Monday Mourning Part 13

Ryan placed both hands on his chest. "I am a man smitten." He spread the hands wide. "I cannot stay away."

Anne lowered her arm, a look of confusion crimping her features.

Ryan turned, preparing to beam charm in Anne's direction. Seeing the Mace, his smile wavered. He looked a question at me.

Annoyance and embarra.s.sment began a full-court press against fear and relief. If the break-in wasn't real, I didn't want to look like a fool. If the break-in was real, I didn't want to need Ryan's help. Or his protection.

Unfortunately, at that moment, I suspected I needed both.

"Someone may have broken into my place."

Ryan didn't question what I'd said. He spoke without moving.

"How long were you away?"

"A couple of hours. We've been back five minutes or less."

"Did you set the alarm when you left?"

Normally I am good about security. Tonight, Anne and I had been intent on catch-up.

"Probably." I wasn't sure.

Pocketing gloves and tuque, Ryan unzipped his jacket, drew his Glock, and gestured us back toward the stairwell.

Anne slid left, back pressed to the wall. I moved behind Ryan.

Ryan twisted sideways against the wall and rapped the door with his gun b.u.t.t.

"Police! On entre!"

No answer. No movement.

Ryan barked again, in French, then English.

Silence.

Ryan pointed at the lock.

I stepped forward and used my key. Sweeping me back behind him with one arm, Ryan nudged the door open with his foot.

"Stay here."

Gun gripped in both hands, barrel angled skyward, Ryan crossed the threshold. I followed.

Something crunched underfoot.

One step. Two.

The mirrored wall in the foyer gaped densely black. Courtyard light sparked like phosphorous off the marble floor.

Three.

A saffron trapezoid gleamed from the gla.s.s-topped table in the dining room ahead. Other shapes formed out of the darkness. The writing desk. A corner of the sideboard.

A sudden sense of foreboding. I'd left lights burning.

Again, Ryan called out.

Again, no answer.

Ryan and I crept through the darkness, predators testing the air.

Sounds of emptiness. The refrigerator. The humidifier.

Cold, from the direction of the living room.

At the side hall Ryan reached out and flicked the switch. Motioning me to stay put, he made a hard right and disappeared. Lights went on in the bedroom, the bath, the study.

No one bolted. No one rushed past me. Ryan's movements were the only sounds.

Backtracking to the main hall, Ryan moved forward and probed the kitchen, then the living room. In seconds he reappeared.

"Clean."

I took my first real breath since entering the apartment.

Seeing my terror, Ryan reengaged the safety and holstered his gun, then wrapped his arms around me.

"Someone cut the gla.s.s in the French door."

"But the alarm?" My voice sounded stretched and quavery, like an overused ca.s.sette.

"Wasn't breached. Do you have a motion detector?"

"Disabled."

I felt Ryan's chin tap the crown of my head.

"Birdie kept triggering the d.a.m.n thing," I said defensively.

"What the h.e.l.l?"

Ryan and I turned. Anne was standing in the doorway, Mace aloft, eyes wide.

"Bienvenue a Montreal," said Ryan. said Ryan.

Anne's brows shot skyward.

"He's a cop," I said.

"Serve and protect," Ryan said.

Anne lowered brows and Mace. "My kind of community policing."

Ryan released me and I made introductions.

Hearing voices, Birdie fired from the bedroom and raced a figure eight around my ankles, fur erect with agitation.

"Detective Ryan would be the 'sort of' referred to at dinner?" Anne floated one brow in query.

"Someone's been in here," I said, shooting her a "not now" look.

"Holy s.h.i.t," Anne said, crunching into the foyer.

As Ryan phoned burglary, Anne and I a.s.sessed the damage.

While the French door pane had been cleanly cut, without damage to the security-system trip wires, gla.s.s had been shattered in the foyer, dining room, and bathroom mirrors, and in every picture frame in the place. Fragments glittered from furniture, sinks, countertops, and floors.

A few books and papers had been tossed here and there, but otherwise, the main living areas were unharmed.

In contrast, the bedrooms were chaos. Bed pillows were shredded, drawers pulled out and upended, closets ransacked.

A hasty inventory turned up two losses. Anne's digital camera. Anne's laptop. Otherwise, nothing seemed to be missing.

"Thank G.o.d," said Anne, drawing out the deity's name.

"I'm so sorry," I said, gesturing lamely at her belongings.

Tossing the jewelry pouch onto the dresser, Anne shot out a hip and placed a hand on it. "Guess the little p.r.i.c.ks didn't care for Tom Turnip's taste in gems."

[image]

It took an hour to do the paperwork. The officers promised that crime scene would check for prints, shoe impressions, and tool marks in the morning.

Anne and I thanked them. No one had much enthusiasm. We all knew that her belongings had disappeared into the black hole of petty theft.

Ryan stayed. Perhaps to inspire diligence on the part of the c.u.m. Perhaps to buoy my flagging spirits.

When the cops had gone, Ryan offered his place as refuge. I looked at Anne. She shook her head no. Her eyes told me the adrenaline was yielding to the alcohol.

Anne and I did some rough cleanup while Ryan went in search of duct tape, cardboard, and plastic. When he returned, we watched him construct a temporary patch on the French door. Then Anne excused herself and disappeared into the bathroom.

Watching Ryan drop the extra tape into a paper bag, I realized I hadn't a clue why he'd come.

"I don't know how to thank you," I began.

"No thanks required."

"I've been so caught up in this"-I waved an arm at the mess behind me-"circus, I haven't even asked why you stopped by."

Ryan laid the bag on the coffee table, straightened, and placed a hand on each of my shoulders. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his face softened, he brushed hair from my cheek, and his hand went back to my shoulder.

When I thought I could bear his silence no longer, he spoke.

"I'm going to be scarce for a while."

Stomach clutch. Here it comes. The end of the end.

"I can't go into details, but it's big-c.u.m, SQ, RCMP, even the Americans are involved. Op's been under way for several months."

A moment went by before I got it.

"You're talking about a police sting?"

"Claudel's in, so's Charbonneau. I'm not compromising anything by telling you that."

My mind was just not forming the links.

"Why are are you telling me that?" you telling me that?"

"Claudel's lack of interest in your pizza bones. I know it's been grinding at you."

"You'll be away?"

"It's not what I want." The hint of a smile. "Comes with the glamour and the big bucks."

I looked down at my hands.

"I hate to leave you alone with this."

"I didn't call for backup, Ryan. You dropped in."

"I don't like the look of this, Tempe." Ryan's voice was gentle.

"It's not a big deal."

I could feel cobalt eyes roving my features.

"I'm requesting stepped-up surveillance."

"I'll be fine."

Ryan raised my chin with one finger.

"I'm not sure what went down here, but I intend to find out."

"It's a p.i.s.sant B and E."