Aly
As I unlocked the door with Mav squirming in my arms, I heard the Hummer rumble away. I was drained and tired, but even if I’d been wide awake, there was no way I would have ever been prepared for what lay before me.
My place was wrecked. The furniture was all tossed about, garbage tipped over, the fridge wide open, the blanket from my bedroom dragged through the living area, and paper was scattered everywhere. My briefcase sat empty in the epicenter of the mess, a note tacked into the top of it by a knife.
A lump the size of Mount Washington formed in my throat, and my stomach clenched painfully. Someone had been in my place and gone through everything of mine, leaving a knife stuck in my briefcase. A threat?
I need to run, leave, go to the authorities, call Jake. Something!
My mind raced with everything I should have been doing, but my feet were glued to the floor. I couldn’t move a muscle. Standing there like an idiot, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for it to all have been a bad dream when I opened them.
But my place was still a violent mess when my eyes opened again. Concentrating on breathing, I realized I was squeezing the dog to my chest when he yipped. “Sorry, little buddy,” I whispered against his small head and rubbed his ear, not daring to put him down.
I walked with false bravado toward the note. My hand trembled violently as I reached for the piece of stark white paper folded under the knife—and just before I pulled it out, common sense overtook me. I needed to call the police. If I removed the knife or tampered with anything, it might ruin the chances of figuring out who did this to me.
I stood up on legs almost as shaky as my hands and reached into the purse still hanging from my shoulder to pull out my cell phone. It took me three tries to dial 911 successfully. My finger kept bouncing and catching the two or the eight.
A woman’s brisk voice answered. “Hello, 911, how may I help you?”
“I’ve been robbed or I don’t know. Someone’s been in my apartment. My name is Alyson Road in Oakland.” I backed up toward the threshold where the door met the hall, putting some much-needed space between the scene and myself.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” she asked quickly, her businesslike tone turning concerned. “Are you inside your apartment? Is anyone inside with you?”
“No. Yes. N-no, I don’t know.”
“You may be in shock. You need to leave and go outside in case the intruder is still hiding somewhere inside. I’m dispatching police and an ambulance to 1121 South Hughes Street. Is that where you are, ma’am?”
“Yes. Apartment 3B.”
As I hurried down the steps to the vestibule of the building, a party buzzed loudly on the floor below me. They were having a great time while I was being robbed or assaulted, I wasn’t sure which, and for some irrational reason it made me angry. I, on the other hand, was doing my best to juggle the phone and the puppy and not fall down the steps and break my neck.
“I’ll stay on the phone with you until help arrives,” the dispatcher said in a soothing voice.
I whispered okay into the phone; it was all I could muster. The anger had been fleeting; tears were building. Screams were crawling up my throat, and my heart was at war inside my chest.
I slipped around the side of the apartment building and leaned against the cold stone. “I’m here,” I said for my own benefit as I cuddled Mav closer.
“Me too,” the operator assured me.
Sirens ripped through the night, blue and red lights swirling on the street like a laser show. A moment later, two uniformed cops approached me with caution.
“Miss, are you Alyson Road?”
I nodded.
“Dispatch said you’ve had a break-in. We’re here to help,” the dark-haired one said. The guy with blond hair trailed a few paces behind, surveying the area with his hand on the gun at his hip.
I nodded again.
“Are you okay?”
Another nod.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
I nodded again, and the ridiculous notion that I must look like a bobble-head doll came to me. Stifling a manic laugh that tried to bubble up my throat, I pressed my lips together, unable to respond.
“We’re here now,” the policeman said. “It’s safe to talk. My partner, Officer Simms, is going to go upstairs and take a look at your place.”
“It’s apartment 3B,” I finally said. “There’s a note. On my briefcase. S-s-stuck there with a knife.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m going to go look,” Simms assured me.
“I’m Officer Petrisky,” the first one said. “Can you tell me when you arrived here tonight?”
“Just about fifteen minutes ago.”
“And you were out?”
I went back to nodding.
“Was your dog home?”
This time I shook my head. “He was with me. We were having dinner at a friend’s place.” I didn’t have time to consider what or who Jake was to me.
“Who would that be?”
“Um,” I said, then hesitated. “Jake Wrigley.”
“Is that your boyfriend?”
The question unsettled me, so I said, “I’m with the public defender’s office.”
“Do you want us to call someone?”
One more head shake.
“So is this Jake a boyfriend?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you have plans in advance? When did you know you would be out tonight?”
“I’m not sure why that’s important.”
But I did; I knew how this worked. They were going to question Jake. In their eyes he was either my alibi, a suspect, or both.
“Petrisky?” Simms called from the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“Look at this.” The blond cop walked outside, waving something in his gloved hand.
Petrisky turned to me. “The note. Did you read it, ma’am?”
“It’s Alyson, not ma’am.”
“Did you see it?”
Shaking my head for the millionth time, I said, “I know better than to tamper with evidence.”
Simms held it out for me to see.
FiX thE CaSe.
The note was handwritten in black marker in uneven block letters, some capitals, others lowercase, apparently in an attempt to disguise their handwriting.
