The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 39

Before I got back in the traces to move my story – stories? - along, I needed to take care of some things that had gotten left behind. My first task for this morning was to return to my apartment and retrieve a copy of my health insurance policy. I also wanted to grab a few other items I'd missed when packing to leave the first time.

Although I recognized the danger, I had thought about going back there. It had been some time since Strike Response had seen any activity at my place, and they had just tried to kill me. Someone looking at that wrecked Prius wouldn't expect the passenger to be walking around for a while afterward, if ever. There was no reason for them to still be watching my place. If I was alive, they wouldn't expect me to re-appear in an apartment they had been so obviously monitoring, especially this soon after a murder attempt.

Sending someone else to collect my items would put the person helping me in danger, and what happened to Antara weighed heavily on my mind. I couldn't ask Marci because she was on crutches. I wasn't in that much better shape, but I was more mobile. And there were no other officers I trusted with my personal effects.

I thought about asking Harry if he could loan me some protection, but given his last message, it seemed he wanted to keep our relationship low-profile. I could be in and out quickly before Strike Response could react to any recording devices they planted, and I still had Dad's .38.

"Do you mind driving around the block?" I asked Cathy as we approached my apartment complex. "I want to keep both of us safe and ensure we don't have any unwanted onlookers."

Once satisfied that no surprises awaited me in the general vicinity, I made another request. "Can you make a pass through the parking lot? I want to see what vehicles are back there. And then, would you pull around to the front of the building to let me out?"

I'd debated having Cathy drive me because of Antara's death, but I explained what I wanted to do and why before I asked her. She was entirely on board even after I apprised her of the risks. "Last request, I promise," I said with a smile. "Could you wait for me while I retrieve some of my things? It won't take me too long."

"No problem," she said. "Spend as much time as you need. I'm going to cruise the neighborhood and make sure there's nothing unusual going on—keep your throwaway phone on, and I'll call if you need to get out of there."

I tried to hurry as I walked from Cathy's car to my apartment, but my ribs fiercely complained when I walked too fast. My heart leaped into my throat when I got to my apartment door. Someone had set the handle lock on my front door. But the key turned too smoothly when I twisted it in the deadbolt keyhole—the last person through that door didn't set it. Someone had been in my apartment since I left it. I had to catch my breath and think, but not before I grabbed the loaded .38 out of my purse. I debated whether I should go in at all. That locked handle suggested anyone who had been there was now gone. But someone could have set it from the inside to keep anyone from walking in on them, meaning they were still there. Of course, there were more innocent possibilities. Perhaps the landlord had to go in when I'd been gone.

I took two deep breaths, fighting back the pain they caused. Standing to one side beyond the doorway frame, I tried to keep my shaking hand from rattling the keys. Slowly and carefully, I unlocked the handle and turned it with my still-sore left hand, revolver in my right, until the catch released. I crouched down so my head was at doorknob level, holding back the urge to cry out as I felt a stabbing pain in my side, and opened the door about one-quarter of an inch. I took another breath, listening intently for any sounds from the apartment. Hearing nothing, I shoved the door open with my left knee. Both hands were now tightly on the revolver, and I'd raised my body to a half-crouch. As I entered, I scooted to the right side of the doorway and lowered myself again while I surveyed my apartment, prompting another flash of pain.