Page 50 of Ruthless Ambition
“No,” I told him with more force. “I’m the only one with a key to my home.”
He acknowledged my answer with a tight smile as he looked around the room, his attention on the kitchen cabinets. “You have workmen coming in?”
“No, officer, it’s a DIY project I’m doing myself; trust me, no one has a key to my house.”
“Okay, ma’am.” He gave me another look and then told his colleague he was going to check the house one more time.
“How many times does he need to ask the same question?” I grumbled as I searched my purse again for the card.
“You’d be amazed how many people tell us no one has a key and then remember the neighbor has the spare, the plumber has a copy in case of emergencies, their brother has one,” the female officer said gently to me. “You’re freaked out. It’s okay to be.”
I heard what she was saying, but I had three keys to my house, and they were all on the same keyring. Walking over to the door, I picked up my keys from the hook.
“I live alone, I don’t know my neighbors that well, I have no siblings that live near me, and I’ve never had a workman . . .”
“What is it?” the officer asked me as I stopped talking.
“I had three keys,” I told her as I held the keyring up. “One’s gone.” Looking at her, she came to stand beside me, and her hand reached out for my keys.
“You sure you haven’t—”
“Trust me,” I cut her off.
“Okay.” She gave me a smile of reassurance and turned to her partner, who had come back into the room. “We’re missing a copy,” she told him. “Taken off the bunch.”
He held his hand out and studied the keyring. “You leave your purse unattended often?”
Did I? No. “Only at work,” I answered. My foot started to tap off the floor, and he suggested I sit down.
“Where do you work, Ms. Balan?” and as he asked, he took a seat.
“Saints Sports Management,” I answered, and I saw his speculative look. “I’m a sports agent.”
“Yeah? Cool.” He flashed me a smile, and this one actually looked genuine. “Where’s your office? You have your own office or open plan?”
“Office is on Commerce, and no to open plan. Agents have their own offices. Client confidentiality.”
He made notes as I spoke, as I tried to remember every time I had been away from my purse over the last two weeks. Which was as exhausting as it was frustrating.
“I don’t know,” I ended up saying. “But you literally cannot walk anywhere in that building without a camera on you.”
“Sounds intense,” he commented.
“The owner’s got . . . issues.”
The officer looked at me and then glanced at his partner. “How’s your relationship with him? Her?”
“Him. Thorny,” I grunted. I saw his assumption and realized where he was going with this. “No, not that way. We have a working relationship, nothing more.”
“Saints Sports Management,” he mused before he smiled widely. “Onyx Santo?”
Of course, they would know who he was. “Yes,” I confirmed.
“His brothers are killing it for the Cardinal Saints. And the cousin, have you seen his stats?” he asked me.
“Yes, I’m aware of how talented they are.”
“Those boys are going to get drafted top three, I say,” he told me before his colleague cleared her throat. “So,thorny? That’s an interesting word choice.” When I said nothing, he pressed. “You work for him, you have a . . . fair to say tense?” When Inodded, he carried on, “Tenserelationship. He has access to the camera system, the camera system that went down today when your tires were slashed, and he was in the parking lot when you found your car.”
