for Matt to head out with Meg Murray.
“We’ll make a stop at Lara’s apartment first,” he said.
Meg bit her lip, eyes closed. He could only imagine what she was fearing—that they’d enter her friend’s apartment and find her there. Dead.
“It has to be done,” he told her calmly.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “I’ve already been to the apartment, though. I have a key. Lara isn’t there.”
“Wasn’t there,” he pointed out.
“Yes...”
“Chances are you’re right, but we’ll take another look, anyway. I’ve called the landlady. We’ll have her let us in officially—and start fresh. Maybe the landlady will have something useful to say,” Matt added.
“Fine, you two get on that, and then go over to the congressman’s place. We don’t want to lose this first session with him.” Adam paused, smiling at Meg. “Scariest part of the job,” Adam said lightly as they left the office. “Politics! Scary as hell.”
Meg wasn’t sure why, but it seemed that she and Agent Matt Bosworth were destined to be at odds—over little things that didn’t really matter. She didn’t mean for that to happen. It just did.
It started as soon as they left Adam’s office.
“My car is parked on the street.”
“My company car is just below.”
“Yes, but I’m going to need mine...”
“I’ll ask Jackson to see that it’s flagged so you won’t get a ticket.”
“Honestly, it would be simpler if I drove myself...”
“We’re going in a company car. This is a Krewe case.”
Who cares which car we go in? she wanted to shout.
She refrained. He didn’t open the door for her; they were both agents. Equals? Not in his mind! She didn’t think he was sexist. She just thought he considered himself superior because of his seniority.
She slid into the passenger’s side. Before he drove off, he put a quick call through to Jackson. “Can someone see to Agent Murray’s car?” He glanced over at her. “What kind of car?”
“Jaguar.”
He didn’t say anything; the slight quirk on his face seemed to indicate that a cadet shouldn’t be able to afford such a car.
“It’s a 2004,” she said, trying to sound as if she was just giving a description. She had no intention of explaining that it had been her dad’s. “Silver,” she added, annoyed with herself, wondering why the hell she was concerned about his opinion. It was all because she’d nearly passed out on the man. A matter of pride, she supposed. Or maybe even denial. She’d gone to the academy with fit, intelligent, attractive people. Agent Bosworth seemed to be all of those things—ten times over. He was hardened by his years with the FBI, she supposed, and guided by the single vision of an assignment. And yet if she so much as brushed against the man...
She also wondered if he was so rude and blunt because he recognized his own appeal. Maybe it was his way of telling her, Hey, back off! Don’t touch, don’t come too close.
He passed the description on to Jackson, then hung up and drove.
Dread filled her as they made their way to the Capitol Hill area. Lara had rented the most affordable apartment she could find, as close to the Capitol as possible. She lived in a converted mansion, an old family home that had been divided into six units, two on each floor. Lara was on the first.
As Matt parked, Meg realized he’d done his homework. He knew exactly where they were going. He pulled out his phone as they exited the car and headed toward the house.
By the time they reached it, Lara’s landlady, a silver-haired woman named Mrs. Shelley, was there to meet them. She extended a hand to them both, smiling at Meg since they’d met a few times, and introducing herself to Matt Bosworth.
“Lara didn’t say anything to me about breaking her lease or going away,” Mrs. Shelley said. “I do hope that she’s all right—she’s such a lovely young woman!”
“We’re certainly hoping she’s all right, too. But Meg can’t get in touch with her and we’re worried, so thank you for your help,” Matt said.
“Of course! Come on in.”
Mrs. Shelley led them through the main door to the house. Stairs stretched up to the second floor, with hallways leading to the downstairs apartments.
Taking out a ring of keys, Mrs. Shelley looked through them as they walked to Lara’s door.
For a moment, Meg felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She was overwhelmed by the same fear she’d felt when she’d come here yesterday evening, when terrible visions had rushed through her head and she’d been terrified that she’d open the door and find the apartment trashed and Lara in a pool of blood. Or that she’d go into her bedroom and find her with her throat slit.
Mrs. Shelley opened the door.
The living room was neat, as Meg had known it would be. Lara had once told Meg that she wasn’t home enough to really mess the place up.
“Be careful what you touch,” Matt said.
She tried not to glare at him. She knew that!
“We’ll go through the place later,” he said. If he knew how offensive he was being, he gave no sign.
With anxiety dogging her every step, Meg still managed to walk quickly through the living area to the bedroom and the small office beyond.
All the while, she knew that Agent Bosworth was a step behind her. Did he not trust her? Or was he afraid she hadn’t looked carefully—that they might stumble across Lara’s body?
“I guess she’s not here,” Mrs. Shelley called out. She hadn’t moved from the living room.
“Can you tell if she packed up anything at all?” Agent Bosworth asked Meg.
“I don’t think she did. At least, it didn’t seem that way to me last night. But I can’t be one hundred percent sure without looking through her drawers and her closet. I don’t have gloves, so...”
“I do,” he told her before she could finish, taking out two pairs. “We don’t have time for a complete search now, but maybe you can tell if she did pack.”
And find out if her friend’s body had been stuffed in the closet.
Meg pulled on a pair of the gloves and opened the closet door. Lara’s clothing hung there neatly. The black-and-red carry-on Lara took anytime she traveled—her lucky travel bag, as she called it—was on the floor, along with sneakers, sandals
