Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can - By Kat Martin Page 0,105
come for her last night, how he had been there when she needed him. Ben always seemed to be there when she needed him.
She was thinking about him when she got home from work. This time of year it got dark early, but she had left the porch light on and a lamp turned on in the living room. As she pulled up into the driveway, she noticed the front door standing slightly ajar.
Claire frowned. She’d locked it before she’d left that morning. Living in the city had taught her to be careful. Instead of pulling into the garage, she put the car in Park and turned off the engine, got out and walked up to the door. She wasn’t foolish enough to go inside until she knew it was safe, but she shoved the door open a little and looked into the living room.
Her heart jerked and started pounding. Oh, dear Lord! Hurrying off the porch and moving a safe distance from the apartment, she pulled her BlackBerry out with a trembling hand and dialed 911.
“My name is Claire Chastain. Someone broke in and vandalized my apartment.” She gave them the address and answered the dispatcher’s questions.
“Wait outside till the police get there,” the woman said. “They’re on the way now. Don’t go inside till they get there.”
“I won’t.”
“Stay on the phone with me while you’re waiting.”
“Okay.”
She was trembling when the white-and-blue patrol car rolled up. Two officers climbed out, one tall and thin, wearing aviator-style glasses, the other shorter and almost completely bald.
“This your place?” the shorter policeman asked. Officer Renick, his name tag read.
“Yes. I’m Claire Chastain. I noticed the door standing open as I pulled into the driveway. The whole place is destroyed.” Her chest clamped down. Everything she owned was ruined. A little shiver rolled through her. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
The officers didn’t answer, just drew their pistols and walked toward the house. She heard them inside, moving through the rooms, making sure no one was still in there.
“Looks more like vandals than burglars,” the bald cop said when he walked back outside. “But we need you to go in and take a look, see if anything’s missing.”
She nodded, took a steadying breath and followed the men back into the house.
“They did some pretty major damage,” the thin cop said, shoving his glasses up on his nose as he glanced around.
The understatement of the year.
Claire felt sick at heart. The place had been torn apart, the sofa turned over, the cushions ripped open. The lamps were knocked to the floor, the shades bent and torn. The kitchen looked just as bad, the dishes shoved out of the cupboards, shattered on the floor, the toaster tossed clear across the room.
She took a shaky breath. First Michael, now this. She felt like crying, but she had done enough of that lately.
She headed down the hall just as her BlackBerry started to ring. She dug it out of her purse, recognized Ben’s number and pressed it against her ear with a shaky hand.
“It’s Ben,” he said, as if she wouldn’t know his voice. “I...ah...just called to see if you’re okay.”
She tried to control the quiver in her throat. “I’m okay but someone...broke into my apartment. The police are here.”
“What the hell?” His voice hardened. “I’m at the office. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“I’m okay, really.”
“Just hang on till I get there.”
The same feeling she’d had last night swept over her. Ben was coming. Everything would be okay. She hung up the phone and leaned against the wall.
“Anything missing in the living room?” the officer asked.
“Nothing I noticed offhand.” She went into the bedroom. It looked the same as the living room, the covers pulled off the bed, the mattress slashed open, stuffing pouring out on the floor. She’d only hung a couple of pictures—a landscape photo Maggie Rawlins had given her as a housewarming gift, and a photo of her and her parents—but they were ripped off and tossed on the floor. Her desk had been rifled through, as well.
“My laptop is missing.”
The officer wrote that down. “Anything else?”
The TV was still sitting on her dresser, though the drawers were all pulled out and the contents dumped on the floor.
“How about your jewelry?”
She made her way over to the mother-of-pearl inlaid jewelry box her parents had given her on her sixteenth birthday and flipped open the lid. The box was empty.
“My jewelry is gone. I had some nice gold necklaces and gold