Damn that café owner for not listening to me! I stomped my feet down on the sidewalk with each step as I made it as far away from the Starbucks as I could.

And away from Officer Alex Brett, his prying eyes, and his steady stream of questions.

The man had only been doing his job, but it wasn’t just his interrogation that had me on edge. He, himself, was unnerving, if only for the fact that I couldn’t figure out why. He was suspicious of me, sure. And why wouldn’t he be? I’d been so frazzled just by seeing a uniformed police officer show up that, in hindsight, I realized now that I’d given the vaguest account of what happened, one with more craters in the story than the damn moon. One that Officer Brett easily decided was bullshit, making him latch on to it—and me—more than I’d ever have had to worry about if I’d just played the part of the damsel in distress and been distraught over my purse and its stolen contents.

Instead, I’d stupidly told him the truth—that the purse had contained little, if anything, of importance, and that the only thing I’d miss was the forty dollars and change I’d had in it, and my cellphone.

However, seeing as the cellphone was a disposable one from Wal-Mart, and I had a tendency to get a new one every couple of months, I could deal with that. The money, on the other hand, was the only cash I had, save for the hundred-dollar stash I kept hidden in my apartment, so that hurt me a bit more than anything else. Be damned if I would admit that to Officer Brett, though. I didn’t need his pity.

Or his suspicion, for that matter.

But, I’d made so many mistakes while giving him my statement and talking to him afterward that I couldn’t fault the guy for his disbelief. I was a bad storyteller, and eleven months on the run, avoiding and hiding from the general population as much as I could, had done little for my interpersonal communication skills.

Oh well. It was over, done, and I was out from under his scrutinizing gaze. He could think what he wanted. I’d done nothing wrong, and Officer Alex Brett couldn’t hold me just because he thought I’d been lying to him. The fact that I had been was just as irrelevant as his questions.

Officer Brett couldn’t help me, even if he did know the truth. No one could.

Which was exactly why I needed to push him from my mind. I didn’t need distractions of any kind, whether it be a nosy cop, a stolen purse…or piercing hazel eyes that saw through me, screaming, I know there’s more to it, Ms. Spencer.

I shook my head, shivering at the thought of him. Not out of fear of him, but fear of the situation, perhaps. Fear that he was right. That he did know there was more to it, and that he’d dig and prod until he found out what it was.

“Damn him,” I whispered absently, cringing.

My apartment—if that was what it could be called seeing as it was no bigger than an oversized walk-in closet—was farther from the coffee shop than Officer Brett might’ve believed. I didn’t have a car, though. Having a car meant having to insure it, and insurance or ownership of anything meant a paper trail. I couldn’t risk it. And since I didn’t have my bus tickets or any money to buy more—those things had been in my purse—I had no choice but to make the hike back toward my place on foot.

I was cold and in a foul mood by the time I reached it, the wind having penetrated my leather jacket with ease and sufficiently stealing my optimism that today would get any better.

And that was before I realized that my apartment keys weren’t in my pocket. I always carried them there. I was such a creature of habit, depending on routine to keep me safe and aware of my surroundings. I must have shoved them in my purse when—

My phone rang.

This morning, just as I’d been about to go out the door, my disposable cellphone had rung loudly, startling me with its shrill contrast to the utter silence of my apartment. I hadn’t picked it up, not recognizing the number, choosing just to stand there and stare at it dumbly until the screen stopped flashing and the ominous sound died. Then I’d felt ridiculous about it, especially since I’d posted three of my newly printed business cards boasting my freelance art skills for hire. New business cards, with a new phone number, because I’d only traded my disposable phone in for a new one last week.

But the unknown number had been enough to freeze me in place, and I’d lost all reason. Now, though, I wish I’d answered the call, seeing as it could have been a potential paying customer and I had no cash.

In the three and a half months I’d been in Boulder City, only once had I ever had to face my landlords, a cagey-looking couple who lived in the front unit of the building, while mine had its own entrance at the back. Both the man and woman had seemed half baked and been less than cordial, despite the fact that I had money in hand for them. After that, I never had reason to see them again as long as I slipped the cash into the mail slot of their door on time each month and didn’t cause trouble.

So far, that’s exactly what I’d done during my time here—paid my rent on time, kept my head down, and stayed under the radar. But with my purse stolen, my keys and cell gone, and a curious cop on my heels, things weren’t likely to stay that way.

I stared at my apartment entrance, willing it to somehow open telepathically. When it didn’t work, a vile word passed my lips and I made my way around the building to the Coskins’ door. At least, I thought that was their last name. I couldn’t remember, and I frankly didn’t care as long as they had a spare set of keys to get into my unit.

“You lost the damn keys?” Mrs. Coskins snapped, her eyes practically bugging out of her head. To my surprise, she seemed relatively sober. Lucid, even. And downright pissed off at my stupidity.

“My purse was stolen at the—”

“That set of keys we gave you had keys to get into the main entrance, as well as your apartment,” she explained, shaking her head. “We’re going to have to change the main entry locks now, as well as yours, and get new keys cut for the other tenants.”

“I’m really sorry—” I stammered.

She wasn’t interested in my apologies. “If your shit was stolen, were the cops called?”

I nodded, thankful for the moment that Officer Brett had given me his card and that I’d actually accepted it. I pulled it from my jacket pocket, now creased on one corner. “Yeah, they already took a statement.”

Mrs. Coskins was shuffling into her running shoes, though I didn’t know what she planned to do. “Good. So, they know your keys are gone.”

I stopped. “Well, no. I didn’t realize they were gone until—”

The older woman’s finger pointed dangerously close to my face, then to the card in my hand. “I don’t know how things work where you come from, but here, we don’t exactly want to make it easy for someone to rob us blind. Call that number and tell them your damn keys were stolen.”

Oh God, not that. Anything but that. “I…I mean—”

“You ain’t going to call him? Then, I will. If I’ve got to make an insurance claim for shit stolen because of this, I’m going to need documentation that it was reported to the authorities.”

She held out her hand, and I stared at it. Oh, so the Coskins accepted cash for my monthly rent, didn’t ask questions when I said I didn’t require receipts, but they wanted a legal trail for insurance purposes? Well, damn it. Damn this day all to hell!

I couldn’t say no. And if she did call my bluff and call Officer Brett on her own, confiding in him that I’d been unwilling to call him myself, that would only heighten the officer’s curiosity.

“Fine,” I sighed. “But I’ll need to borrow your phone.”