Undercover Lover by Jamie K. Schmidt Page A

pocket. “I need you to go down to the lobby and let them in.”
    “What are you going to do?” she said.
    “I’m going to look around and make sure that there’s nobody still in there.”
    “What if it’s Darren?”
    “I’m not going to start anything.”
    “Don’t hurt him.”
    “I’ll play nice if he will.” Drake leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. She tasted like expensive vodka. He tried for another one, but she pulled back. “Just in case I don’t get another chance tonight.”
    She pressed the open button. “Be careful.”
    He winked at her. When the door closed, he brought his weapon to bear and sidled over to the open door. He listened for a moment and, hearing nothing, slowly eased the door fully opened. Using the door as cover, he kept low and crept inside.
    The room was completely destroyed. Her couch and chairs had been slashed opened and the stuffing strewn across the room. Spray paint soaked through her art posters on the wall with various Russian slurs. Drake moved toward the next open doorway, leading with the pistol. Although the rooms looked abandoned, there was no way he was going to take the chance. Peeking in, he saw that the bed had been stripped, the blankets a heap on the floor. If the smell was anything to go by, the intruder had used it as a toilet. Drake’s lip curled in disgust.
    Her reading lamp was smashed, and all of her clothes had been yanked out of the closet and thrown on the floor. A teddy bear was propped up on the naked bed. It was missing an eye, and a belt was tightened around its throat. In English, “Sorry to have missed you” was scrawled in black marker across the mattress.
    Drake heard the elevator and hurried out of the bedroom. He wasn’t quick enough to stop Pam from entering with the two uniforms behind her. He watched her turn a shade paler and put a trembling hand up to her mouth. Her eyes sought his in question.
    “The place is trashed,” he said. “It’s not pretty. Is there someone I can call for you? You can’t stay here tonight.”
    “Why?” Pam took a step around. “I need to see what’s missing.” She headed for the bedroom, and Drake side stepped to keep her from walking in.
    “I need to get a team up here and take pictures. Dust for fingerprints. Why don’t you come back to the station with me? We can fill out a report there.”
    “I want to see,” she said.
    He shook his head. “No, you don’t.” He blocked her from moving farther into the room.
    “Vadim did this, didn’t he?”
    “I don’t have a magic crystal ball. But it looks like whoever was here was looking for you. And when he couldn’t find you, he got a little upset and took it out on your stuff.” He took Pam by the arm and led her to the door.
    Drake motioned to the two uniformed cops to come in.
    “You call in a team”—he pointed to one of them—“and you”—he pointed to the other one—“start knocking on doors to see if anyone saw or heard anything. I’m going to take Ms. Krupin downtown.”
    “Oh, no!”
    Pam had gotten around him and seen her bedroom. “Why? Why would anyone do this?” she asked.
    “That’s what we’re going to find out. Now, come on. I’m sorry you had to see this.”
    Drake strong-armed her out the door. She was sputtering and talking, but he didn’t care. She was too vulnerable, too exposed here. He could almost feel phantom crosshairs on his back when he deposited her into the passenger seat of her own car.
    As he pulled onto the highway, he glanced over at her. Her arms were crossed, but the trembling of her lips gave her away.
    “It’s a good thing I’ve got renter’s insurance,” she said with a half hitch in her voice.
    He put a hand on her knee. He meant it to be comforting, but when she jumped, he removed it. “You can put together a list in the morning. Right now, I’d feel a lot better if you stayed at the station while we get a statement and figure out the next step.”
    “I can go to the hospital.