Page 64 of Secret Obsession
Well, I didn’t. But then Amanda kicked me off the team, and Miles murdered someone in my apartment, and Knox made me Public Enemy Number One with his breakup stunt. Not to mention the fact that the whole school seems to think it was my fault.
“Mr. Whiteshaw mentioned that you’d be getting us a list of items that are missing. Have you noticed any unusual activity in your neighborhood?”
“Not really, Detective. I always thought it was a safe area.”
She hums her agreement, then pauses. The line is filled with static for a moment, until she continues, “This type of aggression pointed toward the bedroom can be a sign of—”
“Wait.” I stand straighter, my grip on my phone tightening. My palms are sweating. “What do you mean?”
Silence.
“Did you see your bedroom? In the… aftermath?”
“No,” I whisper. “Miles told me not to look.”
“I see. All right, Ms. Reed. Please let me know if anything unusual in the week or two leading up to the break-in comes to mind. I’ll let you go and touch base with you in a few days.”
“Okay.” My heart is beating too fast. I hang up and leave my phone on the counter, going for the whiskey. I take a swig right from the bottle, grimacing at the taste.
What was in my bedroom that Miles didn’t want me to see?
Now I want to see it. No, Ineedto see it.
Fuck.
“Violet.” I replace the bottle and hurrying toward the stairs. “I’ll meet you guys at Prime, okay?”
I don’t wait for her answer—because I need some answers of my own.
20
WILLOW
The front entrance to the house has been fixed—but not locked. My landlord’s door is closed, and I move past it silently. Someone’s cleaned up the bits of framing that littered the floor with the break-in. The stairs look recently swept, too.
I can only imagine the mess the police made. And us, too.
My foot hurts. The pain meds I popped a few hours ago are wearing off, and I’m probably due for a bandage change. It’s a good lesson to watch where I step, I guess.
On the second floor, my apartment door has been closed to the best of its ability. It’s very obviously not locked, and I only push on the door with a few fingers to get it to swing inward.
Part of me was expecting yellow crime scene tape or something, but there’s nothing. I just… stroll right in.
That feels wrong.
I shake off my foreboding and crunch over more glass and ceramic. I wince, my gaze dropping to the floor. From then on out, I’m more careful. I avoid the big chunks and make my way toward the back of my tiny apartment.
Really, for such a small space, it’s astounding how much stuff this burglar seemed to break. My plants are lost beyond repair, the soil still strewn about. The stuffing of my couch cushions has been pulled out through giant slits in the fabric.
The sun has set, and darkness is quickly taking over the room.
I make it to my bedroom and flick on the light.
Horror washes over me, and I cover my mouth with my hand. The words of the detective come back to me. About particular aggression in the bedroom. Thisfeelsaggressive. The room has been completely violated.
I’m surprised Miles was able to salvage any of my clothes.
My dresser is in pieces. Someone didn’t just tear out my clothes and the drawers—it looks like they took a hammer to the actual furniture, smashing it to bits. Same with the armchair that used to hold worn-once clothes. They didn’t just cut it up, the back and arms are separated, ripped apart.
