There was something pinkish brown poking out on the right side of the doorframe. Cautiously she forced herself a step closer. She saw then that the pinkish color was shards of raw wood and that the frame was gouged and splintered, as if someone had wacked at it with a sharp object. Then she saw the door. It was ajar, by a couple of inches, and there was a huge, ugly dent where the lock was.
Her skin pricked with fear. Someone had broken into her apartment. And she realized that they might still be inside.
chapter 8
Run, she commanded her legs. She spun around and nearly hurled herself down the hall toward the elevator. No, there wasn’t time, she realized as she started to jab the call button. She kept going, to the stairwell entrance. After yanking open the door, she jerked quickly to a stop and listened, wondering if the intruder could be lurking below. It was silent. She flew down the stairs, her feet barely touching the steps and her palm skimming over the handrail at light speed.
By the time she reached the lobby, her heart was beating so hard that the sound filled her head, like a piston churning. She pushed open the main door and frantically glanced up and down the street. There were a half-dozen people at various points along the block, but they seemed ordinary, people just going about their business.
She dashed ten yards up the street and ducked into the entranceway of another building. Her hands had begun to shake and for a few seconds she fumbled uselessly in her purse until she finally found her phone. She called 911.
“What is your emergency?” the operator asked.
“Someone’s broken into my apartment,” Kit blurted out. “They—they might still be inside.”
The operator asked for the address and apartment number. She also wanted to know where Kit was at that moment.
“Outside. Um, on the street.”
“Do not attempt to reenter the residence. Wait outside. The police will be there shortly.”
As soon as the call ended, Kit could feel a sob catch in her throat. Her home, all her lovely things. She couldn’t stand the idea of a stranger in there, pawing over her possessions, stealing what she’d worked so hard for. Instinctively, she let her hand brush the outside of her tote bag, remembering gratefully that she’d lugged her iPad with her tonight. And her Samsung camera was tucked in her purse. Thank God for small favors, she thought grimly.
Burglary, she knew, was always a possibility in New York, particularly in a non-doorman building. But she’d taken precautions: the best locks she could afford for both her apartment and the office. The office. In dismay she remembered that she’d left the inner door—the one from her apartment—ajar, so that meant the burglar would have had easy access to her workplace. Fists clenched, she kept her eyes riveted to the front of her building, waiting to see if anyone suspicious looking emerged.
And then a thought poked through her brain, sharp as a stick. What if it wasn’t just a regular burglary? From the moment Matt Healy had opened his door and explained to her about the theft of his wallet, she’d worried that X might have another card to play with her. And he knew where she lived.
But what could he possibly want from her apartment? He’d stolen Healy’s identity so maybe he’d hatched a plan to steal hers, too, and market it to someone else. She pressed her hands to her cheeks in alarm, realizing that if she’d shown up earlier, she might have come face to face with him.
The local precinct was super close to her, and it took under ten minutes for the squad car to arrive. Two uniformed cops emerged, one a male Hispanic, and the other a thirtyish white woman, with a brown ponytail sticking out from the back of her cap. Kit hurried from the doorway to greet them and then explained what had happened, words tumbling out of her mouth.
“And you think someone might still be in there?” the male cop asked her. His badge read Tirado.
“I couldn’t tell,” Kit said. “The door was open a couple of inches, but I didn’t hear any noise. And no one’s come out of the building.”
“What’s the apartment floor plan like?”
“It’s just a one bedroom with an open kitchen. But I rent the studio next door—to the left—as an office. There’s an inner door to it from my living room.”