A woman in her thirties, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, padded down the hallway. After giving him the once-over, she spoke through the locked glass door. “Lemme see your ID.”
Stryker showed her his driver’s license.
She smiled up at him. “You her boyfriend?”
“Her boss.”
“Where does she work?” asked the neighbor.
“The Dungeon. She’s my head mixologist.”
The tenant sized him up again. “I don’t remember April mentioning her hot boss.”
Stryker pulled out a business card from The Dungeon and flipped it over. Printed on the back wasGuest Pass for Two. Two Complimentary Drinks.
She pushed open the glass door and stepped aside.
“Thanks for letting me in.” He handed her the free drink card.
“Should I ask for you at your club?”
“I’m not there much.” Stryker pointed down the quiet hallway. “This way?”
The neighbor led him to the third floor and stopped in front of a closed apartment door. “This is my place. April lives at the end of the hall on the left. Stop by for a drink. I’ll be waiting.” She winked before heading inside.
Stryker wasn’t interested in a drink, a late-night booty call, or anything else from April’s neighbor. After knocking on April’s door, he said, “April, it’s Stryker.”
No response.
He tried the door. To his surprise, it was unlocked, and he stuck his head inside. “April, you here?”
The unexpected stench stung his nose.No fucking way.He moved inside, leaving the door open. The living room was dark, but the kitchen light was on. The place looked neat and orderly. Not sure what he was walking into, he pulled his Glock from the back of his pants.
April wasn’t in the kitchen, so he continued down the short hallway toward the dimly-lit bedroom. As he stood in the doorway, his brain stuttered to a stop. She was lying on her bed, propped against pillows, wearing a modest white wedding gown, the train draped over her legs. Her hands were folded in an X over her chest and her long dark hair lay neatly over both her shoulders. Her skin was ashen and her lifeless eyes stared straight ahead.
God, no.
He strode over, pressed his fingers against her carotid artery. Nothing. April was stone-cold dead. He wanted to pound on her chest and breathe life back into her. He wanted to scream at the universe to bring her back. But that wouldn’t change a damn thing. He was too late. Moving quickly, he unearthed his phone.
“What’s your emergency?”
“This is Stryker Truman. My employee didn’t show for work, so I stopped by to check on her. She’s dead. I need the police.”
“Did you say she’s dead?”
Dammit to fucking hell.“Yes. Based on the position of her body, she was murdered. Coulda been a suicide.”
“Did you try CPR?”
“Her body is cold. Her neck appears bruised. She’s been dead for a few days.”
“I’ll send a team right out.”
He rattled off the address and hung up. Then, he stared into April’s dead eyes while rage swirled around him. His thoughts flashed to his mom, the haunting image seared into his brain.
Pushing out those painful memories, he refocused on his employee. April’s neck had purpled, a sure sign she’d been strangled. The rage swirled faster and faster, consuming him in a vortex of helplessness.
He’d dropped his Glock on the bed, so he shoved it back into his pants. Though he was licensed to carry, he untucked his shirt to hide it. The police would have questions, no need to point the spotlight on himself. He was guilty of plenty, but killing his employee wasn’t one of them.
