she does.” Gloria laughed at her. “Open your eyes, Sloan. She wants you there.”
Matty slid in closer. “You do seem to have my back, and that’s very…” Her fingers slowly traced the seam of Sloan’s shirt. “Hot.”
“Honestly.” Gloria shook her head at them. “I’m too old for this. Get your shoes on and go.”
Chapter sixty-two
Matty stepped out of the car and looked at the front door of her flat. It was covered by a huge metal sheet, hiding the fact the actual door had been kicked in. There was no officer on guard now, just police tape across it, lettered with ‘DO NOT CROSS’.
Saint walked up, pulled a key from his trouser pocket, unlocked it, and opened the makeshift door. The creak was far too loud for this early in the morning.
“After you,” he said, raising up the tape.
Matty sighed. “I guess it is my place of abode.”
“Not for long,” Sloan muttered as they moved into the small space before the stairs.
Matty bent and tidied the pile of shoes. They’d clearly been kicked and knocked by every set of boots that had rushed past.
Upstairs, she stopped and looked around. It was a tip—cupboards emptied, drawers pulled out. Even the fridge had been cleared, the contents left on the side to sour.
“Really?” Matty said. “You come into people’s homes, wreck them like feral burglars, then just leave.”
Saint at least had the decency to look contrite. “I know it doesn’t seem fair—and it isn’t—but with this quantity of drugs, we can’t afford to miss anything.”
Matty turned away from the kitchen and headed down the hall towards her room.
“Just…prepare yourself.” Sloan’s hand found her arm, gently supporting. “Your room will probably be the same.”
It was the first time in her life she’d been grateful she didn’t own much. After the divorce, Amelie had bought Matty’s share of the furniture off her. That was how she’d had the money for the deposit and first month’s rent.
Her wardrobe had been emptied. The clothes she did have were strewn across the floor. Books had been pulled from the shelf, spines bent, left open and flattened, crushed under others.
“Christ. They seriously thought I’d hide a kilo of coke in Jane Austen?” she grumbled, gathering a few and stacking them neatly on the bedside table.
Sloan started on the clothes, folding and stacking them on the bed.
“Why don’t I get started in here and you can show DS Saint what he needs to see?” Sloan leaned in and kissed Matty’s cheek. “Suitcase?”
“Under the bed.”
“Good. Let’s get you packed up and out of here.”
“I can’t afford to—”
Sloan put a finger to Matty’s lips. “You’ll be coming home with me. That’s final—until you work out what you want to do next.” Her gaze flicked around the room. “I’m not leaving you alone a second longer than I have to.”
Matty nodded. She bit her lip, eyes on Sloan. “Hot.”
Sloan watched as Saint left the room with Matty following. “That’s not hot,” she called after her, “it’s just my job as your girlfriend.”
Matty’s head popped back around the door. “Keep going, and I’ll show you exactly how hot in a minute.”
Sloan grinned. “Oh, you’ll definitely be showing me.”
***