Simms barked into some walkie-talkie like cell phone. “Yeah, I need you to run a guy over to a Jake Wrigley’s place for me. Apparently he had dinner with the victim tonight at his place. She took her dog too.”
“Jake had nothing to do with this.” I tried not to beg, but I knew what they would find if they dug deeply enough.
“Just doing my job, Ms. Road.”
“You got the knife? You’re going to run prints?” I asked.
“Yes, and a guy’s coming to photograph the scene. You won’t be able to clean up your place until we dust for fingerprints and finish our investigation. Do you have somewhere to stay?”
I looked at the ground. Of course I didn’t have anywhere to stay. After paying for my mom’s nursing home and the extra care for her, I had no savings I could dip into for a hotel. And I had a dog. Panic rose in my throat as I mentally sorted through my options, which were nil.
“I’ll figure something out,” I said with as much confidence as I could.
I’d set Maverick down on the ground when the police arrived, and he was now pulling me toward the grass, his nose to the ground. I let him lead me a bit, and he stopped to pee. Distracted, I didn’t even tell him he was a good boy. I was staring at the outside of my building, wondering why the hell no one came out to check out what was going on, and then I remembered I lived in a college building. Everyone was more than likely drinking and doing drugs; no one was about to come out and chat with the cops.
“May I go up and get some fresh clothes?”
Simms offered to escort me back to my own home and watched while I sifted through my bras and panties, filling a small bag with everything I needed.
With tears burning my eyes, I called a cab and told the officers I was going to the Holiday Inn for a few nights. Instead, I went to the nursing home and curled up in the chair next to my mom’s bed. I’d sneaked Mav inside the building in the duffel bag, and held him tightly in my arms as I cried myself to sleep.
I woke early the next morning to the feel of my phone vibrating inside my pocket and Maverick licking my hand. Mom was still asleep, her gray hair splayed over the pillow, and dawn had barely lightened the sky. I unfolded myself from the chair, standing up and stretching out my sore muscles, then tucked my dog back in the bag before heading outside.
“Go potty, little guy,” I said as I placed the puppy on the ground, then checked my phone.
Three missed calls and sixteen unread texts, most of the messages from Jake. The calls were from the police.
The texts pretty much all read the same except for the last one.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Work your magic on the big dogs or I’ll snatch your dog.
My chest tightened and my head throbbed at the prospect of being threatened further. The message could refer to any number of cases, but in my heart, I knew which one it was. It was something to do with Cameron.
Was someone protecting him or out to get him? Or was it Cameron himself threatening me? I was supposed to be defending the man, and I was doing my best despite not wanting to take the case. It didn’t make any sense.
I tapped the icon for the office and dialed Barry’s extension. It was Sunday, and he always went in to review notes for the week.
“Barry Bruno,” he answered.
“Barry, it’s Aly.”
“Shit! Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. You heard?”
“Yes. You need to come in so we can talk?”
“I will,” I said, letting Maverick pull me around as he sniffed everything in his path. “Do you know anything? Did you hear any chatter?”
“Can’t say for sure who did it. I have some thoughts.”
“I figured. I have to go. I’ll see you in an hour or so, and we can discuss it.”
Hanging up on Barry, I reached down to pet and rain praise on the puppy for doing his business before I called Jake. Despite the pit of regret lodged in my belly, I knew I couldn’t make him wait any longer.
“Aly! Are you all right? Why didn’t you call?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to drag you into this.”
“A little late for that. For a moment, I was the cops’ number-one suspect. They swung by here last night with all kinds of questions. After all, I showed up last minute and took you back to my place with your dog, leaving your place wide open to a break-in. Plus there’s the little issue of you letting me out of jail scot-free.”
“Oh God.” I held the phone tightly to my ear, pacing the same patch of grass outside the nursing home, the pollen lingering in the dew clogging my throat. Or was that my own stupidity?
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Aly. I didn’t do it, though. You believe me? The guy didn’t press charges; you were free to let me go that night. Plus you know Cameron hit a trigger with me, a nasty one. I wouldn’t have fucked him up if he hadn’t. Aly?”
“No, I don’t think it was you, but they’re not going to buy it unless I find them a suspect. We need to stay away from each other while I do.”
“Goddamn it! Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Don’t make me the bad guy. I’m not in this situation. I’m the good one, trying to help.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Move to my place.”
“I can’t move into your place!” I shrieked, then composed myself as I glanced around, hoping no one was around yet this early in the morning.
“Calm down, Legs. I meant the duplex unit I offered you.”
My breathing kicked into high gear. How did he manage to be so infuriating and sexy at the same time? And how did I end up being the desperate damsel in distress? I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself—usually—but my options were so limited at this point, I didn’t know what to do.
“It’s really not up for discussion,” he said, trying to reason with me. “I know your place is all tied up in the investigation, and the only other place you can go with a dog—quickly—is my rental. I’ll be by at four today to help you take some stuff over to your new digs.”
“Jake.” I sighed, my resolve dissipating. “I have to run into the office and discuss this with my coworkers.”
“County building at four?”
I nodded. I was back to that again until I heard Jake growl my name into the receiver, thinking I hadn’t responded.
“Okay.”