First Night

What she’d missed was him asking if she would still be here. Made sense in light of the desperation choking his reason and logic. “I won’t be going anywhere until we determine how to move forward with proving your innocence. That’s a guarantee.”

He held her gaze a moment longer. The heavy defeat that had weighed down his shoulders had given way to glittering fear in those dark eyes. Something shifted deep in her chest. She’d only met this guy and already she wanted desperately to help him. There was more here than met the eye, so to speak. Brandon Thomas wouldn’t have a chance with the police. If they couldn’t find anyone else to hang this one on, they would railroad Brandon or push the case aside.

That he trusted her enough to shower, leaving her to do as she pleased, surprised her and was likely indicative of his desperation. She understood it far better than she wanted to admit.

When the water was going in the bathroom, she carefully went over the apartment once more. Using a pen from her purse, she flipped through files and the desk Rolodex. A framed photograph of Brandon and his roommate showed that the two were about the same age. Both good-looking. Kick’s framed degree in journalism decorated the otherwise stark wall above the desk. If Brandon had a degree, he wasn’t sporting any indication of the accomplishment. The drawing desk appeared to be where he did his work. After snooping around she decided he was an architect of some sort.

In the deceased’s bedroom, she found several family snapshots in the top drawer of the nightstand. Golf clubs on the bed amid the rest of the items that had been taken from the closet. Kick was not only proud of his accomplishments, he had pricey taste in attire, as well. Designer labels were stamped on virtually all of his sizable wardrobe.

Brandon’s bedroom revealed quite the opposite. No family connections that she found. Not a single photo. His closet had apparently been as sparsely furnished as the rest of the apartment. He defined the phrase living simply.

It wasn’t until she went through the kitchen a second time that she found the shared bulletin board. On the back side of an upper cabinet door was a makeshift bulletin board with numerous handwritten telephone numbers, most belonging to women. Not Brandon’s writing. Something else Kick appeared to have plenty of—female attention. Or, at least, their numbers.

Only three names were male, also evidently in Kick’s handwriting. Merri made a note of the male names and numbers on one of the sheets she’d tucked into her purse. Though she doubted he would keep the name of the contact Brandon had seen posted in such a way.

The cupboards were bare, as she’d expected. Mismatched dishware and flatware. The dishwasher held nothing but a cup and one small plate; the rest of the soiled eating utensils were in the sink. Microwave and oven were empty. Nothing beneath the stovetop burners. The range in Kick’s puzzle definitely wasn’t the one in their apartment. Not that she’d expected it would be, but she’d given it a look just the same. She had to cover all bases.

A window above the sink stared directly at another window some twenty feet across a side alley. The neighboring apartment was dark. She wondered briefly if Brandon ever came face-to-face with his neighbor via this window. A woman would have a shade over that window. She shook her head and leaned down to check the lower-level cabinets.

The cabinet beneath the sink held a few cleaning supplies but nothing else of interest.

The final place she inspected was what at first appeared to be a pantry-type closet but was, in fact, a laundry closet complete with a stackable appliances set. A white button-down shirt had dried in the washer. She wondered why the techs hadn’t taken it. As difficult as it had been to see in the white laundry tub, if she’d noticed it, the techs should have. She lifted the stiff material to her face and sniffed. The pungent smell of bleach had permeated the fabric. She shook out the shirt and looked it over, couldn’t see any trace of stains.

Merri dropped the shirt back into the washer and leaned forward to see if she could spot anything on either side of the stacked appliances. Nothing but dust bunnies and an old newspaper.

Closing the door, she turned back to the kitchen at large. Her breath trapped in her lungs. Clean shaven, Brandon stood in the doorway. He wore a blue sweater over a white T-shirt, well-worn jeans and the only pair of sneakers she had seen in his room.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The realization that he’d likely spoken to her once or twice without her reacting was no doubt the reason for the question.

“Is that your shirt?” If she skirted the question smoothly enough he might leave it alone. “The one in the washer?”

He shook his head. “Kick’s.”

Maybe Kick just liked his whites extra white. That would certainly explain the bleach.

“You ready?” she encouraged, manufacturing a smile of assurance.

“Sure.” He glanced around the kitchen as if he’d just now considered that she had likely looked at everything, hoping to find clues.

Would he worry that she’d found some secret he’d kept? If he was innocent, he had no need to worry. She had already made a preliminary judgment: innocent. That assessment remained subject to change, but she read people fairly well. She picked up no vibes whatsoever that Brandon was the type to hurt another human in this manner. Still, he was guarded.

The hint of suspicion that lingered in his eyes didn’t bother her that much. She figured it was as much to do with her lack of a response when he’d entered the room as anything.

“Don’t forget your coat.” She walked past him and made her way to the front door. There was a coffee shop a few blocks away that would work well for her purposes. She was acquainted with lots and lots of restaurants all over town since she rarely dined at home. The place she had in mind stayed open until eleven, so there was plenty of time. At that point she would decide the best course of action for delving into this case.

After ducking under the tape once more, she waited while Brandon locked the door. His pale blue coat looked lightweight but she knew from the brand, one skiers preferred, that it would keep him warm despite the chilly Chicago weather.

He stood back, allowing her to descend the stairs first. A few steps down, she glanced back to see if he had said anything. That he watched her so closely warned her that he was suspicious to some degree. She would have to share the truth with him—soon.

It was only fair.

She had already made an assessment about his challenges. Approaching the subject would be touchy and would have to wait. Her own challenge, however, would not wait. Yet she put off the inevitable. Selfishly clung to any reprieve. Her previous superior had called her on that strategy many times.

The stairwell abruptly shook as if an earthquake had rocked the entire building or block. Brandon had stopped his downward momentum and now whirled back toward his apartment. With her attention over her shoulder, Merri lost her balance and barely caught the railing before plunging forward.

When the building had stopped shaking, she turned back to check on Brandon and to better assess the situation. The door of his apartment had blown open, and now hung precariously on its hinges. Even as she stared at the unexpected sight, debris drifted downward to settle on the scarred tile floor.

Fear brushed against Merri’s skin.

Not an earthquake or any other natural disaster.

An explosion.

They had just exited the apartment. Fifteen, twenty seconds ago! Her sense of smell was keen. She’d noticed no gas…nothing.

Instinct railed at her.

Get out of the building!

Now!

Chapter Three (#u1f549018-7929-510a-85a0-5a00fb7ab40d)

“Brandon!”

He couldn’t look away from the landing outside his door.

“That was an explosion!”

Something had blown up in his apartment! He blinked, stared at the door barely hanging on its hinges.

What the hell had just happened?

“Brandon!”

He turned to the woman waiting a few steps below him. The questions reeling through his mind would be the same as hers. Should they call the police? What the hell would they say? Your crime scene just blew up. But this wasn’t just a crime scene, this was his home.

“We have to get out of here,” Merri urged.

His feet were taking him down the stairs before his brain analyzed her warning. They were in danger. Imminent danger. If they hadn’t walked out that door when they had…damn! It was a miracle they weren’t dead.

Like Kick.

When Brandon hit the step where she waited, she grabbed his hand and rushed downward. They moved past the second floor and onto the first in record time. He moved toward the front entrance.

She held him back, her face a study in worry. “Is there a rear exit? There could be trouble waiting for us out there.”