style="font-size:15px;"> Max was careful to move slowly so Rose could follow. But his blood pumped fiercely through his veins, his senses tuned to notice the slightest noise or change in atmosphere. A near-silent footstep. A breath.
He felt her presence at every step, her body close to his as they checked every nook, every corner. Her bedroom was by the front door. It, too, had been ransacked.
The drawers of her bureau were open, colorful scraps of lace flung everywhere. A purple bra hung from the handle of the drawer and a pile of panties had been dumped nearby like a crumpled rainbow. The head-spinning scent of flowers filled the room. Max spied an overturned perfume bottle, its contents dripping down the drawers to form a puddle on the ground.
Rose picked up the bottle, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She touched her fingertip to the chipped neck. “This was my mother’s. She brought it with her when we left America.”
The ink on the label had run, the leaked perfume smearing the words together. Her hand shook and Max reached out, taking the bottle from her so she wouldn’t cut herself. He placed it back on the bureau.
“We’ll find out who did this, Rose. But you have to believe me when I say this doesn’t feel like an isolated incident.”
She nodded mutely, her face set into a hard mask. Unemotional. Contained.
They walked to the living room. “Can you get upstairs from inside the building?”
Rose shook her head. “It’s a totally separate apartment. The guy who lives there uses the stairs out front.”
“He might have seen something.”
“I’m pretty sure he does shift work. He’s hardly ever home in the evenings.” She shrugged, her eyes unfocused. “But you could try.”
They hovered by the front door, Rose huddled close to him. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her black jeans as though she didn’t want to risk touching anything. But her eyes revealed what the nonchalant pose was trying to hide. Fear.
The robbers had struck the jewelry store first, but hadn’t taken anything. And now they’d targeted Rose’s home. They were looking for something specific.
“Is anything missing?” Max asked as softly as he could. It was hard not to sound like a cop when it was all he’d ever known.
“Not that I can tell.” Her yellow-green eyes clouded over, dark brows pinched together above her pert nose. It was cruel that a women could look so beautiful with a face full of storm clouds.
He listened intently, but only Rose’s quickening breath broke the silence. He holstered his pistol and watched her for a moment.
Max turned to inspect the closet by the entrance. It wasn’t built into the wall, but it appeared to be bolted against it for stability. The door was ajar.
Inside, a black coat hung beside its gray twin. A pair of snow boots and two pairs of black high heels sat on the floor. He bent down to inspect a storage box that had been opened.
“Do you keep anything valuable in here?” He turned, expecting to see her behind him. But she wasn’t there. “Rose?”
A crash in the kitchen sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He sprang up and raced through the apartment, his boots heavy and loud on the wooden floor. Each sense was focused, his eyes capturing and assessing every detail.
“Rose!” He drew his pistol.
Something hard connected with his shoulder as the intruder sprinted toward the front door in a blur of black. Max quickly regained his footing, but the person was gone in an instant. Max burst out onto the street only to find the intruder had vanished into thin air.
A lady walking her dog peered at him curiously, her eyes zeroing in on his gun. She hurried along, her head down. Max slammed his hand down on the brick letterbox as he stalked back into the house, holstering his weapon.
“Are you okay?” he called out as he jogged through the doorway.
Rose sat on the ground, her eyes wide and her breathing erratic. Chest heaving, she stared up at him. Unblinking. He dropped to the ground in front of her and inspected her face for cuts and bruises. Thankfully, she appeared to be shocked but not seriously hurt.
“I came back into the kitchen and he grabbed me from behind.” She touched her fingertips to a bright red spot under one eye and winced.
“Did you see his face?”
“It all happened so quickly. He was tall and had dark hair... That’s all I saw after he pushed me over.” She swallowed. “Oh, he had a tattoo on his neck.”
“Of what?”
She bit her lip. “Something black...a spade, I think.”
“Did he say anything?”
She took a deep breath, her eyes finally focusing on Max. “Where is it?”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Where is it?’” She shook her head. “I don’t know what he was talking about.”
He’d been prepared for her to cry next, but Rose Lawson held firm. Shell-shocked, but firm. Her bubble of denial had well and truly been shattered today, but she’d taken it like a champ and he respected her for that.
He had to fight the sudden urge to bundle her up and kiss her until she forgot everything—the trauma, the stress, the reality—but the pressure of his lips. He shoved the thought aside. It wasn’t like him at all to think about anything other than the facts. How had Rose gotten under his skin so quickly?
Max cleared his throat. “Do you hurt anywhere?”
“In my brain.” She managed a wan smile. “He clipped my face when he grabbed me, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“I’m going to check out the front.” He stood and held a hand out to her. “I need you to come with me so I can keep an eye on you this time. And no walking off unless I say so.”
“Okay.” She brushed aside his hand and stood on her own, dusting her palms down the front of her jeans.
“I mean it. Don’t go wandering off.”
“I said okay.” She followed him, but a scowl narrowed her eyes. The mark on her face had started to bloom. She’d have a nasty bruise there tomorrow.
They wove through the debris of her belongings and Max walked back out onto the sidewalk to take stock of the area. Rose hovered at the entrance and he glanced at her every few seconds. Everything appeared the same as it had been before with the exception of a missing black car. It could have been the getaway vehicle, or it could belong to a neighbor who’d gone out. He hadn’t heard an engine start, but noise from a renovation a few buildings down drowned out everything else.
Rubbing a hand along his jaw, he scanned his memory for the model. Nothing. The car had been nondescript, a sedan. Not old, but not brand-new, either.
His breath puffed out in front of him. The sun
