“How do you want to play this?”
“She should be in class, so she’s probably not home. We’ll keep it to a drive-by right now,” Quinn said. “Besides, I think you need a shower and a change of clothes before you meet her.”
“Thanks, boss. That’s sweet,” Nate said. “You’re not smelling so pleasant yourself.”
“Yeah, but she already hates me.”
The landing on Liz’s floor opened into a carpeted hallway that led through the center of the building. On either side were the entrances to the apartments. Three doors per side, six apartments per floor. The apartments on the right looked out on the street, and those on the left faced whatever was behind the building. At the far end of the hallway, another door led to the emergency staircase.
“What’s her number?” Nate asked.
“Twenty-one. Middle one on the right.”
Quinn glanced at Liz’s door as they started to pass it, then stopped abruptly and knelt down. He moved in close, his attention on the doorknob and lock.
“What is it?” Nate asked.
Instead of answering, he pointed at the metal plate surrounding the lock. There was a scratch on it. To the trained eye it was like a neon sign.
Nate nodded. He wet his finger, then touched the carpet on the floor below the lock. When he brought it back up, Quinn could see two tiny metal shavings.
“Fresh,” Nate mouthed.
Perhaps Liz had caused the damage with her key, but Quinn didn’t think so. The groove was too narrow, like it was made by a wire.
Or a pick.
The base of Quinn’s neck began to tingle in apprehension.
He started to reach for the handle, but Nate touched him on the shoulder and shook his head. His apprentice then eased his backpack onto the floor and unzipped one of the sections just wide enough so he could reach in.
From inside, he pulled out two pairs of thin rubber gloves and handed one to Quinn.
Quinn donned the gloves, then tried to turn the knob. The door was unlocked.
“I’m going in,” he whispered. “You stay here.”
Nate didn’t look happy, but said nothing.
Painfully aware that neither of them was armed, Quinn pushed the door open a few inches, then paused to listen.
There was a sound from deep in the apartment. Quinn pointed at his ear, then at the opening, telling Nate someone was inside. Standing up, he pushed the door open several more inches and slipped through the gap.
A small entryway led into a living room. He eased to the end of the foyer and peered around the corner. The living room contained a mishmash of furniture. A cloth-covered couch, a matching chair, an ornate coffee table, and two bookcases filled but not overstuffed.
Quinn glanced at the metal-framed windows, half covered by white sheer curtains. Through them he could see the building across the street.
Everything within his view looked normal. So normal, in fact, that he began to doubt himself. Perhaps Liz had made the sound. Perhaps there was another explanation for the scratch. Perhaps she had left her door unlocked by accident, or maybe she was expecting someone. Perhaps she was only seconds away from walking into the living room and seeing him standing there.
Then what?
Before he could retrace his steps, he heard a drawer being yanked out, then slammed back into place. It had come from the left, toward the bedroom.
Quinn slipped his backpack off his shoulders and placed it on the floor in the entryway. He motioned for Nate to come inside and wait by the door. Once his apprentice was in position, Quinn crossed the living room, stepping carefully so as not to cause any of the floorboards beneath the carpet to creak. If it was Liz in the bedroom, he could sneak back out. If it wasn’t, he’d let his instincts take over.
At the hallway, he paused again. Like elsewhere in the apartment, the lights were off. Would his sister be moving around in the semidarkness?
The hallway was only five feet long. At the other end, an open door led into the bathroom. To the right, another door, also open, led to the bedroom.
From his position he could only see a narrow swath of the room, from the middle of the bed to the wall on the other side. It was dim, but not dark.
Another drawer yanked open.
Unconsciously, Quinn’s hand moved toward where his gun would have been if he’d had one. He stopped himself halfway there, annoyed.
He scanned the surrounding area for anything he could use as a weapon. A paperweight, a letter opener, or even an ashtray—though he would have given Liz hell about that later if he’d found one. But he saw nothing he could use.
In the bedroom, the drawer moved back into place, this time with less force. Then the floor creaked. Once, twice, a third time, each wooden groan moving closer to the doorway.
Quinn pressed himself against the wall just inside the living room.
