Читать книгу Swerve - Michelle McGriff - Страница 14

The block was quiet, but that was somewhat normal for Romia’s neighborhood. She lived on the “good” end of the Palemos, if you wanted to call it that. But then again, Romia had little fear, so Keliegh never really worried about where she lived as much as he worried about her, as a whole. Like now, he was worried sick. His stomach was even starting to cramp up. Fighting the growing emotions, blaming it on the late-night street activities, thoughts about his career and the strong feeling he was being tailed, Keliegh didn’t give into the fact that his only focus was on Romia’s safety. Keliegh didn’t give into the fact that his concern over her was clouding his reason. Why would she have come home?

Idiot! Keliegh thought, mentally bashing himself. He just realized then, too, that he’d not even given Shashoni a second thought as he whipped into Romia’s complex.

Locking the door of his car, he looked around for stalkers. It wasn’t as if he was hard to spot. Standing an easy six three or four in flat bare feet, if he was on the run he’d be caught in a moment. Maybe that was what was bothering him about Romia. She was not the kind of person who blended in well either. Maybe that was what he found so fascinating about her. She was so…different.

Keliegh reached her door and slid his spare key in the lock. He’d had a spare since they were partners. She reluctantly gave him one after having accepted his—for emergencies, of course. One day, not long after he was promoted to detective, he found his spare on his desk; she’d returned it. He wasn’t about to do the same and return the key to her place. He had his pride, and…

“…And good thing, too,” he mumbled, turning the lock and easing the door open. Not sure if his prints were still on anything in her place, considering how long it’d been since he’d visited, he made note of all he touched: the light, the door, the chair. The chair was thrown over. “Daaaamn!” he exclaimed, noticing that more than the chair was out of place. The apartment was a mess. He could see this as soon as his eyes focused to the dim light.

The living room had been professionally, albeit ruthlessly, tossed. Looking for what? Who knows! Keliegh stepped lightly as he moved through the apartment, noting all the damage. “Cops? Why would they trash her place? This wasn’t cops. Who did this?” he asked himself, closing her refrigerator door that lay open. Romia’s bedroom was in no better condition than the living room: toiletries all over the floor, mirror on the medicine cabinet busted as if by a fist. He noticed her papers scattered all about her bed. He noticed her pictures torn off her walls; all the frames were broken. It was hard to tell if anything had been actually stolen with all the damage. Her stereo is still here, her television set…

Her answering machine was blinking. Looking around, knowing he could be tampering with possible evidence that may be be important, Keliegh pushed the play button. The caller spoke in a foreign language that Keliegh did not initially pick up.

“Wrong number, I guess,” he reasoned, continuing to look around the room. He noticed a picture Romia had of the two of them in uniform. They’d been friends a long time. He picked it up and closely examined it before tucking it in his shirt pocket. He then saw a picture of a woman holding a baby. He looked at the woman. She had Romia’s rarely shared smile. “Is this your mom?” he asked aloud. Sighing heavily, he tucked that picture in his pocket as well. “Where are you, Rome? Who did this?” he asked himself again before leaving.