Page 18 of Unlocked

Archer walked over to the balcony doors. Twenty floors up. It took nerve to enter an apartment from a balcony at this height. Real nerve, or training. Probably both.

"He came down from the roof?"

"That would be my guess," Rush said, getting to his feet. "Most likely scenario. I'll go up and check."

Archer said nothing, but his mind was already moving. That narrowed the field considerably. Not many people could manage that kind of entry, not cleanly, not without leaving a trace. Whatever Tatum Wellington had gotten herself into, it was bigger than she knew.

"Rush, send me photographs of the roof if you find anything. Have the forensics team go over the whole apartment."

Rush nodded and headed for the door.

"Ryker, check for any other break-ins in this building recently, just in case."

"Thinking he may have done a dry run on a lower floor?"

"It's possible. Also, pull the street surveillance going back a few weeks. I want to know if anyone has been watching the building or following Tatum."

"I'll get the tech team on it."

Archer turned at the sound of footsteps.

Tatum's pale face turned ashen when she rounded the corner and saw the living room.

He followed the trail of her gaze. It looked as though a hurricane had passed through and spared nothing.

Couch cushions had been slashed and overturned, stuffing spilling out in ugly clumps across the floor. The coffee table lay on its side, one leg snapped clean off, glass shattered into a glittering scatter that caught the light. Lamps were down, frames ripped from the walls, their contents discarded without interest. Bookshelves had been stripped bare, the books thrown aside like debris, some torn, some stomped on.

Nothing had been taken.

Everything had been violated.

Archer stayed where he was and watched Tatum absorb it. He saw the moment her breath hitched, the way her shoulders drew inward as if bracing against a blow that had already landed. She took two steps into the room and stopped, gaze moving across the damage in sharp, disbelieving sweeps.

"They destroyed everything," she said quietly.

Archer said. "They wanted you to see that."

Her jaw tightened, and she nodded once, as if confirming something to herself. She didn't touch anything. Just stood there, hands clenched, gaze fixed on the ruined couch.

"I need a minute," she said. Then she turned and disappeared back down the hall.

Archer didn't follow. He used the time to take in the room properly. Angles, destruction patterns, what had been broken versus what had been ignored. This was still controlled. Focused. Whoever had done this hadn't panicked. They'd moved with purpose and without haste. That told him more than the destruction itself.

When Tatum returned, she looked like a different version of herself.

The ball gown was gone, replaced by jeans and a dark, fitted top. Her hair was pulled back, her face scrubbed clean. An overnight bag was slung over one shoulder, and she clutched her laptop against her chest like something she wasn't willing to leave behind, regardless of what happened next.

She stopped in front of him. "I'll go with you. To the Society apartment."

Something inside him eased, just slightly, in a way he didn't examine too closely. He nodded once. "Good."

She moved toward the door without another look back at the room. Archer watched her go. There was something in the set of her shoulders, something deliberate and undefeated, that caught his attention for a half-second longer than it should have.

He turned to Ryker before she reached the hallway.

"Have everything replaced," he said quietly. "All of it. Furniture, rugs, lamps, the mattress. Everything. Make it like this never happened."

Ryker's brows lifted slightly. "Do we charge it to the Society?"