Page 41 of K-9 in Pursuit

She nodded. “The sofa cushions slashed. Every drawer and cabinet emptied. Everything in my closet dumped on the floor.” She closed her eyes, remembering the scene. “I was so stunned. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing at first. Then I was terrified whoever did that was still around, so I ran outside and called the sheriff. And then I called you.” She studied his face, blond beard stubble along his jaw, earnest brown eyes, expression slightly troubled. “I worried you wouldn’t answer the phone when you saw my number.”

He shoved both hands into the pockets of his parka. “I know I said we should stay away from each other, but I couldn’t let you deal with something like this on your own.” He tucked his chin into his jacket, shoulders hunched. “You don’t think this has anything to do with the two of us seeing each other, do you?” he asked.

“No. The way that apartment looked…” Remembering the violence of the damage inside her home made her move into his arms once more. “I think whoever did this was looking for something,” she said. “Thanks for coming. I couldn’t be alone. And I don’t care what anyone thinks.” She hadn’t realized until she met Brian how alone she had been before. The thought of going through trying to figure out her sister’s death without him alongside her brought stinging tears.

His arms tightened around her. “I was miserable staying away from you,” he said. She pressed her face to his shoulder. He smelled of cold snow and dog fur.

Something nudged her knee and she looked down to see Daisy leaning against her, a look of concern on the dog’s normally cheerful face. Chloe reached down and brushed the top of the dog’s head with the tips of her fingers.

The crunch of tires on the icy road announced a new arrival. A sheriff’s department SUV turned into the parking lot and drove toward them. Chloe moved away from Brian and turned to face the deputy who emerged from the vehicle. He was tall, with the weedy body of an adolescent, a smooth jaw and wide blue eyes adding to his boyish look. Chloe wouldn’t have been surprised if his voice had cracked when he spoke.

But no cracks. “Chloe Anderson?” he asked.

“Yes. I called about a break-in at my apartment.”

“Deputy Schneider.” He glanced at Brian. “Who are you?”

“Brian Weeks. I’m a friend of Ms. Anderson’s.”

The deputy’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. “Which apartment is yours?” he asked Chloe.

“Second floor. Number 216.”

“Tell me what happened.”

She gave the same description she had given Brian—slashed cushions, dumped belongings. “Drawers and closets emptied like that—sounds to me like a search for something,” Schneider said. “Do you have any drugs? Anyone else’s belongings they might be trying to get back?”

“No! There’s nothing like that.”

“Is anything missing from your apartment?” the deputy asked.

“I don’t know. I was afraid whoever did all of that might still be in there.”

“All right. Let’s walk up and have a look.” The deputy led the way up the stairs to the door of the apartment. He tried the knob. “It’s locked,” he said.

“I know.” She moved in front of him, key in hand. “It locks automatically when you close it.”

He stopped her before she could insert the key. “Was the door open when you arrived this evening?” he asked.

“No. I had to open it with my key.”

“Who else has a key?” the deputy asked.

“No one else.”

He looked at Brian. “Do you have a key?”

“No.”

“Would a former roommate or an ex have a key?”

“No. The only person who ever had a key was my sister, Sharee Anderson.”

The deputy’s expression sharpened. “Your sister who was murdered?”

She looked away, her throat tight. “Yes.”

“What happened to her key?”